#dixon reader

“He escaped,” Rick stated the obvious, but it was clear he felt tremendous relief. “You weren’t lyin’, Daryl. Your brother really is one crafty piece of work.”

“Don’t talk to me ‘bout my brother, cop,” Daryl spat out. “You ain’t excused, just ‘cause he escaped somehow.” 

Daryl crouched low, then stood up and pointed to the fire escape. “We go down. He left in a hurry, reckon maybe I can track somethin’. And grab the old man’s tools ‘fore he gets on our necks ‘bout it.”

Glenn packed up the toolbox and they all rushed down. Daryl crouched in the alley, looking at the ground for a moment like he would for deer hoofs. Then he silently pointed the group in the right direction.

“Went that way. But he ain’t alone,” he said, his jaw clenched.

“A struggle?” Rick asked.

“Nuh-uh.” Daryl shook his head. “See, there. Another set of prints. They walked together.”

Fuckin’ Merle. What did he get himself into this time?

They reached the next block, but before they could move forward, movement flickered in Daryl’s peripheral. A scrawny Mexican teen lunged at him from a busted storefront, knife flashing. Daryl barely had time to react before—

THWIP.

An arrow punched clean through the kid’s eye socket, snapping his head back. He dropped like a sack of bricks, dead before he hit the pavement.

Glenn stood beside Daryl, breathless. “Holy sh—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Daryl hissed, scanning the rooftops with wild eyes. 

“What?”

“Shh!” Daryl’s crossbow was up, finger tense on the trigger. “Ever seen an arrow go through a man’s eye from eighty yards away?” Daryl shook his head, voice low and tense. “Nobody does.”

Rick’s hand shot up, signaling for everyone to freeze. His grip tightened around his Colt Python when he looked down at that arrow. Then he was back to scanning the rooftops like a hawk. 

The precision, the distance—Daryl was right. This wasn’t some random shooter. 

“What now…” Rick muttered under his breath, half impressed, half wary.

T-Dog, wide-eyed, looked around in a slight panic. “Man, who the hell’s up there—Robin Hood?!” He glanced at the body, then back up at the buildings. 

Daryl didn’t answer, his whole body tense, ears straining. Then came the whistle—familiar, almost teasing. His heart kicked up a notch. 

No. Fucking. Way.

Rick caught the shift in Daryl’s expression. “You know who that is.”

“No,” Daryl spat out, obviously lying through his teeth.

T-Dog opened his mouth to speak, but Rick just shook his head sharply, still assessing the potential threat.

“There. That building. See that glint?” Rick whispered. “That there is a goddamn scope. Whoever that is, they’re not playin’. We can see them, but they can see us times ten. We stay put.”

Just then, two big guys came sprinting out of the alley, bats raised.

Another arrow moved faster than lightning. Right in the throat. The second attacker barely had time to register his buddy’s corpse before Daryl whipped around and slammed the butt of his crossbow into his temple, dropping him hard.

Silence. Just for a second.

“Wait!” Daryl hissed and stopped Rick before either of them moved.

Then—another soft, quiet whistle. Daryl froze. 

Part of a song he knew too well.

But Merle never really learned how to whistle.

Before Daryl or Rick could signal to action, a figure stepped into view on the fire escape across the street. You.

Daryl watched as you slowly raised a closed fist, then extended three fingers. The secret greeting you invented when you were kids. Way back when, every summer you and the rest of your cousins were running rampant all over the wilderness around Savannah.

At that moment, Daryl Dixon did something Rick had not yet had the questionable pleasure of witnessing.

He smiled.

His hand shot up and Daryl mimicked your gesture. After that you tried to show him something else, but he couldn’t quite make it out.

“Gimme that.” Daryl pointed to the rifle T-Dog was holding. They swapped weapons and Daryl looked at the building through the scope.

You made a series of quick hand signals: two fingers pointed at eyes, flat hand against throat, finger to lips. Watch out. Danger. Keep your trap shut.

You weren’t wrong. The group momentarily froze as distant moans carried on the wind—walkers. Undoubtedly drawn by the earlier commotion.

Daryl put the rifle down, then responded with his own sign—right palm and thumb curved like an inverted “c”. You alone?

You shook your head, then jerked a thumb over your shoulder. I got your back.

The message was clear—to Daryl alone.

“Okay, that is not any code I’ve ever seen,” Rick whispered, squinting at the building in the distance, extremely confused. 

“Ain't no way ya have. ‘S ours,” Daryl scoffed, then looked through the scope again. “Alright, movin’ out in that direction. She’s gonna cover our ass.”

“She?” Rick asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Daryl swapped weapons with T-Dog again. “Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” Rick lied, then they followed Daryl’s lead.

“Who the hell is that?” T-Dog asked, already pointing his weapon at the closest walker.

Daryl didn’t say.

But cover their asses you did. As they ran through the street, you were clearing out the walkers strategically, to help them pass. After the coast was mostly clear, you ran towards them, jumping over the two rooftops.

You chose that spot well, the buildings weren’t that far apart. Daryl covered the group from the front and they somehow escaped the horde—then they reached a back alley. A dead end.

They looked around, frantically, until they heard someone sprinting down the metal fire escape. They stopped. Walkers didn’t sprint.

“Manhole!” you shouted.

Rick and T-Dog lifted it at once, Glenn climbed down first, then the rest followed.

You jumped down to the ground, skipping a couple steps, before grinning at Daryl like a maniac and disappearing down the sewer as well. Daryl pulled the cover back and the damp, reeking darkness swallowed you all. 

A light came from Glenn’s flickering flashlight, casting eerie shadows on the grime-coated walls. The stench of decay and stagnant water hung in the air.

“Oh, great.” Glenn sighed. “Why is it every time I come here, we end up in a smelly hole?!”

“Better a smelly hole than a walker munchin’ on your insides, or so the sayin’ goes,” you finally spoke, your voice full of amusement that didn’t really match the situation. “Ain’t that right, cuz?”

Daryl exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on his crossbow as he turned to face you. But it was no hallucination. There you were—older, harder, definitely taller. But your grin was just the same.

“Cousin?” T-Dog rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. Just what we need, more fuckin’ Dixons!”

You rushed to hug Daryl and he let you, with an exasperated huff. His hand was awkwardly hovering somewhere over your back. 

“The hell you doin’ here, girl?” Daryl asked.

Then Rick stepped forward, keeping his voice low but firm. “How are you here?”

“Been tryin’ to find my cousins since I left Savannah. Promised Daddy I would.”

Daryl’s eyes flickered to you. “Uncle Tommy’s—”

“He’s fine,” you cut him off. “Last time I saw ‘im.”

You turned to look at Rick. You clocked the uniform and your expression changed in an instant.

Sharper. More wary. You didn’t need to say what you thought about the police.

“Ah, ain’t that the sharp eye of the law.” You wiped the sweat from your brow, still smirking. “Y’ playin’ lawman or ya one of them?”

No nonsense, no discussion. Well, some discussion. But now Rick could very clearly see the family resemblance.

“I’m Rick Grimes. And yes, I was a deputy.” Rick extended his hand to you. You looked at it. 

“You the one who done left Merle to die there on that roof?” 

Rick paused, then just nodded. But he did look apologetic about it at least.

“Damn,” Glenn said. “Not one to beat around the bush, huh?”

“That was you with Merle. The rooftop.” Daryl interrupted, suddenly serious as a grave. “You talked to him?”

“Yep, exchanged war stories, everythin’,” you replied. “We should keep movin’.”

The rest of the group had a hard time assessing whether you were serious or not. But Daryl knew.

“So where is he?”

“Just where I left him.” You pointed to the left. “You fellas comin’? Wouldn’t blame ya if you won’t, Clint Eastwood, but don’t worry. Got Merle in a real good mood. For now.”

They started walking after you. Rick included.

“Merle in a good mood?” Daryl scoffed. “You sure he ain’t caught a heat stroke up on that roof?”

“Goddamn right he did. But I packed him full of sugar water. Well… Mostly hooch. But he’s fine.”

“That your idea of the first aid?” T-Dog whispered in disbelief. 

“He alive, ain’t he? This is nothin’,” you laughed. “You shoulda seen Merle huntin’ on his own the first time. Remember that?” You turned to Daryl.

He just nodded, but also smiled slightly at the memory. 

“The first wild pig he tried,” Daryl explained for the rest. “Nearly stomped ‘im to death.”

“An’ he walked it right off! Killed it, too.” You shook your head. “He’ll still try ‘n’ beat your ass, though,” you informed Rick.

“I don’t doubt it.” Rick let out a quiet chuckle and looked at Daryl. “Your family’s full of… character.”

Daryl rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Yeah. Watch it. She’s good in a fight, but she’s real bad at shutting the hell up.”

The flickering flashlight beam bounced off the tunnel walls as you trudged through the sewage, the foul water sloshing with every step. 

Rick kept his voice steady, but his grip on his gun tightened. “So where exactly is Merle now?”

“Got a safehouse.” You ducked under a rusted support beam. “Thought he was a walker at first, the way he groaned. Almost gutted ‘im neck to dick.” You shouldered open a rusty door and went through it first. 

“Sun must’ve messed with his head. He thought I was your mother for a second.” You side-eyed Daryl, who just let out a chortle.

“Yeah, ain’t that sweet. He said anythin’ else?” T-Dog asked.

“Oh yeah.” Your smirk faded just a little. “Lot of yellin’ ‘bout handcuffs and cops and uh… betrayals. Then he passed out droolin’ like a happy baby.” You jerked your chin up at a ladder. “Up here.”

You led them up to the surface, then to an abandoned auto shop where you left Merle. Daryl rushed in first, he would hear no argument about it. His boots scuffed against the concrete as he moved toward the back office. The door was slightly ajar. He kicked it open, crossbow raised.

A stained mattress sat in the corner—and on it sat Merle Dixon, slightly sunburnt, but mostly intact. Unless you counted his wits. 

His eyes were glassy, but strangely alert. A half-empty bottle of… something dangled from his hand.

“Well shit,” Merle drawled, taking a swig. “The cavalry finally arrived. Took y’all long enough.” His bloodshot eyes locked onto Rick. “And look who it is—Officer Friendly his damn self.” 

Rick kept his hand near his sidearm but didn’t draw. “Merle.”

Merle’s grin was all teeth. “I’m gonna gut ya like the pig you are, ya hear me?”

“Now, Merle…” Rick hesitated. 

Merle wasn’t yelling this time. Or swinging. Just… Sitting there and informing Rick of his upcoming untimely demise. 

Rick would’ve honestly preferred if he yelled.

Then Daryl stepped between them. “I’ve been lookin’ all over for you, dumbass!”

Merle chuckled without any joy to it, taking another swig. “Happy to see me, little brother?”

“Been happier.”

Then both Daryl and Merle exchanged the same kind of half-smirk. Not quite affection, but also not quite not.

Glenn peeked in behind them, wrinkling his nose. “So... what now?”

Merle’s grin turned sharp. “Now? Now we settle some scores.” He struggled to his feet, swaying slightly. “Startin’ with that cop that left me to die!”

Rick’s hand twitched toward his gun again. “You were a threat to the group. I did what I had to.”

“And I do what I gotta do,” Merle slurred, stumbling forward and failing. “Shit…”

T-Dog sighed, rubbing his temple. “Man, can we not do this right now? Whole damn city’s crawlin’ with walkers.”

“Now you—” Merle was about to say something and then… Didn’t. 

“Sit your doped-up ass down!” You pinched Merle on the arm and somehow he knew exactly what you meant.

Rick and T-Dog exchanged a look. You crouched beside Merle and placed a pill in his hand. 

“Bitch.” He gave you a harsh look, but then swallowed whatever you gave him.

Meanwhile, Glenn’s eyes darted around the cluttered auto shop, not really interested in the Dixon family drama unfolding. His flashlight caught a pile of parts in the corner—belts, ignition coils, and...

He nudged T-Dog with his elbow and pointed at a dusty shelf.

“No way,” T-Dog whispered, moving toward it. There was a small, ancient can of WD-40, and next to it… Two mismatched radiator caps.

Glenn’s hand shot out to them, but then he looked to you as if unsure if that wasn’t your super-secret auto shop stash he was about to loot.

“Just take it,” you waved dismissively. “I ain’t even sure what the hell that there is.”

“Man, Dale’s gonna kiss us for this!” Glenn exclaimed, but then winced. “Uh. Hopefully not.”

Meanwhile, you had Merle by the shoulders, forcing him to sit back down with a thud. “Jesus, you’re heavy when you’re wasted,” you grunted.

Merle blinked up at you, the fight draining out of him just a little. “Since when you got so damn bossy?”

“Since always, stop yappin’,” you shot back, but there was no real bite to it. 

“Yeah, yeah, look at ya, boss girl. Just yesterday, five years old ‘n’ a pain in my ass, followin’ me wherever I went with this one in tow!” He waved his finger at Daryl. “Now… A bigger pain in my ass.”

Rick stayed out of it, but he looked cautiously optimistic. So far, it had been Daryl who was his brother’s keeper—very good at keeping Merle in check, but not quite like… this.

“Shut up, cuz.” You pulled out a canteen from one of the drawers and shoved it into his hand, taking away the bottle. “Drink. Water. Stay off the paint thinner.”

“Or what?” 

But he drank the water all the same.

Then you locked eyes with Merle and jerked your chin towards Rick. Unsure what that meant, Rick squared his shoulders again. 

Merle’s eyes followed yours… and he exhaled like an exasperated bear. Daryl watched you both, arms crossed, and then all three of you were in some sort of quiet stand-off. Something unspoken passed between you—some weird understanding that nobody else was privy to.

Then, miracle of miracles, Merle took another swig of water, grimaced, and sighed again. “This ain’t ya business, girl,” he muttered, but the murderous edge in his voice was gone. For now.

Rick exhaled slowly, his hand easing away from his gun. “We good?”

Merle’s menacing grin returned, but it was half-hearted. “Oh, we ain’t good, pig! But I’ll kill you later.”

“What if he says he’s sorry-like?” you interjected, already seeing that question made Merle happier than the hooch.

“I am sorry,” Rick said immediately.

“Huh… Yeah.” Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

“What?” Rick asked, already wary of your answer.

“Nothin’.” You pointed to Merle. “Merle. The pig’s sorry—”

“My name’s Rick.”

“You done nearly killed my kin so we ain’t friends. Merle?” you paused, expectantly.

“Ahh, fine!” Merle spat on the floor beside him. “Jesus Christ…”

“Great, I’ll take it.” Rick wiped sweat from his brow, his voice low but firm. “Now. About the plan. We can’t go back for the guns,” he said to T-Dog and Glenn. “Not with the walkers crawling all over that block. We should cut our losses, hit the van, and get the hell out.”

Daryl scoffed, kicking a loose spark plug across the floor. “So we just leave ‘em? After all this shit?”

“You got your brother back, isn’t that what you wanted?” Rick countered.

“Aw, I’m touched!” Merle sneered.

Rick exhaled. His gaze flicked to Merle, then you. “And here we got another problem. Camp’s stretched thin as it is.”

You bristled, arms crossed. “Shove it. Ain’t wantin’ no invite to yer fancy little gang, officer. I’m right good ‘ere, thanks.”

“Bullshit,” Daryl snapped. “You both comin’!”

Merle barked a laugh. “Oh, this oughta be good. Officer Friendly gonna let a couple Dixons waltz into his little utopia?”

“Technically I ain’t a Dixon,” you shrugged. “An’ I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, stop with the fuckin’ ‘this side of the tracks’ bullshit!” Merle groaned. “Yes, we know your grammaw went to college! Jesus!”

T-Dog pointed to you three and asked the million-dollar question:

“This what you want every day at camp, Rick? ‘Cause I ain’t explainin’ that to Shane!”

“Walker ain’t got him yet?” Merle asked, all hopeful.

“No.” Rick glared at him. “And I don’t know. But I do know Shane’s got enough on his plate.”

“Is he like… your king or somethin’?” you asked.

“What? No. He’s—” 

“Okay then, Shane can just go on and blow me, whate’er he is.” 

Merle howled with laughter. “Now that I’d pay good money to see!”

Rick dragged a hand down his face, the beginnings of a stress headache pulsing behind his eyes. “Nevermind. We don’t have room.”

Daryl threw his hands up. “She ain’t comin’ then I’m stayin’! Gladly let you bunch o’ pansies feed your damn selves!”

That landed, you could tell. Rick opened his mouth. Closed it. Nobody made a move.

But then Merle interjected, suddenly a little sobered up: 

“My bike.”

Silence fell. Then, that weird three-person stand-off again. Apparently the bike also had some history, one Rick was not at all interested to know.

Daryl’s head snapped to his brother, then, scowling, he pointed at Rick. “Fuck! Okay.” Then he pointed at you. “But she’s comin’ with us or—”

“Fine,” Rick interrupted, tired of this shit. “Let’s just go.”

“We’ve seen her aim,” Glenn offered, trying to smooth things over. “That’s somethin’, yeah?”

“Ha! Somethin’?” Merle stood up, with your help. “That’s One-Hand Tommy’s daughter! Her old man taught her shoot squirrels from sixty yards ‘fore she was nine!”

“Alright, Merle, they don’t need to know that,” you muttered.

“Why they called him One-Hand?” Glenn immediately wanted to know.

None of you said anything for a while.

“Ain’t no one knows why they called him that,” Daryl finally replied. “An’ I sure as hell never asked.”

“Why not?”

“If you knew her daddy’s look, you’d know why.”

Daryl took over supporting Merle, while you packed up your meager belongings. 

“Looks like I gotta be a citizen again, fuck me…” You rolled your eyes, then elbowed Merle. “But ain’t you glad I found ya, cuz?”

“Ya gettin’ in or what?” Daryl’s gruff voice sounded from inside the tent right when you stepped over to open the flap. 

You rolled your eyes and slipped in through the opening, zipping it up all the way behind you. Because of the humidity coming from the lake, mosquitos seemed to appear out of thin air and lurk around every corner. You could no longer count the number of itchy bumps on your skin. Just thinking about it made you furiously scratch your arm. 

“Stupid fuckin’ mosquitos,” you cursed under your nose, crawling into the sleeping space of the tent and flopping down on the hard floor. The blanket you laid on didn’t do much to isolate your back from the unforgiving coldness of the ground beneath, and you knew another uncomfortable and freezing night had just started for you. 

“Ya want som’ thyme for it?” 

Your eyes snapped wide open at the words, and you propped yourself up on your forearms to look at Daryl. You had to make sure you didn’t just imagine him speaking to you in a fairly calm voice. The archer avoided meeting your eyes, lying beside you and looking up at the disgusting green color of the tent’s roof. You shook your head in disbelief at his offer before retracting your gaze. 

“It’s hideous, right?” You let yourself fall back down, staring at the canvas above with a raised brow. You waited patiently for Daryl to find the courage to speak. 

A small flashlight was lying by Daryl’s feet that was pointed at the roof to illuminate the whole tent with delicate yellow light. It was the only thing that saved you from jabbing him with your elbow or knee while moving around the tent. The tent was so small it barely fit two people, and keeping at least some kind of distance between each other was challenging and awkward. The idea of lying squashed like sardines with your younger brother, who seemed to hate your guts, wasn’t exactly inviting. 

“Didn’ know it was like tha’,” he started, his fingers nervously tapping at the covered ground. He fell silent after those words escaped his lips, and for a moment, you thought that was all he had to say before he turned toward you, boring his blue eyes into the side of your face. “If ya jus’ said somethin’ earlier…” he trailed off. 

“I couldn’t,” you defended yourself, fingers playing with the stretched-out hem of your shirt. Nervously, you rubbed the black fabric between your thumb and pointer finger. 

“Don’ bullshit me.” Daryl scoffed at you, rolling his eyes. You looked at him, offended and kind of hurt that he didn’t believe you. You had no reason to lie to him. “Ya were jus’ scared shitless to admit ya fucked up. Yer whole gettin’ outta ‘ere and bein’ better than us bullshit didn’ work out.” 

You sat up in shock, staring at the space in front of you. The scowl on your face could be seen probably from miles away, but you tried to snuff out the rage that started to boil in your blood. “Daryl fucking Dixon, what the hell did you make yourself believe?” 

“Tha’s the fuckin’ truth! Ya always been the self-righteous one. Thinkin’ ya can do better, leave us behin’. Guess it was time for ya to fuckin’ wake up,” he spat out the words, his jaw clenched tightly. 

You snorted at that, pulling your legs up to your chest and crossing your arms over them. The scowl fell off your face as quickly as it made its way there. You didn’t seem phased by what he said anymore. You rested the side of your face on your arms as you looked him right in the eye. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never as much as thought that you are less than me and I never will. Merle? Sure, he’s a dealer junkie that sleeps in a cell every few days. He doesn’t even want to be better,” you explained, shaking your head sadly. 

The mere thought of your older brother’s shenanigans made your eyes roll involuntarily. Since you could remember, he was always dragging you and Daryl into trouble, getting you into parties with local junkies and prostitutes, stuffing drugs down your pockets so you could sell his stuff to your friends. He justified himself that no one would dare to harm a hair on your head if he was around, but he was never truly there for you when shit hit the fan. Juvie, military, prison—he was anywhere but home. Yet he believed he was your hero, “saving you” from Will—the evil dragon—but it was all play pretend. You and Daryl saved each other without his—so-called—help. 

“I wanted you to go with me because I knew you wanted more from life. You aren’t dumb, Daryl. You could’ve had any job you fucking wanted.” You stared into his blue eyes, a melancholic smile on your lips. “You’re so much smarter than me and Merle combined,” you continued, and at your words, Daryl rolled his eyes and snorted ungracefully. 

“Ain’t much of a compliment,” he mumbled, making you chuckle.

You swatted at his arm playfully. “You know what I mean, asshole.” 

“Wha? Not my fault ya and Merle have half a brain combined.” Daryl raised his brow at you, challenging you to argue with him any further. He propped himself up on his forearms just like you did minutes ago. You exchanged cheeky smiles in silence for a moment, but then the air shifted back into seriousness. 

“Will we ever be good, Daryl?” you whispered more to yourself than to him. 

You wished you could goof around carelessly like you did before you left the trailer park. You wished everything would just go back to how it was back then—more than ten years ago. It wasn’t possible, though, and you knew it. You weren’t the same person anymore, and neither was he.

Daryl’s eyes bored into your skull while he contemplated quietly. “Someday… Someday we will.”

Even if it wasn’t necessarily the answer you wanted it to be, it was more than you had expected. You accepted your brother’s words with a nod of your head, lying back on the floor and turning away from him. You curled your legs up to your chest and pulled the sleeves of your shirt over your palms, hugging yourself to keep warm. 

“Good night, Daryl,” you mumbled out before your eyes closed. 

“Night, kid,” he replied, throwing his own blanket over you before he turned off the flashlight and rolled to his side, back to back with you.

The relentless rustling and groaning from outside woke you up in the middle of the night, disturbing your already shallow slumber. You sat up startled, rubbing the sleep off your bleary eyes. Your mind still hasn’t caught up to your current situation, and you didn’t really know what the groans foreshadowed. 

“What’s going on?” Daryl asked, sensing your sudden change in position.

He reached out to turn the flashlight on, but you quickly caught his arm and stilled it. Or maybe it was his ankle; you couldn’t really tell in the dark, but at least the action stopped Daryl from continuing. You strained your ears to make sure the noises that awoke you were really there, but you didn’t hear anything anymore. You breathed out a sigh of relief before falling back like a log onto the blanket beneath.

“It’s nothing. Just my imagination,” you mumbled out. 

The moment you closed your eyes, determined to go back to sleep, another growl sounded from outside the tent, this time louder than before. You shot up again, accidentally jabbing Daryl in the side with your elbow. The man let out a pained grunt before he sat up as well, straining his ears. 

“Daryl, we need to get out of here!” you whispered in a panicked tone, throwing the blanket off your body. It didn’t do shit to help you stay warm at night anyway. “It was one of the undead.”

“No shit,” he growled out, barely audible, already scrambling around in the dark in search of his crossbow and your rifle. 

It was crazy how quick the noise made all the tiredness disappear from your body. The adrenaline surged in your blood, and the screaming in your head to run or fight was louder than any other thought. You’ve never felt safe in this world, but before the outbreak, you could at least hope for a better tomorrow; now, you didn’t think it was possible. 

Despite the darkness, you somehow managed to slip your sock-clad feet into your boots and stuff the flashlight into the pocket of your pants. The both of you crawled over to the entrance as quickly and stealthily as it was possible. You took the rifle from Daryl’s hand and swung it over your shoulder. You let him fumble around with the tent’s zipper, staying behind and trying not to let the panic swallow your whole being while you waited.

“C’mon,” your brother ushered you out of the tent quietly, letting you step outside before him. “Sounds like more than jus’ one of ’em to me.”

You stumbled blindly outside. The moonlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above you like a dulled and dispersed spotlight. Your eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, so the night seemed surprisingly bright. You didn’t have time to admire your surroundings for long. Since the canvas no longer muffled the noises, you could hear the familiar growling clearly, and Daryl was right—there was definitely more than one stumbler in your little camp.

A few crickets chirped suddenly somewhere close to you, making you gasp, startled. You winced and pressed your palm tightly to your mouth to repress any other sound from escaping it. Daryl’s quickened breathing told you he was just as stressed by the thought that they could hear the tiniest sound you made as if the quiet rustling of the bedding could make their eyes snap toward you at any moment. This time you were lucky—the stragglers didn’t seem to have heard you. 

You wanted to ask Daryl about Merle and his whereabouts, about what you were supposed to do and where you could possibly run to, but you didn’t dare to part your lips again. You could feel your heart hammer furiously in your chest, making your whole body tremble in a gracious dance to its rhythm. Tired of waiting for something to happen, you moved forward in a crouch, burying your fingers in the leaf litter to keep some semblance of balance. For your own good and sanity, you hoped you were as stealthy as you imagined yourself to be after months of sneaking around different places—that you were not supposed to be in—with the Red Devils. 

You scrambled for the nearby bushes outside the small clearing occupied by your tent and vehicles. In the distance, you could see the silhouettes of the undead shuffling around the pickup and Merle’s bike.

Speaking of which—where the fuck was that asshole? You were sure he wasn’t dead—he couldn’t be—but the silence was weirdly disturbing. Your older brother was the loudest and most obnoxious man you’ve ever met. It was suspicious of him to be quiet even in a situation like this. He was born unable to keep his mouth shut. 

Once you and Daryl were safely hidden behind the bushes, you grabbed the hem of his vest, tugging at it to get his attention. “Where the fuck is Merle? He was supposed to be on watch,” you asked, gritting your teeth in annoyance. 

“How the fuck should I know?” 

Before you could retort back, you saw something moving in the distance behind Daryl. It took you a second to realize what was coming, and if it wasn’t for the moon shining so bright in the sky—you didn’t even want to imagine what could’ve happened. You pushed your brother with all the force you had left in yourself, making him fall flat onto the ground, twigs and dirt tangling in his light brown hair. You followed in his steps immediately, throwing yourself face-first onto the litter. A sharp shining object swished past your lying forms milliseconds after, cutting through the air where Daryl’s head just had been. The knife rammed into the ground at your feet. You didn’t move for several moments, both breathing deeply with eyes wide open in shock and relief. 

“What the fuck?!” Daryl snarled as he scrambled to his feet, looking in the direction the weapon came from. 

“Bet my right hand we just found Merle,” you scoffed, standing up on shaky legs.

You dusted yourself off, but it didn’t help much. Your pants were still mucky, with dirt, leaves, and twigs sticking to the fabric like glue. You quickly gave up trying to pry them off, remembering there were more important things you had to deal with first. Everything else could wait, but before you’ve dealt with Merle and the creepers, you had to keep your guard up and eyes focused on your surroundings. 

“Over ‘ere!” you heard your older brother’s voice call through the forest, not a care in the world about the goddamn undead.

Daryl took a look at the camp you’d left behind. The stragglers shuffled around the clearing, looking for their next meal. They either didn’t hear Merle’s booming voice or were too distracted by the smell of squirrels’ remains that were thrown out carelessly by the edge of your camp. 

You walked over to your older brother, and before anything could be said or done by any of the men, you punched Merle straight in the face, making him step back in pain and shock. His hand shot up to hover over his bleeding nose. Your clenched fist hurt, but the pain was good—it was worth it. 

“You pull shit like that one more time, and I swear I’ll stick that knife so far up your ass.” You scowled at him but raised your hands in the air as a gesture of peace when Daryl stepped between the two of you and sent you a scolding stare. 

“Damn, Baby. Thought ya were walkers lookin’ for some goodies.” Merle chuckled at his own words, and it took all strength in you not to push Daryl out of your way and hit him again. 

“I don’t fucking care what you thought we were,” you growled out through clenched teeth. “Daryl could’ve gotten seriously hu—”

“Can ya both shut yer mouths? Ya can bicker later after we get outta ‘ere,” Daryl cut you off, his eyes trailing around the forest to ensure there were no other infected around. His fingers tapped the crossbow nervously. 

You ignored him, slipping your rifle off your back to clutch it safely in your hands before you continued in a hushed voice, “Why didn’t you wake us up?” 

“Wasn’t gonna disturb yer beauty sleep.” You wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his stupid face. “Figured it’s jus’ two creeps, should be easy enough tah get rid of.”

Daryl scoffed dismissively at Merle’s stupidity, not even sparing your older brother a glance. He started walking in the opposite direction of your camp, his crossbow ready to shoot in his hands. You followed after him, and so did Merle, although he protested about leaving your things—mainly his bike—behind. 

“Don’t know how he threw that knife, he’s as high as a kite,” you stated, catching up to your younger brother. You matched his pace, glancing over your shoulder from time to time, making sure Merle didn’t wander off in his delirious state. 

“Don’t matter. He ain’t even thinkin’ clearly. There were four of ’em at least.” Daryl shook his head, already exhausted by the situation at hand. 

“What are we gonna do about him?”

At the exact same moment the question left your lips, Merle tripped behind the two of you and fell on his ass with a grunt that preceded a clamorous: “Fuckin’ hell!” The faint groans in the distance made Daryl, and you freeze in your spots, heavy feet glued to the ground. They didn’t sound that far away. The realization made you come unstuck, and you jogged over to your older brother. 

“Damn it, get up!” 

You grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet while he giggled like a fucking schoolgirl. Who put themselves in a state like that in the middle of an apocalypse? It wasn’t the time and place for that. You didn’t get it at all; if he wanted to live, he had to be able to fight, not trip over his own feet every five seconds. Yet Merle proved himself to be untrustworthy and unable to look after his own ass once again. No wonder he failed at making sure you could get at least a few hours of sleep safely. 

“I swear Merle, whether you are my blood or not,” you started, grunting when he threw his arm over your shoulder, “I will leave you here to get eaten by those monsters.” You tried to keep moving forward, but the weight he leaned on you didn’t make it easy.

“I ain’t seein’ any creeps’ ere. Say we’re pretty safe, dontcha think?” It took everything in you to not kick him away and say you were done. 

Daryl watched your backs in silence. He had no idea what to do either—despite spending the last ten years with him one-on-one. You still couldn’t believe he survived it without putting a gun to Merle’s head—or maybe he did, but decided not to pull the goddamn trigger. 

You heard the groans getting closer, another one joining and a third following. The shuffling and rustling of leaves told you there were more of them than at the camp. You watched the horror build up in Daryl’s eyes as he tried to tell how many of them could possibly be straggling toward you. 

Then all hell broke loose.

As soon as they reached the parking lot, Rick immediately got a bear hug from his son. From the looks of it, Carl had been crying. Shane turned his head away and kept walking—until Carl grabbed his hand and gave him a hug too. 

Just an hour ago he had been fighting literal ghouls, but that… That nearly toppled Shane over. And it had nothing to do with the pain. He looked down, his hand hovering awkwardly somewhere near Carl, but not on him. Lori suddenly looked furious. Again.

Carl looked up at Shane, eyes red-rimmed, but suddenly bright with curiosity. Maybe relief… But mostly curiosity. 

“What was in there, Shane?”

Shane snapped back to reality and exchanged a look with Rick. 

“Walkers,” Shane said immediately, voice raspy and tired. “Whole bunch o’ them.”

“Did you get them all?”

“Yeah. Yeah, bud. We did.” 

Sometimes Shane lied with the fluency of a native tongue. But now, the way he looked at Carl with all that sudden warmth—that was the most honest thing you have ever seen in him before.

“When can I learn how to shoot?” Carl asked. 

Shane just gave a short, sharp heh, like the sound slipped out before he meant it to, and that was Rick’s cue to stir the boy back towards their car. 

When Rick moved to help Shane again, he swatted Rick’s hand away with a grunt. 

“Quit fussin’. Ain’t my first rodeo,” he muttered, though the visible injury told another story. He tried to ignore the way the world tilted when he started to walk again. 

“You shouldn’t keep a dislocated shoulder hangin’ too long,” Dale said immediately, as soon as Shane passed him.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted, then walked a bit faster towards his Jeep.

Rick sighed heavily and said something to Lori, something only she could hear. She nodded stiffly. Then Rick approached you and your cousins.

“We keep this between us,” he said quietly. And for once, no one felt like cracking any jokes. “No need spooking the rest with…” Rick trailed off.

“Think they were infected,” you replied. “Just… ain’t walkers. Somethin’ else.”

“You heard them talk.” Rick looked at you pointedly.

“Yes,” you rolled your eyes, “but think ‘bout it. They ate folk. For a long time, I reckon. Since before the virus.”

You expected Rick to argue, but no. Not this time.

“Why d’ you think that?” he asked.

“One, the eyes,” you replied quickly, as if you were worried your time to answer was limited. “They got bigger, sensitive to light, like. The skin—fragile. Pale, but the sick kind. An’ all of ‘em walked like this.” You hunched to demonstrate. “‘Cause of them narrow corridors. That kinda change, that ain’t happenin’ ‘less folk spend their life in the dark. Must’ve been whole generations of ‘em.”

Rick and your cousins were completely silent, looking at you with curious expressions.

“You… got all of this after that?” Rick cleared his throat.

“Ya don’t believe me.”

“No, this… No, ain’t ‘bout believin’.” Rick stared at you, as if seeing you for the very first time. “Just… Good memory.”

You frowned, unsure if it was a compliment or an excuse to get out of the conversation.

“She got a point,” Merle drawled, but it was unclear whether he really agreed or just wanted to fuck with Rick.

“Hells, ya ain’t gotta believe her, but look at the cars.” Daryl pointed to the main street of the town, all the storefronts deceptively dark and silent. “Ya really think everybody ‘round here loves them ol’ vintage cars?”

All of you looked down, then back to each other.

“Okay.” Rick let out a small huff and nodded. “Sounds like a theory. Maybe… Maybe there ain’t just walkers out there.”

“Havin’ said that…” Rick shot Merle a wary look. Merle pretended he didn’t see. “There ain’t no use in frightenin’ people with it right now. We gotta keep it between us.”

You hesitated, but then looked up at him and nodded. Daryl and Merle did the same, the pact now sealed between you. 

“Good work, you three.” Rick nodded. “We wouldn’t ‘ve made it outta there without you, that’s for damn sure.”

After a while, everyone settled down as much as they could. The survivors locked the church tight and everyone got ready to sleep in their cars and haphazardly set up tents. Rick made sure to tell the lookouts to stay extra vigilant. He didn’t elaborate as to why.

The remaining fires burned down low and, for the moment, there was no more scuffing of bare feet or disembodied whispers. You and your cousins were getting ready to set up for the night, though Shane and Rick’s argument proved hard not to overhear.

“Goddammit, Shane, just let Dale—”

“Ain’t nobody touchin’ me!” Shane snarled, jerking away as Dale reached for him again. The movement clearly cost him. He winced in pain before he could mask it. 

“Fuck… Popped it back in plenty times m’self.”

Rick sighed, rubbing his temple. Dale still tried to help.

“Dislocations aren’t sprained ankles, son. You risk tearing ligaments if—”

“Don’t give me your House M.D. bullshit!”

You observed it all for a good moment. Shane kept arguing and you recognized the hitch in his breathing—the same ragged edge your Pa had after that boar threw him into a gully. Resulted with a dislocated shoulder too, and the most stressful field medicine job of your life.

“The fuck they on ‘bout now?” Merle muttered, lighting a cigarette.

“Shane done dislocated his shoulder in that crypt,” you replied, still watching the argument unfold. “An’ if they sit ‘round much longer, that shoulder’s gonna be all sorts of broke.”

“Good riddance,” Merle chuckled dryly. “Boy’s got two brain cells and both of ’em beggin’ for a nap.”

“What’re we talkin’ ‘bout?” Daryl joined you and promptly stole one of Merle’s cigarettes without asking. Merle grumbled something, then just gave him the light.

“Shane’s arm,” you muttered, eyes still fixated on that trainwreck of an intervention. 

“Ah.” Daryl nodded. “Shame to lose ‘im.”

“He ain’t ‘bout to die,” you scoffed.

“Nah, but he sure as hell won’t shoot no more.”

True. 

Your mind went back to that crypt. To Shane blasting that shotgun, then covering the perimeter even one-handed, without missing once. This group was already all sorts of messy and if they lose that… 

“He’ll figure it out,” you decided. 

“Nah, he won’t.” Daryl shook his head. “He ain’t built to sit. An’ he fights like a devil’s ‘bout to call ‘im home.”

Silence fell between you. 

“Fuck,” you grunted.

“Eh? The fuck’re ya doin’ now?” Merle demanded to know, but you were already on the move.

You shouldered between Rick and Dale before the debate could circle again. 

Shane’s glare sharpened as you stepped into his space. “The hell you think you’re—”

“Shut up,” you said flatly, fingers already probing the swollen joint. “Y’ever done this before or you just yappin’ outta your ass? ‘Cause we don’t set it now, it ain’t never gon’ heal and you ain’t never gon’ fire a gun proper again.”

Shane clenched his teeth. “Field-set it once or—”

“Then ya know damn well you ain’t got time.” You jerked your chin to the hood of his car. “On your back there.”

Shane opened his mouth, but then Rick was already manhandling him. Dale watched you with a curious, sharp expression on his face. 

“Arm over the edge.” You walked up there and didn’t wait for permission, grabbing Shane’s wrist and elbow in a firm grip. Shane’s curse dissolved into a sharp exhale as you rotated the arm to a ninety-degree angle, his free hand scrabbling at the car hood.

“Now ya grab his side, hard,” you said to Rick, who immediately moved to intervene. “Make sure he ain’t gon’ punch me.”

You looked down at Shane. “A’ight, cowboy. On three. One…”

Shane screamed, the sudden pop of the joint a wet, disgusting sound that made even Merle wince from across the lot. Shane thrashed, swearing through clenched teeth as sensation flooded back into the limb.

You stepped back, wiping your palms on your pants. 

Rick visibly exhaled as well and still held onto Shane, until Shane swatted his hands away. He flexed his fingers experimentally, the color slowly returning to his face. 

Then he snuck a look at you, but you were already walking away. His good hand shot out to grab you. “Where’d a backwoods brat learn to do that?”

You hesitated, just for a moment. “Had to get it done before,” you replied. “For a… Someone I love right much.”

That sudden honesty, that slim trace of vulnerability, earned you a rare response from Shane—silence. He let go of you, slowly.

“Y’all need to make ‘im a sling,” you said then. Fortunately, Dale was three steps ahead of you and already had one. Shane grumbled, but this time he accepted help. Reluctantly. 

“Thank you.” Rick said what needed to be said instead of Shane, his face calmer now, as if it was his hand that had been on the line there. You just nodded and walked back to your corner of the lot.

“Next you’ll be braidin’ each other’s hair,” Merle muttered as you walked past him to get to your tent. You had no strength for any good retort.

Half an hour later, uneasy silence fell over the camp. The posted lookouts stayed vigilant and the remaining four fires burned low. The rest slept. Or, most of them.

Shane couldn’t. He couldn’t say whether it was the throbbing pain, that cannibal nest, or the unsettling realization that he owed someone, owed you thanks. His mind wouldn’t rest. 

He sat apart from the others, back against his car, probing the makeshift sling Dale had given him. The fire closest to him was slowly burning down to embers. 

That was when Carl found him.

The boy tried to sneak, then just hovered at the edge of the firelight, his shadow stretching long across the dirt. Shane noticed him immediately, but pretended not to.

Something heavy settled in his stomach. Because that ultimatum still stood. 

You stay away from my family.

“You ain’t supposed to be out here,” Shane said finally, not looking up.

Carl shuffled closer, ignoring the warning. “Does it hurt?”

Shane let out a low huff at the question. Because the boy cared. Shane knew that. That there, that made all of it unbearable.

“Wouldn’t matter if it did,” Shane replied, taking a slow pull from his canteen. The water was warm, tasting metallic. “Ain’t the first time.” He finally looked at Carl. “Won’t be the last.”

Shane tried to smile, then decided against it. 

“You said they were just walkers, Shane.”

There was an accusation in that voice. All of a sudden, Carl did not sound like a kid anymore. Didn’t look it nowadays either. Shane tried to remember when exactly that happened, but it was blurry. The before. When he taught the boy to tie fishing knots during those long months at the quarry.

“Yeah?” Shane rasped.

“I know you’re lyin’. You and Dad. ‘Cause I heard him talkin’ to that lady with the bow earlier.” 

A long pause settled over them and they just looked at each other for a moment. Then, Shane shook his head and let out a long sigh.

“Sometimes,” Shane said finally, “grown-ups lie to protect kids from things they ain’t ready to carry yet.”

He tried not to encourage the boy—Rick’s boy—because that made it all so much worse, too. 

“You taught me how to track deer last winter. So… I’m not a kid.” Carl’s chin jutted out, stubborn. 

Just like Lori.

Shane’s throat tightened, that old familiar ache—part pride, part guilt. “Your dad’s back now,” he said carefully. “Ain’t my place no more.”

“But you were always there. Before…”

Shane exhaled and shook his head, trying to hide how much this talk affected him. He used to always be there. Had been in the boy’s life ever since Carl was born. 

Maybe didn’t attend all his baseball matches, but most of them. Never missed a birthday, though. And now… Now he was ordered to pretend Carl was a stranger.

“Listen…” Shane rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think. “You should go back to sleep, alright? Your parents’ll worry.”

The kid lingered, like he wanted to say more. Then he stepped closer and suddenly his hand landed on Shane’s good shoulder.

“Mom’s wrong, you know.”

Shane tensed so hard he nearly turned to stone. Then he shook his head, bitter regret rising to the surface inside him. Against his better judgement, he let Carl stay close. 

“No, no, don’t say that.” Shane shook his head. “She’s just, she’s…” 

Jesus Christ. 

“Your momma’s scared. And she should be, ‘cause…” 

“But I’m not scared!”

“Shh, hey…” Shane grabbed his hand, looking around. “What’ve we talked ‘bout? No shoutin’—”

“No shouting in camp,” Carl recited one of the rules, then shot Shane that same stubborn look.

Shane let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Atta boy.”

He patted Carl on the back, just once. Then he looked at him, very seriously. 

“This ain’t a very kind world for a kid,” Shane said. The words came out low, like they were scraped from somewhere deep. “Never was much of a good place, but now especially. So when your momma worries, she’s got a good reason.”

Carl thought about it for a long time, Shane could tell. He felt bad for the kid. But most of all, he wished he could protect him from all that shit.

“Listen to me, Carl…” Shane cleared his throat. “I wish, I wish you could’ve had a normal childhood, like me an’ your dad. I really do. But this ain’t the world we live in now. You understand that, don’t you?” 

Carl nodded. Shane honestly thought that would be it, but then the kid sat down next to him on the blanket. Shane let out a long, tortured sigh, but he let him stay anyway.

“Yeah, you’re a smart kid,” Shane muttered. “But listen… Your dad’s gonna protect you, alright? He’s here now—” 

“Show me how to pop it back?” Carl pointed to his sling.

Entirely surprised, Shane barked a quiet laugh that sounded more like a cough. “No, no. Ain’t got no lesson for that, buddy. That’s…” 

Shane’s gaze shifted in the direction of the Dixons. He didn’t exactly know what to think about you helping him like that.

“Get on back to bed,” Shane said. “But, uh…”

Carl got up, looking at Shane expectantly. Jesus. As if he had anything to offer to the kid at this point. 

And, as much as it cost him, Shane made a decision:

“Listen, I’ll talk to your dad. ‘Cause I say you’re gettin’ tall enough to learn a gun proper.”

The kid beamed at him and lingered, like he wanted to say more, but Shane’s head jerked towards the camp. “Go on.”

“They’re scared,” Merle said, moving close beside you.

He was gnawing on a strip of jerky, looking way too amused for someone in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.

But then, you figured, Merle had seen the warzone, and before that he had lived through one as a kid. The third time wouldn’t phase him much. 

“They’d be stupid not to,” you said, noncommittal.

“Nah.” Merle shook his head. “Ain’t just the dead they’re afraid of. It’s each other now. Look.”

So you looked closer, watched as arguments ensued here and there. Some people parted in anger, some argued with Rick or Shane, taking out their frustrations on the so-called leaders of the pack.

“Yeah. We should start packin’,” you said in the general direction of Merle and Daryl. “Thought there’s safety in numbers, but look at this bunch of assholes. They’re gon’ get us killed.”

There was nothing your cousins could counter that with. Merle just shrugged, Daryl went back to skinning squirrels.

“Got a better plan?” Daryl looked to you, already knowing you got one. Or at least a semblance of one.

“Not awful long way away from here to Savannah,” you said quietly, then looked up at Merle. “Daddy’s huntin’ lodge.”

Silence fell between the three of you. That wouldn’t be the worst idea. Your father was infamous all around Chatham county. He spent nearly fifty years living on and off the grid in the Okefenokee wilderness. 

For years, he’d take the local police force, the wildlife patrols, and any other members of the law on a merry little goose-chase, dodging nearly every single patrol that came his way. 

Some couldn’t even reach him, the deeper he went in. Some trails there weren’t accessible if you didn’t know where to look. The wetlands were deadly and the things living there—even deadlier.

But One-Hand Tommy knew these blackwater swamps better than anyone alive. Or dead, for that matter.

“If a gator ain’t got ‘im,” Daryl smiled to himself. 

“Or a walker,” Merle shrugged.

You scoffed. “If that gator couldn’t kill ‘im in ‘92, a zombie sure fuckin’ won’t. ‘Sides, there might be less of ‘em there.” You looked at the brothers pointedly. “Animals don’t turn.”

That got Daryl’s attention. “How?”

You frowned, shaking your head. “‘S like it’s only humans that catch it. ‘Cause I seen it. ‘Fore I got to Atlanta, I was hidin’ in this village for a bit. Then some looters came along an’ they had a dog with them, right, a big ‘un, one of them… Police dog-like.”

“German Shepherd,” Daryl said immediately.

“Yeah! That one.” You grinned. “So anyway, I hid from ‘em, ‘cause y’know, people, an’ then two walkers come out of the bushes. The dog jumps!” You snapped your fingers. “Just like that, right for the throat. An’ he was fine an’ all. Nothin’ happened to ‘im.”

The brothers exchanged pointed looks again.

“An’ walkers don’t swim,” Daryl pointed out. 

Merle grunted. “Hell, if the swamp in fuckin’ Okefenokee don’t take ‘em, anythin’ else livin’ there will.”

As you discussed this, you stopped paying attention to the rest of the group, especially that heated argument between Rick and Shane. Which is why you didn’t see Rick coming—alone, but with his arms lowered.

But Merle noticed. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Mornin’, Merle.” Rick sighed, then looked to you as apparently the least insane Dixon. “Got a minute?”

“For you? Naw,” you scoffed. The roof incident still wasn’t fully forgotten.

Rick clenched his jaw, obviously too tired for the verbal sparring. 

“Then I’ll cut to the chase. I know you’re ready to walk. All of you. Can’t say I’d blame you.”

None of you spoke. You exchanged careful glances with your cousins, then they both went back to what they were doing before. Only now, they were eyeing Rick like seriously pissed off cats.

“Y’all done told us to leave,” you reminded him. “An’ we will. Ain’t no point sayin’ it again.”

“Technically, it was Shane,” Rick exhaled, wiping the sweat off his forehead and subsequently smudging even more dirt on it. He was panting too, but trying to hide it. Badly.

“Jesus, man, you’ll keel over.” You stood up abruptly, then tossed a pillow on the ground and pointed it to him.

You shared a bit of your water, which made Merle grumble and Rick stare at you in disbelief.

“What?” You sighed. “Oh, I know what ya folk think of us. We ain’t evil just ‘cause we don’t like y’all’s asshat rules.”

“Fair point,” Rick agreed, then gladly drank the water you offered.

“We’ll leave,” Daryl told him, as if to confirm what Rick came over here to say. “Give us rest of today, we leave first light tomorrow.”

Rick shook his head. “I had a talk with Amy. And Andrea, her sister.” He looked up at Merle. “They’re grateful.”

“Yeah, I didn’t do it for them,” Merle grumbled, but you saw something in his eyes that told a different story.

It was an accidental good deed, but even a man like him couldn’t exactly be angry about young Amy being alive and well.

“Far as I’m concerned, whatever happens next, it’s up to you.” Rick looked up again. Drank some more water. “Aside from Amy, Dale fixed his RV. We got the parts from your hideout.” 

“They were just layin’ around,” you muttered.

“Still. That’s at least three folk that owe you big thanks an’ you didn’t even ask for anything’ in return.” Rick paused. “And there’s no denyin’ we’d starve without Daryl. We don’t exactly have hunters to spare.”

“Stop kissin’ our ass,” you grunted. “Y’all want somethin’.”

Rick nodded, honest as always. “I’m asking you to stay. Not ‘cause I like the way things went down. I don’t. But this group—these people—they don’t make it without folk like you.”

“Folk like us?” Daryl’s grin was all teeth. “I swear, y’all make my head hurt. What folk’d that be, huh?”

Rick’s jaw worked for a second. “Folk that’ve done this before. Survived in the wild.” He looked at you. “You told us some stories, back in Atlanta—”

“Yeah, ain’t that sweet,” you interrupted Rick. “You said all these real nice things, though. Not Shane. Now, you done told me yesterday he ain’t y’all’s king, but the way I see it, he sorta is.”

That one was a curveball for Rick, you could tell. Shane was his friend, you three—very much weren’t. 

“That may be…” Rick finally spoke. “But if you walk out, he’ll take that as a win. I’d rather we decided who we are. As a group.”

“We ain’t a part of your li’l group and ya know it,” Merle snarled. 

Rick clenched his teeth again. He wouldn’t beg. But he was running out of options. 

“Let your cousin come talk with the rest,” Rick said to Merle. “She’s impartial to this. She can hear it for herself.” His tone was careful, diplomatic—like he was negotiating with wild animals.

“What, ya think we’re gon’ start another fight?” Daryl huffed out a laugh. “Maybe get your boy on a leash, Rick. An’ I don’t mean Carl.”

But then you stood up abruptly.

“Fine. I’ll come with ya. See for myself.”

Rick looked a little surprised, but he got up equally quickly. “Okay. Yes. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Merle snarled, and he meant that literally. He’d rather people didn’t know he or his kin had any sort of heart. “The fuck you think you’re doin’, girl?”

“Remember Uncle Bill and the shit fuckin’ piece of that farm he like to done killed Uncle Coy for? Same fuckin’ thing, only Shane’s mouthier.”

Daryl let out a laugh. Rick decided to stand there patiently, but his mouth twitched just a tiny bit.

“Ah, for cryin’ out loud!” Merle waved his hand dismissively.

You went down the hill together with Rick, still wary but willing to negotiate. You wouldn’t mind another couple of days to gather supplies before you three headed out.

As you suspected, Shane’s eyes snapped to you the second you stepped into the clearing with Rick. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch beneath his stubble. 

“Ya’ll best not be thinkin’ you’re stayin’!” he shouted, stepping forward. He reeked of sweat and his shirt was clinging to his chest where it had soaked through. 

You shrugged, rolling your shoulders like you didn’t give a damn either way. “Just ‘ere to hear what’s bein’ said.”

“Well, nobody asked you.”

“Rick asked me,” you countered. “An’ he was real Southern manners ‘bout it, so it’d be rude to leave ‘im hangin’.” You nodded at Rick. He seemed… relieved. 

Shane scoffed, kicking at the dirt. “Ain’t nothin’ to hear. We got rules for a reason. Safety in goddamn numbers means trust, and I don’t trust you.”

You sighed and shook your head. “I swear to God, cowboy, if brains was leather you couldn’t saddle up a junebug.”

That earned you a giggle from Amy, concealed as a sudden cough attack. Obviously, Shane’s blood pressure only heightened.

“Enough.” Rick’s voice was firm, exhausted but unwavering. “We’ve buried enough people today. We don’t need to dig another grave over this.” 

Andrea took the opportunity to step in, her arms still crossed but her voice calm. “Look y’all, no reason to quibble. The Dixons helped us yesterday, that is a fact. Me more than most.” She glanced at Amy, who nodded quickly.

“That’s right,” Amy said, her voice steadier than expected. “Even if Merle…” The girl glanced at you, “I’m sorry. Merle is who he is. We’ve seen him at camp, you only just got here. He wasn’t exactly a prince.”

You shrugged and then nodded. That wasn’t news.

“But,” Amy continued, “he saved me. I don’t care why he did it—he was there, he did.”

Shane scoffed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So what? We just forget what they are? What they’ve done?”

“Now wait a damn minute. I ain’t done nothin’ to you,” you said, loud and clear. “Y’ know what, Shane, ya sure got real special way of thankin’ folk who do you a favor.”

Shane’s voice was lower now, dangerous. “You wanna talk about favors? Fine. Let’s talk. Every damn mouth we gotta feed is another bullet we don’t got to protect them. Another watch shift stretched thin. You ain’t earnin’ shit just ‘cause your kin dragged his ass outta his own mess!”

His glare flicked up the hill, obviously to Merle. “Only reason he lived this long is ‘cause he ain’t worth the bullets it’d take to put ‘im down.”

You were this close to another outburst, but then decided it would be pointless. You looked around. It quickly became clear that everyone agreed. 

You weren’t that much of an issue to most of them, Daryl definitely wasn’t. It was Merle. And the group tried to figure out how to work around the whole Dixon package.

“Look y’all,” you sighed, “I ain’t tellin’ you my kin’s business here. Merle is… Merle.” You hesitated. It was the most uncomfortable they have seen you yet. “An’ I know the kinda shit he’s spewin’ sometimes.” 

“Oh, good.” T-Dog exchanged looks with Rick. “Just as long as we’re all aligned.”

Your cheeks burned hot and the sun had nothing to do with it.

“Yeah. I hear ya. I don’t think like that,” you continued. “Daryl don’t neither. That kinda talk—hate like that—ain’t how we were raised, no matter what folks say. It came after.”

“What did?” T-Dog wanted to know and you didn’t blame him. “‘Cause this, that’s some bullshit! ‘We ain’t all hateful, just sometimes’?!”

You nodded. He was right. “There’s a story, sure... But you should ask Merle.”

“Like hell!”

“Well, it ain’t mine to tell!” 

“Then what good is it?!”

Your shoulders slumped. “You’re right. Just… know it ain’t some dumb hillbilly shit, like y’all like to throw ‘round. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Shane let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hell of a sales pitch, sweetheart. Real reassurin’.”

“You think you’re slick, don’tcha? Playin’ both sides—‘Ohhh, but we ain’t all hateful, tee-hee!’—bullshit. You ain’t foolin’ me for a second.” Shane’s eyes flicked to you, mouth twisting. “That fancy-ass Robin Hood act don’t mean squat out here.”

Glenn, who’d been quiet up until now, stepped forward before Rick could speak, his voice a tiny bit nervous. “Look, I just wanna say… I—I was with Daryl that one time, when we got the guns from the cop car. He could’ve left me there when things went bad. He didn’t.” He shot you a quick glance. “And she’s been straight with us since Atlanta. Covered our asses from the walkers. If she says she’s not like that, I’m willing to give her a chance.”

Shane’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t the point—”

“Then what is?” Rick cut in, the patience in his voice fraying at the edges. “You wanna run ‘em out ‘cause of what they might do? Then Lori’s right—where do we stop? You gonna kick me out next? Maybe Carol, ‘cause her abusive husband was a liability?” He stepped closer to Shane, his voice dropping low. “We don’t got the luxury of pickin’ and choosin’ who we survive with anymore.”

Then, Dale cleared his throat and stepped forward. 

You noticed that. “How’s your car, Mister Dale?”

Dale looked at you, a little surprised at the deference. What could you say, Southern manners did die hard. And the old man actually seemed genuinely nice.

Dale nodded at you slowly. “With that new cap, she’ll ride until the wheels fall off. And I hear we got the parts thanks to you.”

You shook your head. “Not me. Your friend there spotted them. But… that don’t matter I guess.”

The friction eased and the air suddenly became breathable again. Shane, though… You saw it in seconds. He took it as an excuse.

“Don’t mean shit,” he snapped. “One decent act don’t erase the fact that Merle’s a loose cannon, so are the rest of them!”

Andrea let out a deliberate, exasperated sigh. “Alright, y’all. I’m gonna go eat before Shane burns the whole place down out of spite. C’mon, Amy.” 

“Listen here, sweetheart—” Shane pointed his finger at you now, but you weren’t having it. You swatted it away, done with accommodating his ego.

“A’ight,” you said, loudly. “So what’s it gonna be, big man? I punch you, you punch me, then we good?”

His eyes burned with that volatile heat, the kind that made lesser men flinch. But not you. That made him mad. 

He put the shovel down, slowly. “Nah, I ain’t squarin’ up with a girl.”

“Got three brothers an’ twelve cousins, I ain’t above punchin’ a dude.” 

He laughed, his voice low and rough. “Babygirl, you don’t know me.”

“Sure I do. Met lotsa cops like you.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. Nobody said a word. You could practically feel the collectively held breath of the group—Lori’s sharp exhale behind you, Rick’s muttered “Jesus”, Glenn’s careful retreat.

“Shane…” Rick tried to say something, but Shane wasn’t listening to anyone at this point. 

“Go right ahead, sweetheart. Take your best shot,” he said, suddenly much quieter.

Rick moved in then, his own cop instincts finally kicking in as he physically restrained his snarling friend. “Okay, that’s enough, you two.” His voice cut through the tension like a blade. “We’re not doing this. Not now.”

Shane’s jaw worked, his eyes burning with unspent rage as he glared at you over Rick’s shoulder. “She doesn’t get to—”

“Shane, that is enough.” Rick’s tone left no room for argument.

But you were done. Your patience was drained. Frankly, you didn’t give two shits if these people would starve without Daryl or not.

“We ain’t gotta stay,” you said. “I only came down ‘ere for my cousins. Ain’t gon’ babysit grown-ass men when we could all die any minute.”

You turned around to walk up the hill. You had a lot to think about and none of the answers were convenient.

Ultimately, this also wasn’t your call. But you’ve survived this far on your own and weren’t about to get yourself killed over some cop’s manly pride.

As you walked up to your tent, you saw Merle and Daryl were already packing—dismantling their little corner, gathering supplies, checking gear. Merle was full of smug satisfaction, but Daryl… He actually wasn’t saying a word.

“We’re leavin’ then?” you asked them.

“Hell yeah, we are!” Merle spat on the ground. “We could hear Walsh whinin’ all the way up here. Let ‘em rot in their little soap opera. We don’t need ‘em!”

“I guess not.” You shrugged. “Alright. Lemme grab my shit.”

“But they need us,” Daryl said then and that gave both you and Merle one hell of a pause.

“You serious?” you asked. 

“Rick knows it. What, y’think he came all this way ‘cause he loves us so damn much?” Daryl shrugged, “Rest of ‘em don’t neither. They don’t say it much, but… You know.”

“Then why?”

“They eat ‘cause of me. They sleep ‘cause they feel safer when someone who’s actually a good shot ‘s on watch.”

“Don’t mean they respect you, little brother,” Merle scoffed. “You’re a damn bloodhound to them.”

“I like it here. Don’t mean I trust ‘em all. But it’s… I dunno. It’s the first time I ain’t just followin’. An’ some of them are nicer than Walsh. Like Carol. Or Dale, he’s alright.”

You looked at Daryl, then Merle, and all three of you stood there for a moment, silent, each thinking hard about what had been said.

You saw that now. Here, Daryl wasn’t really his brother’s keeper. He was something much more. 

“Feels different,” Daryl muttered. “Don’t gotta be Merle’s kid brother here. Don’t gotta be anyone’s.”

He looked away, jaw clenched. The woods around you seemed quieter now. You all knew what he meant. 

Merle lit a cigarette, trying not to show he was somewhat hurt.

“What they told me you’re sayin’ these days, Merle… You weren’t always like this,” you said, softer than usual.

“Shut up.”

“No.”

You saw it in his eyes—he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Yeah, well,” Merle grumbled eventually, taking a long puff. “World’s changed. In case you haven’t noticed.”

“An’ you’re still talkin’ shit Uncle Earl beat into you.”

“You shut your mouth, girl!” he snarled. “‘Fore I shut it for ya!” 

“Lord above, you just shut it! I already got one angry man yappin’ at me today. That shit is vile, Merle, it ain’t true, an’ it can’t keep happenin’ no more. Like you said, the world’s ended.” You looked at the brothers again. “Clearly, Daryl’s the smartest of us here.” 

Daryl smiled, just a fraction. “Yeah, we all gotta change ‘cause the old world ain’t comin’ back.”

You nodded and looked at Merle again. He looked like he was chewing on rocks. “We stand still, the pack don’t survive.”

Silence fell for a long while. Nobody looked at one another. Then you raised your hand, just to a shoulder level. Closed your first. Extended three fingers.

Your secret greeting. Three fingers—Merle, Daryl, and you.

That resolved the tension just slightly, even Merle cracked a smile. A brief one. Seems the packing was postponed. For now.

You had no idea what to do now, but apparently someone did:

“Headin’ out,” Daryl informed you both and handed you your bow. 

That was his way of asking you to go hunting with him. You grabbed your arrows and you were off. 

You fell into step behind Daryl, feeling better as soon as you were surrounded by the foliage and not people. This was good. This was familiar. Every rustle of leaves, every twig snapped underfoot was a language you understood. 

Daryl didn’t even glance back, just grunted:

“So. Ya done makin’ friends at camp?”

You smirked. “Never started.”

Daryl clicked his tongue. His version of disapproval. “You shouldn’t provoke Shane so much. He ain’t exactly the type to piss off.”

You paused, then made a face. “Yeah, I noticed. What’s his problem?”

“Don’t rightly know. Me ‘n’ Merle joined before Rick came back. Shane got weird after that there. But I’ve seen his mean streak ‘fore that an’ it ain’t pretty.”

“Ain’t they cop friends?”

“Yeah. Partners, so we was told,” Daryl sighed, “Rick came back from the dead, is what people were sayin’. Lori, that’s his wife, she was told he done died back home months ago when the outbreak hit. Two or three days ago, he just comes back.”

“Goddamn…”

“Hm. Shane started actin’ all crazy the next day.”

“Why?”

Daryl sighed and shook his head. “More I look at ‘em, the more I think they’re all a-fightin’ ‘bout something only three o’ them know what that there’s about.”

“Who?”

“Shane, Rick an’ Lori.”

Daryl moved ahead, his crossbow held low but ready. He didn’t need to look back to know you were there; your steps synced with his like they had when you were kids tracking rabbits through the backwoods. 

“So what’re we doin’?” you asked him, quietly. 

“We gotta give ‘em peace offerin’. Take away Shane’s vote.”

Damn. He really was the smartest of the bunch. Only more proof you three should stay together.

A crow cawed overhead. Daryl paused, tilting his head toward the sound. You froze beside him.

“Deer trail,” he said, nodding to the faint imprints in the soil. “Fresh.”

You crouched, running your fingers over the edge of a hoofprint. The edges hadn’t crumbled yet and they were deep. “Big one.”

Daryl’s mouth twitched. “Bet I nail it first.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

It took a couple hours of careful work, but that buck never stood a chance.

Daryl’s bolt took it through the lung; your arrow pinned its hind leg to the ground before it could bolt. It went down thrashing, but you ended it quick—one clean slit across the throat.

Daryl put his own knife away, eyeing your handiwork. He grunted in approval, which was high praise coming from him. The weight of the kill settled between you, comfortable.

He slung the buck’s hind legs over his shoulders, you held the front.

“Still remember your trick with the nail traps?” he asked. 

“Yeah… Why?”

“Just thinkin’.”

“Walkers?”

“Hm.”

You exhaled. “Maybe. But we’d have to get some serious tools to build that.”

Daryl snorted, adjusting the weight of the buck. “Maybe. Bullshit.”

“What?” 

“You love showin’ off.”

“Or maybe I just like shootin’ walkers myself.”

He thought about it. But then shook his head. “Nah.”

The banter was easy, familiar—like no time had passed at all. For a moment, the world outside these woods didn’t exist. No walkers, no camp.

“So you got tools?”

“Dale has. An’ he likes us a li’l now.”

Then the wind shifted. You both slowed down. The forest fell quiet. No birds. No nothing. There was no need to wonder what it was. You gently put the buck down on the grass. 

The bow was in your hands, arrow drawn taut. Not even a second later, that thing lurched out of the brush, milky eyes immediately fixing on you and Daryl. Its jaw dislocated with a wet squelch.

Daryl’s head tilted, just a fraction. You sent the arrow flying, hitting the zombie straight on the chest. It stumbled, then just kept on walking.

“Oooh,” Daryl let out a dry chuckle, absolutely loving the headshot fail. “You must be tired, huh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, already readying another.

The sun was low by the time you and Daryl made it back to camp, the buck slung between you, its weight making your shoulders ache. But the ache was worth it. The scent of blood and fresh meat clung to you, sharp and metallic.

Eyes turned your way the second you stepped into the clearing with that buck. A few widened—some in surprise, others in cautious appreciation. You saw now what Daryl had meant. You didn’t give two shits about these people, personally, but you cared a lot about Daryl. You’d tolerate it for him.

Shane stood near the campfire, arms crossed over his chest. He had that look again—the one like he’d already made peace with hell.

Daryl didn’t even glance his way. Just let the buck’s hind legs drop with a thud at the makeshift station by the trees. 

“Dinner,” he grunted, to none in particular.

It was quiet for a while. But nothing quite like hunger to bring people to your cause.

“Damn,” Glenn breathed, already moving closer to inspect the kill. “That’s—that’s a lot of meat.”

Dale let out a low whistle. “Sure is.” He looked at you, then at Daryl. Maybe not kindly, but not in a hostile manner either.

Rick stepped forward. His expression was unreadable, but there was something there—something like relief. “Appreciate it.”

You shrugged, rolling your shoulders to ease the stiffness. “Figured we’d pull our weight.” You paused, then looked at Rick again, pointedly. He knew what you meant.

“Thank you, Daryl,” he said, and not through gritted teeth either.

“Yeah, a’ight, ain’t a big deal,” Daryl grumbled. “Y’all’re a real twitchy bunch, d’ you know that?”

Rick cleared his throat. “Uh… so, how much jerky can we make from—?”

“Enough for most everyone. S’pose vegetarians can drink tea instead, I dunno.”

Nobody spoke. And just like that, the tension snapped. Things could relax—for now.

“Good hunt?” The question came from Lori, of all people. She stood near the RV, Carl peeking out from behind her.

Daryl just nodded. 

You hesitated, but then remembered what Daryl told you. What she went through, not even three days ago.

You managed to smile like an actual person. “Woulda been better if this one didn’t steal my shot.”

Daryl scoffed. “Your shot? Arrow barely grazed it.”

“Bullshit, it pinned the damn thing!”

“Yeah, you wanna talk how it took you two strikes to fell that walker?”

You just laughed. “Fine.”

Dale chose that moment to cough loudly, hefting a pot.

“I’ll get the fire goin’ for the stew,” he announced, too cheery.

“Let me help you.” Carol joined him.

Then Daryl got to carving and you assisted. The smell was… potent.

“Ugh, I hate that part,” you muttered.

“Here.” Daryl took out his bandana, then tied it around your head like a mask. 

All it took was a second, then you immediately made finger guns:

“Nobody move, this is a robbery!”

Daryl let out a surprised laugh—sharp, like it caught him off guard.

Then—

“Alright, hands where I can see ‘em,” Rick deadpanned, the quirk of his mouth the closest thing to a smile he’d done in weeks. 

Then he clapped a hand on Daryl’s shoulder—just for a second—before heading back to Lori and Carl.

You refrained from any cop jabs. The man could actually be funny. That was a good sign.

You went back to carving and noticed Daryl giving you that look. That unguarded, softer look. For a moment it was like no time had passed from the moment you were twelve and climbing trees at your father’s lodge.

Screams erupted from the camp—names frantically shouted, kids herded toward safety. But there was no safety. It was chaos full of hungry biters.

Daryl didn’t wait for orders and neither did you. You vaulted onto the hood of the stripped Porsche, nocked an arrow and the closest walker dropped, then another one, and another.

Merle staggered but steadied himself against the van, gripping a stolen pistol tight. “Y’all call this a safe zone?!” He fired and a walker’s skull snapped back. “Pathetic…”

Then, a dark-haired man appeared on the scene, shotgun raised, already barking orders. By his sure stance you already knew it must have been the one they called Shane. 

Cop, no doubt about it. Decent aim though.  

Then he noticed you and Merle.

“The hell—Dixon?!”

“Fuck you, Shane!” Powered by 50% unfiltered liquor and rage, Merle eliminated walkers one by one with the biggest grin on his face. 

The army had trained him after all, this much you knew. He just never cared to use it for the greater good apparently.

“Rick, what the fuck?!” Shane shouted, then went back to shooting.

From your perch, your arrows found home with terrifying precision—30 yards, 50 yards, some further away, deliberately saving people you could tell didn’t know how to defend themselves. 

From the look of things, you were actually making a difference.

Then, you spotted something there in the dark, right beside the treeline. You shouted at top of your lungs at Shane:

“YOU!” Your voice cut through the noise and Shane whipped his head around just as you loosed an arrow. “DUCK!”

He didn’t. Your arrow sailed past him so close he felt the fletching cut his ear. Then it buried itself in a walker’s skull. That walker right behind him, one he hadn’t yet seen coming.

Shane’s eyes widened. “What the—” Then he touched his ear, saw the blood.

But you didn’t have time to look, you were already nocking another arrow. Merle cackled somewhere behind you, out of his mind and still somehow blasting another walker point-blank. 

Shane came close enough to the center of the camp to start herding people toward the RVs, but the tide was already turning. The walkers were thinning. Finally, the last one dropped—a clean strike, courtesy of a grey-haired man with a rifle.

“AMY!” 

As soon as the dust settled, some blonde woman from the crowd didn’t hesitate—she rushed to the younger girl by the RV, gripping her shoulders like she needed to confirm she was still breathing. 

“You okay?!”

The girl nodded shakily. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” She looked down at the walker that tried to bite her, the one Merle shot right as he got out of the car. 

Slowly, the others started to emerge from their hiding, trying to wrap their heads around what just happened and what they just lost. You weren’t made of stone. You did feel bad for them. 

Didn’t mean you’d say it out loud, though.

“No offence, cuz, but this place kinda sucks,” you said to Daryl, looking around at the damage.

As soon as you jumped down from that Porsche, Shane stormed towards you—his boots kicking up dust, his face a mask of fury. The tension in him would’ve given any other man a coronary.

“Who the fuck are you?! Goddamn reckless!” he snarled, but he got no chance to approach you. Suddenly, both Dixon brothers were there in front you, glaring at Shane like nobody’s business.

“Shane, this is…” Rick cleared his throat. “I don’t actually know her name. She’s their cousin.”

“Their what?!” Shane’s voice carried. More people got interested. Entertainment was the best distraction after all. 

“You—!” Shane pointed his finger at you, then hesitated. 

Your cousins presented their counter-arguments in a way that Shane understood—Merle was taller and Daryl still had his crossbow out.

Shane raged, but he also didn’t step any closer. “You could’ve put a hole in my damn head instead of that walker’s!” 

Daryl scoffed. He knew your aim. “Ain’t nobody accidentally kills a walker from sixty yards, asshole!” 

Your eyes locked with Shane’s, sharp as the arrow you had just fired to save his ass. Merle, meanwhile, finally collapsed onto the tailgate of the nearest truck, chuckling like he was in the audience of a stand-up show. 

“Shut your drunk ass up, Dixon!” Shane barked before jabbing a finger toward you again. “She coulda—”

“She didn’t, though.” Rick stepped in, exasperated, arms spread between you all like a referee.

“Y’mighta oughta done what I told ya an’ ducked,” you replied.

Oh, that pissed him off. Shane’s jaw clenched, his grip on his shotgun tightened.

“Lemme tell you somethin’, sweetheart. I’ve seen a few like you, with that habit of playin’ the hero,” he snarled. “One of these days, that aim’s gonna slip. And I promise you—when it does? It’s—”

“Jesus wept…” Daryl cut him off. “Ain’t ya got a damn perimeter to check?”

Merle spat in the dirt and smirked. “Y’all let him guard the gates? Explains the infestation.”

“That’s fuckin’ it! First light—you’re all out,” Shane spat. “All three! We don’t need this shit again!”

“Fine by me!” Merle shouted. “Enjoy starvin’, y’all!”

Rick exhaled hard, scrubbing a hand over his face. Merle might have been taunting them there, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t right. Daryl was the best hunter and tracker they had.

“Shane—we can’t just kick ‘em out. Not now, not after this. We need every capable fighter we’ve got.”

“Capable?” Shane barked a laugh. “One’s drunk, one’s trigger-happy, and the other—” His gaze turned to you. “Well, hell, we ain’t even got a name for whatever she is!”

You rolled your shoulders, grinning slow and sharp. Then you told him your name, loud and clear. It hung in the air now, no taking it back.

Shane’s right eye twitched a bit. “Yeah. A goddamn liability, like I said.”

“We ain’t the ones lettin’ walkers stroll right into camp,” Daryl snarled. “Maybe worry ‘bout that ‘stead of pissin’ y’selves over us!”

Silence fell after that, and a heavy one. 

You haven’t hunted with him in a while, but from what you remembered even Merle was decent, on a good day. In any case, evidently this group needed Daryl to survive. But Daryl would not stay without his family.

“Nothin’ to yap ‘bout now? Well, ain’t this precious,” Merle sneered. “A’ight then. Daryl! Where’s my bike at?”

“Here we go,” the blonde woman nearby rolled her eyes.

But then, that girl—Amy—stepped forward, wriggling out of blondie’s embrace. “Wait! Merle!” 

“Amy!” the woman hissed, fear and fury warring in her voice. “Stay away from him!”

Merle stopped, stunned and immediately wary. “The fuck you want, bitch?” he snarled.

But Amy didn’t rise to it. She walked up to the RV, then firmly pointed at the fallen walker beside it. “That one almost bit me! But I saw who—” Her voice cracked, just a bit, then she showed everyone her arm—clean, untouched. 

“You saved my life,” she said to Merle and for some reason made sure everybody heard.

There could not have been a stranger sentence spoken that day.

Merle blinked, momentarily thrown. “The hell I did!” he grunted, but the protest lacked his usual venom. Frankly, he looked like someone just slapped him.

Blondie moved to Amy’s side again, hugging her close. She looked like she wanted to say something, but then changed her mind at the last moment.

Then, that old man with the rifle cleared his throat and decided: 

“Well. Guess even a broken clock’s right twice a day.”

He watched as you slung your bow over your shoulder, then swung your leg over the back of Merle’s bike like you’d done it a thousand times before. Hell, you probably had.

“Quit dawdlin’, little brother, or we leave ya behind!” Merle complained, to which Daryl just gave him the finger. Merle grinned and replied with the same. 

Daryl’s truck might have seen better days, but he was very particular about his belongings. He wouldn’t be rushed.

“Y’ good?” Merle turned to you. “Damn girl, still knee-high to a grass hopper, ain’t ya?”

“Nuh-huh, I ain’t!” you huffed, but Merle just cackled and revved the engine.

Shane’s head snapped up, his glare burning holes in both of you, but it was Rick who finally sighed and walked over. 

“Merle, you keep that throttle quiet till we’re clear,” he warned, though there was no real heat in it. He hesitated, then looked at you. “And you just… try not to piss him off more’n he already is.”

Your gaze cut to Shane, then back to Rick. You leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “Maybe if he quits spewin’ that crazy talk of his, we might just not have that trouble no more.”

The smirk on Merle’s face was pure devilment. “Aw, ain’t this a damn shame,” he drawled, loud enough for Shane to hear. “All this teamwork, just to wind up tail-’tween-the-legs again.”

Rick shook his head, then picked up his pack, his voice carrying just enough to settle the murmurs of the group:

“We’re moving out! Everyone stick close. Keep your eyes open.”

The convoy lurched forward without further ado, with Dale’s RV in the front—the engine was no longer wheezing like an asthmatic, this time she was riding almost proudly.

The bike’s engine roared as you peeled out, kicking up dust behind you while Merle whooped like a madman in front of you.

His bike surged forward and you let out a surprised laugh, then raised both hands, grinning like the world wasn’t ending. Just for a second, the sheer speed of it made everything feel lighter. 

Shane kicked his Jeep into gear and followed the rest. For a moment he watched you and Merle from the rearview mirror, his reflection grim. Finally he deliberately skewed the mirror to point it anywhere else. 

Didn’t help. He could still hear that damn family—you—even when the bike vanished around a bend. 

For miles and miles, the road stretched ahead and the convoy rumbled on, chasing the dream of safety that would probably never come true. 

Merle kept pace with Daryl’s truck, close enough to see him roll his eyes at his brother’s antics. Daryl’s window was down, his arm resting on the doorframe, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against the metal. 

“Keep showin’ off,” he called over the engine noise, “gonna run outta gas ‘fore noon.”

Merle just grinned wider and revved the engine in response, making the bike lurch forward before easing back. The wind whipped at your clothes, carrying the scent of fumes and heated asphalt. 

For all the bullshit back at camp, this moment felt almost normal—like the old days when the three of you would ride through the backroads with no destination in mind.

Now and again, Shane watched Merle’s bike swerve across the road’s center line, kicking up gravel that pinged against his car. At least Shane drove alone and could swear as much as he wanted.

From time to time, Shane’s Jeep rumbled a few yards behind, close enough that you could feel the weight of his glare. But when you looked his way, he was always staring straight ahead.

“Man’s gonna burn a hole through our backs if he keeps that up,” you muttered, half-amused, but kept quiet since Shane was also driving with the windows down.

Merle had no such qualms. “Let ‘im! Man’s got shit taste in entertainment.”

Daryl shot you both a look that said—Knock it off before someone gets shot, but the corner of his mouth still quirked up.

Finally, Rick’s voice crackled through the radio static in the other vehicles:

“Stick close. The farm’s just up ahead—let’s hope it’s still abandoned.”

Soon after, your destination came into view. At first glance, the old farm looked empty and dilapidated. The fence had fallen down in places and the gate hung on the last remaining hinge. 

You could see an old farmhouse and a barn somewhere in the distance, along with a rusted water tower. The land around it was vast and empty, the corn crops completely dried down and covered with weeds. But no people. No walkers. For now.

The bike’s engine growled as Merle slowed to a crawl, his boots dragging through the dust to slow down. His eyes swept over the property with a grimace. “Well ain’t this a fuckin’ paradise,” he muttered, squinting at the sagging house in the distance.

Daryl pulled up alongside, his truck idling as he leaned out the window to scan the tree line. “Fence ain’t worth shit,” he said flatly. His fingers drummed against the door, restless. “Barn might hold, though. Seen worse.”

“Yeah, it might hold walkers,” you murmured.

“Most likely. But ain’t no smoke ‘round neither,” Daryl muttered. “Yeah, that don’t mean shit though.” 

Shane’s truck rolled up beside you, window down, his glare cutting sideways. “Real smart, blazing ahead like that. Coulda been an ambush.”

Daryl leaned out his window, spitting into the dirt. His eyes flicked back to the farmhouse, scanning the darkened windows. “Place looks picked clean.”

The other cars and vans slowly pulled to a stop behind you, but you were already focused on the property. 

“Alright, we do this real careful.” Rick was already out of the car, leaving Lori and Carl inside. “Daryl, Shane, with me up front. Rest of you keep eyes on that barn and the tree line.” His tone left no room for argument, though Merle’s scoff was audible over the idling engines.

Shane racked the slide of his shotgun, the sound deliberate and sharp. “Told ya we shoulda scouted first,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone, but his glare slid sideways to where you stood with your bow half-drawn.

Then, something grabbed your attention and you shielded your eyes from the sun with your palm, looking at that damn house.

“Stop.” You readied your bow, looking through the scope. You didn’t miss how it immediately made Shane roll his eyes. That man didn’t trust you one bit. “That barn door’s movin’.” 

“Well hell,” Merle drawled, pulling out his pistol. “Guess we found where the welcome party’s hidin’.”

Rick was already moving forward, his footsteps measured and quiet. “Daryl, take left side. Shane, right. Merle—” He paused, clearly fighting the urge to tell him to stay put. But then his eyes flicked to you and you decided to cut the man some slack. So far, Rick was alright. 

“We don’t shoot nobody who ain’t already dead,” you said, but couldn’t honestly tell if that eased any of Rick’s worries.

You didn’t miss the way Shane's shoulders stiffened when you brushed past him. For a moment you thought he at least wouldn’t bother to bicker at a time like this. But no. If Shane Walsh had anything, it was the audacity. And bad timing.

“You so much as twitch wrong, I’ll put you down before you blink.”

You glanced at him, smirking. “Yeah, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

Shane’s jaw clenched. “This ain’t a damn game, woman. You pull some reckless stunt here, people die. That simple.”

“Hell, listen to Sergeant Scowls over here,” Merle scoffed, then advanced with the look of a man who’d walked into situations much more dire than whatever this was.

You looked at Shane, thought hard about your next move, then decided against another sparring. You could see that left him even angrier, but you had no time for analyzing the man’s issues.

You moved to the side, then caught Merle’s gaze and jerked a thumb over your shoulder. Merle grinned and nodded. 

“The fuck’s that s’posed to mean?” Shane grimaced.

You took the higher position, keeping your bow half-drawn and your eyes on the shifting barn door.

Daryl had already melted into the overgrown corn stalks to your right, his crossbow ready. To the right, Shane finally got a grip and now moved with that same rigid cop movement you’d seen before.

Then the barn door creaked open just enough to reveal a flash of someone inside. Your fingers tightened on the bowstring and you looked through the scope. Rick moved to the right side of the door, he gave Shane some tactical cop signal and Shane nodded in agreement. 

Then, something clanked in that barn and your breath hitched, catching the deliberate way the figure lingered in the shadowed gap. Daryl noticed it too.

“Ain’t a walker!” Daryl shouted, then you dropped down on the ground when a shotgun fired somewhere in your vicinity. 

You didn’t hesitate, as soon as you rose up you let that arrow fly. It embedded itself in the barn door, right next to that slight opening. 

Someone inside yelped, then Rick’s voice cut through the tension:

“Hold fire! Everybody just hold!”

The shotgun blast still rang in your ears as the dust settled. Shane’s breath came fast through his nose, his shotgun still raised toward the barn where your arrow now protruded from the wood. 

“Goddammit,” he growled, not lowering his weapon, “who the hell’s sneaking around in there?!” His eyes flicked to Daryl just long enough to scowl—part disapproval, part begrudging acknowledgment that he’d been right.

“Come on out!” Rick called, voice firm but not hostile. “We’re armed, but we don’t want trouble.” The shadow in the barn shifted again, and a thin voice—young, scared—filtered out:

“Don’t shoot! We ain’t sick!”

A lanky teenage girl stepped haltingly into the light, hands raised, face pale under the grime. Behind her, the dim interior revealed a huddle of figures—two more kids, and an older woman clutching a rusted tire iron like a club. Their clothes hung loose, their eyes wide with the same wary exhaustion you’d seen in every other survivor since the world burned.

Shane’s grip on his shotgun didn’t waver, but his scowl turned into something more complicated. “Christ,” he muttered. 

Rick was already holstering his weapon and stepping forward, but you stayed alert. Something about this whole set-up stunk. You looked around and moved closer to Merle, Daryl following.

Merle spat in the dirt, unimpressed. He holstered his pistol with exaggerated slowness, until your hand snatched to his wrist. You shook your head slowly. You didn’t lower your bow—not yet.

“You alone out here?” Rick asked that scrawny girl and she almost replied something—until your eyes darted to her, sharper than broken glass.

The kid didn’t turn to the old woman or the kids. She looked straight to the cornfield.

“Rick, they ain’t alone!” you shouted, swiftly grabbing that teenager in a half-nelson. The girl shrieked, but she didn’t have much strength. 

Rick shouted something and so did Shane—but the latter didn’t look too bothered. Probably since he thought this would finally be his excuse to put you down.

The other kids shrieked in panic and the old woman nearly raised that tire iron at you—but Merle’s gun pointed to the girl’s head quickly trumped any other argument. 

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?!” Rick shouted again, but you looked up to the field, making sure whoever was out there saw who you were holding at gunpoint.

“Someone shot at me,” you snarled. “Ya seein’ any weapons with them bunch?!”

Rick followed your gaze, but not without you noticing that look on his face—the look that meant he just realised how exactly you managed to survive on your own until you reached Atlanta.

Daryl’s gaze was scanning the field, where the cornstalks stirred just a little too deliberately in the windless air. 

Then—

“Don’t shoot!” 

Four men emerged from the corn. 

“Daddy!” The girl was crying, but you didn’t give a shit.

The men moved cautiously, their weapons lowered but not relinquished—a farmer’s rifle, a battered machete, some tools-turned-desperate-defense. That didn’t make you feel any particular pity. 

The leader, a haggard man with sun-leathered skin and hollow eyes, took a halting step forward, hands raised. “Ain’t no need for that,” he said, voice cracking. “Just let my girl go.”

Your grip didn’t loosen. You let out a warning sound, like a dog trained not to bite—unless given reason.

To your surprise, Shane wasn’t playing a good cowboy anymore, not like Rick. His face was a picture of pure disgust and his shotgun remained pointed on the newcomers. 

“The hell kinda trap you tryin’ to pull here?!” His glare moved between the barn and the field. “Kids as bait? That your play?”

You tightened your grip on the squirming teenager, Merle pressed the pistol harder against her temple. The girl whimpered, her breath coming in shallow hitches. 

“Ya wanna test me, pops?” you shouted at the farmer, voice cold. “Y’all stay where you’re at!”

Daryl’s crossbow stayed level, his stare locked onto the farmer. “We ain’t jokin’,” he snarled. “So if there’s more of yous in that fuckin’ corn there, ya better tell ‘em to come out. Now.”

The farmer flinched. Behind him, his companions shifted uneasily, eyes darting between you and the other armed survivors. That gave you pause. Their body language was all off. Like they made peace with death a long time ago.

The stand-off stretched—until Rick stepped forward.

“Nobody has to die today,” he said, voice calm and measured. “We’re just passing through. Need supplies, a place to rest.”

One of the men grimaced, but then his eyes flickered to you and your cousins. Rick might have been the good sheriff around town, but you three decidedly weren’t. 

The farmer’s hands trembled slightly as he swallowed hard, eyes darting between you and Daryl’s crossbow. “Ain’t no more of us,” he rasped, throat dry. “Just the five. We been holed up here three weeks, barely scraping by. Thought y’all was raiders when we heard them engines.” 

He looked to the barn, where the old woman still clutched her makeshift weapon, the children behind her peering out with wide, haunted eyes.

Then, lo and behold, Shane Walsh opened his mouth and something sensible came out:

“Bullshit. Nobody lasts three weeks without fortifying this dump.” He spat in the dirt, not lowering his shotgun an inch. “You expect us to believe you just let walkers wander right up to your door every night?”

Rick let out a tortured sigh. “We don’t want your supplies. Just temporary shelter.” His eyes shifted in your direction. “We got women and kids with us too. There’s a good distance between your house and that top o’ the hill there. Nobody needs to get hurt here.”

But you weren’t having it. This whole situation here still stunk somethin’ fierce and you were getting annoyed at these two cops not seeing it. 

Well, one of them. This time Shane actually managed not to piss you off.

“Rick,” you said, voice rough. “Ya don’t know the ways o’ life ‘tween folk like us.” Your smile was more predator than human. “But I do. An’ us backwater fucks always got more guns stashed.” You studied the farmer’s face and chuckled when you read everything you wanted to know. “Uh-huh. Ain’t that right, pops? Y’all better tell us who’s hidin’ in them bushes ya keep lookin’ at an’ who’s got all your guns stashed. Right now!”

The farmer’s face drained of what little color it had left. Rick’s patience finally snapped. 

He rounded on you, his frustration boiling over. “You want to start a goddamn firefight with children in the crossfire?! That your idea of smart?”

“Shut it.” You weren’t really listening to Rick’s preaching. “I’m savin’ your soft fuckin’ ass.”

Yours were two completely different ideas of survival, this much was plain. But being cold is what kept you alive so far and you weren’t expecting a cop to understand that.

You looked back at the old man, then at the other three in a long and silent stand-off, and it finally hit you.

“Oh, hells!” you hissed. “They ain’t scared of us. Ain’t ya?” 

One of the other farmers gave you a once over. Sharper this time. No longer resigned. Slowly, reluctantly he and his companions exchanged looks.

“Radio the camp,” you whispered to Rick. “Just do it. Guns out, no fuckin’ kumbaya. There’s someone else ‘ere threatenin’ them folks.”

“What?” Rick looked at you like you were crazy.

Shane’s grip on his shotgun shifted. “I told y’all it’s a fuckin’ ambush!” he muttered under his breath, the realization sharpening his voice. 

His stance widened slightly as he caught onto your train of thought.

Rick started to protest, but Shane cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Wake the fuck up, Rick! It’s a fuckin’ 10-79. These people ain’t jumpy enough. They ain’t negotiating. Someone’s got ‘em by the short hairs.”

So Rick radioed the camp. And Shane was back to looking pissed off again—probably at you, if you had to guess. Because he was forced to agree with you.

“Sh!” you whispered to the girl. “I ain’t gonna lay a finger on ya. Stop squirmin’.”

Merle let out a low grumble, then slowly put his gun down. You let the girl go and she ran to her father in tears. You had no time to examine your feelings about that.

You looked at Rick again, his face a mask of exasperation and confusion. 

“Someone’s threatenin’ them,” you said, very quiet. “Ain’t they? Just nod.”

Nobody moved for the longest time. But your eyes never left these four poor bastards. Finally, one of the men nodded, very slowly. 

The old woman in the barn doorway took a hesitant step forward, her face a mask of quiet rage.

“They got my grandson,” she said, voice sharp like a whip. “Took him three days ago. Said they’d… they’d start cutting the pieces if we didn’t—” A rustle in the cornstalks cut her off, and she flinched hard.

“Well ain’t this a cozy little hellhole.” Merle’s smile was all teeth, but his eyes stayed on the corn field. “How many they got?”

Rick’s eyes snapped to Merle, surprised at the question.

“Too many,” the farmer admitted hoarsely. He turned to Rick, pleading. “They got a camp down the south ridge. Fifteen, maybe twenty. Armed. Been picking off stragglers, taking what they want.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “They’ll be watching us right now.”

Shane exhaled through his nose, his finger resting alongside the shotgun’s trigger guard. “Son of a bitch.” 

“Twenty o’ them? Bet they got food,” Merle remarked. “Ammo. Booze. I say we pay ‘em a visit, lighten their load. Call it a tax for pissin’ us off.”

Shane opted to ignore him. “Rick, you got a plan, or we just standing here with our dicks in our hands?”

The old woman hissed at the word choice, but the little kids seemed suddenly delighted at all the profanity.

Rick’s posture went rigid. For a moment he said nothing, then just shook his head, undecided. 

A message through the radio came through. So far all clear.

“Now, when ya say ‘down the ridge,’ ya mean it’s really down there, right?” Merle asked the farmer. The man glared at him, then nodded curtly. 

“What’re ya thinkin’?” Daryl looked at his brother, the crossbow no longer pointed at anyone in particular, but still slightly raised. 

“Well, if they be campin’ downhill then we already know they ain’t smart,” Merle replied. “An’ if they’re looters, they got good shit stashed in one corner.”

Shane gave you three another look of pure disbelief. “Why’s Merle fuckin’ Dixon figurin’ out a strategy here, Rick?”

Merle chuckled dryly, then he turned to Rick. “Ain’t my fault y’all decided to make camp with a buncha wet blankets.” 

“We don’t have enough people,” Rick said, voice rough and so goddamn tired.

“Bullshit, Sheriff.” Merle grinned. “It don’t matter with the numbers ‘n’ ya know it. They’re not expectin’ us, it’s still early. Which means they’re prolly drunk, in the middle of a fuck, or takin’ a dump.”

The old woman’s hands snapped to the nearest kid’s ears, but the rest of them definitely cheered up at the dump joke. You rolled your eyes.

Shane exhaled sharply through his nose at Merle’s revelation. “Bullshit. You expect us to believe you actually know how to go about this?”

“Bet he knows more than you,” you scoffed. “Sorry we ain’t got his fuckin’ uniform, we forgot it at home!”

“What fuckin’ uniform, what the hell are ya talkin ‘bout?” 

“91E. Welder,” Merle replied, not without some satisfaction, because he could tell it got on Shane’s nerves. “Dishonorable discharge, if ya must know.”

“Yeah, that part don’t surprise me at all,” Shane spat to the side. “It’s still bulshit.”

“Christ almighty!” Daryl cut in. “Point is, they got the numbers, y’all don’t wanna get involved, that’s fine. But we ain’t safe to camp here! So we either leave now or get rid of ‘em looters, but if we leave any later, we’ll be ridin’ in the dark with no street lamps.”

Shane frowned, completely thrown off by the Dixons suddenly having good suggestions.

Meanwhile, Rick’s gaze swept between the farmers’ huddled group and the hill. “Even if we could take them, it’s not our fight. We set up on that hill, keep watch, move on at first light.” His tone left no room for debate, but Merle still let out a mocking grumble.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Real noble,” he drawled. “Alright. ‘T’s been a real pain ‘n the ass, folks. Let’s get this show on the road.” 

“Y’all really think these folk don’t come creepin’ into camp tonight to slit throats for kicks?” Daryl grunted.

“Christ, Rick, we can’t just—” Shane cut himself off with a sharp exhale, gaze darting between the trembling farmer’s family and his ex-partner. It was clear he wanted to get involved—he just didn’t want to say it.

You noticed by now that, for some reason, Shane didn’t play when it came to kids. 

“You really think hightailing it up that hill makes us safe? I’m guessin’ whoever’s threatenin’ these people knows this land. We ain’t exactly got security to spare.”

The old woman stepped forward, her voice cracking. “My grandson, Jonah. He’s just twelve years old. Already has to live in a world like this, but now…”

She looked at Rick while she said it too, and you were almost impressed. The irony of her trying to humanise her grandson to the ex-cops like they were kidnappers wasn’t lost on you.

Merle spat in the dirt, rolling his shoulders like a pit-fighting dog ready to strike. “Twenty against… what, those of us who can actually shoot?” He chuckled. “Hell, I like them odds. ‘Specially if we hit ‘em ‘fore they finish that midday shit ‘n’ grab their stash.”

This time some of the kids giggled and you noticed Merle’s mouth twitch slightly upwards.

“So we leavin’?” Daryl asked Rick impatiently.

Rick still seemed morally conflicted and Daryl groaned. “Goddamn, we’re losin’ daylight!”

“Look,” you finally spoke up, “if these jackasses been pickin’ off folk for three weeks, they know every trail down there ‘tween here an’ our camp. You walk away, you’re invitin’ ‘em to tail us.” 

“Hells,” Merle cut in. “That happens, these nice folks here will be all grinnin’ while they show us to them scavengers, won’t ya now?

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. You could still see how disturbed Shane was by this kidnapping. It was right there in his eyes—the hypocrite called you out on playing hero, while he couldn’t wait to jump into the fire for some kid.

“Do you really wanna explain to Lori why we left a raider pack at our doorstep?” Shane asked all of a sudden and you tried your damnedest not to smirk. Manipulative bastard.

Rick froze for a second, then finally exhaled and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Goddammit. Okay.” 

Then, very reluctantly—