#sibling bond

He wasn’t always like that. When you were younger, back in Kremnos before everything fell apart, he was loud. Competitive. Teased you mercilessly about your height or how slow you swung a wooden sword. But after the Sea of Souls, after those nine winters...

He came back different. Stronger. Wiser. And fiercely protective.

You still remember the time you got caught sneaking into the Okhema market alone—some merchant thought you were a thief and raised an alarm. You never got to explain yourself. Mydei appeared like a shadow forged of gold and fire, his presence so overwhelming that even the guards backed off.

“Touch them again,” he said, voice low, too calm, “and I’ll drag your regrets through the coreflame itself.”

No one dared argue.

When you fight, it’s intense. Mydei isn’t one for shouting—but you are. And sometimes, when you accuse him of treating you like a child, he just goes... silent. That hurts more than yelling ever could.

Later, he’ll show up at your tent. Not with apologies, but with your favorite drink in hand.

“You're strong,” he’ll say, “but you’re still my sibling. That means I fight for you, even when we disagree. Especially then.”

And the tension fades.

Anaxa was the worst. Too smart, too smug, always five steps ahead and never letting you forget it.

“Ah, sibling of mine,” he’d sigh, head tilted dramatically as he leaned over his alchemical journals, “I weep for the limits of your brain—but rejoice in the vast potential of your heart.”

Translation: You made a mistake and he’s mocking you for it.

Still... he was always there when it mattered.

Like the time you got caught sneaking into the Grove’s archives. You just wanted to see what he was always hiding in those restricted scrolls. But instead of turning you in, Anaxa wove an entire illusion to trick the faculty into believing it was part of his “experiential thesis.”

“Honestly, I should let them exile you,” he muttered afterward, ruffling your hair with a scowl. “But then who would I argue with? The books? They’re too agreeable.”

When you’re in danger, Anaxa becomes someone else entirely.

You saw it once—ambushed during a Titan breach, your leg broken beneath rubble. He moved faster than thought, drawing his sidearm before the dust even settled. One hand held your head steady, the other unloaded precise, deafening shots into the darkness. No hesitation. No flourish. Just cold, practiced fury.

“Touch them again, and I’ll show you what it means to be erased,” he snarled at the monsters.

You never saw him that angry again.

Fights between you two are... chaotic. Words fly like knives. He’ll mock your logic, you’ll call him a soulless know-it-all. Doors slam. Pages get burned.

But hours later, there’s always a note slipped under your door:

“The world is foolish. Let us be wiser together. – A”

And a small, mended trinket from your childhood. He always keeps them.

Phainon is the best brother, and that’s a problem. He’s too kind. Too perfect. He helps everyone—everyone—and sometimes you wish he’d be more selfish.

“I don’t mind carrying a little more,” he always says, adjusting the sword on his back and your heavy pack on his shoulder. “You’ve got enough weight in your heart.”

You hate how right he is.

Still, he never talks down to you. When you spar, he doesn’t hold back—but he makes sure you never walk away defeated.

“You almost had me,” he says, sweat glistening on his brow. “Next time, I’ll be the one falling.”

He makes you believe it.

Once, you got kidnapped. Not by enemies, but by a desperate rebel faction who thought they could ransom you to make Phainon surrender the city’s coreflame.

He didn’t negotiate.

He stormed their camp alone.

When you came to, he was carrying you in his arms, bleeding from a dozen places.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he whispered, voice shaking. “Never again.”

You clung to him. Not because you were scared, but because you knew—he was.

Fighting with Phainon hurts. Not because he yells, but because he doesn’t. He listens. He says things like, “You have every right to be angry,” and “I never meant to overshadow you.”

And it breaks you.

You always end up hugging. Always.

Then he makes you tea. Always a little too sweet.

“You’re not just my sibling,” he’ll say. “You’re the light I look for in every dawn.”

Maggie’s silhouette darted past the front windows an instant before the farmhouse door burst open. In flooded Maggie and Lori, both windswept from hard riding; Lori’s eyes were huge with panic. “Rick? Carl—oh my God—Carl!” Lori’s voice cracked at the sight of her little boy, pale and unconscious on the bed. Rick was already on his feet, catching Lori as she stumbled forward.

Glenn and T-Dog clambered in close behind, both out of breath and anxious. They must have driven behind Maggie’s horse, racing against nightfall to get here. The moment Lori saw Carl—so small and motionless against the white sheets—she choked on a sob. She flew to his bedside, and Rick had to grab her shoulders to keep her from collapsing onto their son.

“Oh God—oh no, no,” Lori keened, reaching out with trembling hands toward Carl’s face. “Carl, baby, I’m here. Mommy’s here.” She was shaking so badly that Rick had to support her. Hershel stepped forward calmly to put a gentle hand on her arm.

“Ma’am, he’s holding on,” Hershel said quietly. “He lost a lot of blood, but we’ve done what we can for now. My name’s Hershel Greene—I’ve been looking after him.”

Lori nodded frantically, barely processing his words. Her hands hovered over Carl, afraid to touch the bandages wrapping his torso. “He’s so pale… oh God.” Her gaze jumped to Rick, wild and pleading. “What happened? How…?”

Rick swallowed, his voice rough. “It was an accident. A man on a hunt… Carl got hit by a few bullets that went through a deer. This is Hershel’s farm. He’s been doing everything he can.”

Lori turned to the older man in sweat-stained clothes. In the dim lamplight, she saw her son’s blood on his hands. “You’re a doctor?” she managed, hope and terror warring in her expression.

Hershel hesitated. “I’m a veterinarian, ma’am,” he answered gently. “But I’ve dealt with injuries like this before. Your boy is in good hands, I promise you.”

Lori blinked at him, not understanding. “A vet…?” she echoed. The flicker of hope in her face faltered. “You’re not—you’re not a real doctor?”

“Mom,” she interjected softly, stepping closer, “Hershel’s helped a lot already. He stopped the bleeding, and he knows what to do.”

But Lori’s shock was rapidly spiralling into panic. She clutched Rick’s arm. “We—we have to get Carl to a hospital,” she insisted, voice rising. “Rick, we need an actual surgeon. We can’t just let a veterinarian—”

Rick squeezed her hand firmly, though he swayed on his feet from exhaustion. “Lori, listen to me. There is no hospital. This farm is the only safe place for miles. Hershel’s our best shot—he’s kept Carl alive this long.”

Lori pressed a hand hard over her mouth, trying to stifle a sob. Her entire body trembled with the force of her fear. As Rick guided her to the chair beside the bed, her eyes landed on her daughter hovering a few steps away. In the lamplight, the girl’s face was drawn and tear-streaked, a bruise darkening on her cheek. For an instant, Lori simply stared. Then her expression twisted.

“Y-You were supposed to protect him,” Lori spat, her voice low and trembling. The sudden venom in it made her flinch. “I left him with you. You promised me.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Mom…” she whispered, throat tight. “I—I tried. It all happened so fast—”

“Not fast enough for you to stop it, apparently.” Lori’s words cut like a knife. She was crying openly now, but her tears only seemed to feed her fury. “I trusted you with your brother’s life! I thought, just this once, I could count on you to keep him safe.” Her tone dripped with a bitter, accusatory edge that knocked the breath out of her. “And now look at him.”

“You said you’d never let him out of your sight,” Lori went on, voice sharpening with each syllable. “That’s what you told me. And yet here we are!” She gestured in anguish toward Carl’s still form. “What good is your promise now?”

Each word was a blow. She could taste iron in her mouth and realised she’d bitten the inside of her cheek. “It was an accident,” she managed in a small voice. “We were just searching and—”

“Accident,” Lori echoed with a hollow, disbelieving laugh. “My son is lying here with a bullet in him, because you didn’t keep him safe.”

“Lori, stop.” Rick’s tone was firm despite the quaver of fatigue. He stepped between his wife and daughter, one hand raised in a placating gesture. “That’s enough.”

“She was supposed to keep him safe, Rick!” Lori cried, voice breaking on a ragged gasp. “She promised!”

“And she did all she could,” Rick shot back, a flash of anger in his eyes. “It was nobody’s fault—”

Lori wrenched away from his steadying grip, her face crumpling as fresh tears spilled. “Nobody’s fault?” she repeated, almost a whisper. Her gaze found her daughter again, full of pain. “You had one job,” she hissed, each word trembling. “You hear me? One job.”

The condemnation landed like a slap. She felt the blood drain from her face, her vision blurring with tears that burned hot and shameful. In the charged silence that followed Lori’s words, she could only hear the rush of her own heartbeat in her ears.

“I… I’m sorry,” she choked out, voice barely audible. It was all she could manage. Neither of her parents seemed to hear her over the roaring in their own heads. Lori had turned back to Carl, sobbing into her hand, and Rick was trying to console her.

No one stopped her as she stumbled from the room. She couldn’t stay—not when each of her mother’s sobs felt like broken glass in her lungs. The last glimpse she caught as she fled was of Rick’s stricken face over Lori’s shoulder and Carl’s small hand lying limp on the bed.

Outside, the night air was cool on her flushed face. She gulped it in, chest hitching as she fought not to sob outright. The porch boards creaked under her unsteady steps. Darkness draped the farm, broken only by the thin glow from a lantern hanging by the door.

She braced her hands on the porch railing, its rough wood steadying her shaking fingers. A whimper escaped before she could choke it down. In the space of a single terrible day, everything had fallen apart—Sophia was lost, Carl was hovering between life and death, and now her mother… her mother hated her. The thought sent a bolt of pain through her that nearly buckled her knees.

“Hey.” A soft voice at her shoulder made her flinch. She hastily scrubbed at her eyes and turned to find Glenn standing there, concern etched on his face. A step behind, T-Dog hovered with equal sympathy. In the dark, she could just make out the white bandage wrapping T-Dog’s injured arm.

Glenn’s brow creased. “We… we heard yelling,” he said gently. “Are you okay?”

She opened her mouth, but the reply wouldn’t come. A tremor shuddered through her. Glenn didn’t hesitate; he put a warm hand on her shoulder, anchoring her. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I mean, it’s not—but Lori’s just… she’s scared out of her mind right now. She doesn’t mean it.”

A tear slid down her cheek despite her efforts to hold everything in. She brushed it away angrily. “It’s not okay,” she whispered. “Carl… Carl might…” Her throat closed around the word. Fresh panic swelled at admitting that possibility, and she sucked in a sharp breath, trying to keep herself from spiralling.

T-Dog stepped closer, his voice gentle. “Carl’s a tough kid,” he said. “And Hershel seems to know his stuff. They’re gonna do everything possible for him.” He paused, then added quietly, “And Lori’s just in shock. She’ll come around.”

She nodded weakly, though she wasn’t sure she believed it. In her mind, she kept hearing her mother’s voice: You had one job.

Glenn rubbed her shoulder supportively. “I’m so sorry this happened,” he said, sincerity heavy in each word. “None of us ever imagined…” He trailed off, jaw tightening at the cruelty of it all. “If there’s anything we can do…”

She managed a faint sniffle of a laugh at that—what could anyone do? “Just… just keep being here, I guess,” she said. “That’s enough.”

Glenn nodded, shifting his weight as he leaned against the porch rail. “Maggie got to your mom fast,” he explained gently. “After she told Lori what happened, she showed us where the farm was and took Lori straight back here on horseback. The rest of us headed back to the highway. Dale thought it was best for everyone to stay put there overnight—just in case Sophia wandered back.” He gave a small, weary shrug. “T-Dog and I took one of the cars and came here as soon as we could. The others will move out at first light.”

She felt a swell of gratitude for their friends. Even in all the chaos, they weren’t alone. “Thank you,” she whispered, glancing between Glenn and T-Dog. “For coming. For… being here.”

Glenn offered a small, earnest smile. “Anytime.”

T-Dog flexed his bandaged arm, the movement drawing her eye. “Maggie fixed me up already,” he said, noticing her concern. “Just a few stitches. I’ll be alright.” He managed a faint grin. “Starting to think I got off easy compared to you guys.”

She gave a half-hearted nod, appreciating the attempt at levity but unable to summon a smile. Her mind was already drifting back to the image of Carl in that bed, and the echo of her mother’s reproach.

After a moment, Glenn cleared his throat. “I’m gonna head back in,” he said softly. “Make sure everything’s… okay.” He didn’t have to finish the sentence; they all knew nothing was truly okay right now. “You gonna be alright out here?”

“Yeah,” she said. The night air and solitude were what she needed—just a minute to collect herself. “I just need a minute.”

“Alright. We’ll be right inside if you need us.” Glenn squeezed her arm gently before he and T-Dog retreated back through the door, closing it with a quiet click.

Silence settled around her once Glenn and T-Dog disappeared inside. In that silence, all the fear and guilt she’d been holding at bay came surging up anew. She sank down on the top step of the porch, elbows on her knees, and covered her face with her hands. For what felt like hours, she let herself simply breathe.

Keep it together, she begged herself. Falling apart won’t help Carl. But her mother’s anguished accusations kept replaying in her head. You had one job. A hot ache bloomed behind her eyes. Maybe Lori was right. Maybe if she had just kept Carl closer… or insisted he go back to the highway with the others…

A rustle in the darkness snapped her to attention. She lifted her head, heart thudding as twin beams of headlights suddenly cut across the yard. An engine rumbled low as a car turned off the main road and rolled slowly toward the farmhouse, tyres crunching over gravel. Swallowing hard, she rose to her feet, one hand instinctively going to the pistol at her hip.

The vehicle coasted to a stop a short distance away. For a moment, all she could hear was the tick of the cooling engine. Then the driver’s door shoved open. A figure climbed out—shoulders slumped, movements heavy with exhaustion—and when the light from the porch finally caught his face, she saw Shane.

Her breath caught. “Shane!”

She nearly tripped in her haste to get down the steps. Shane staggered to a halt a few yards from the porch. Even in the low light, she could see he was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. A large canvas pack hung from his shoulder, clanking faintly with metal inside. In his other hand, he gripped a shotgun. His eyes widened in relief when he recognised her.

“You made it,” she gasped, reaching out as if to steady him. He looked like he might keel over. Up close, she could see smears of dirt and blood on his arms and a ragged tear in his pant leg. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Shane panted, though his voice was strained. “We got… got the stuff Hershel needed.” He shifted the heavy pack off his shoulder and let it thump to the ground. Only then did she notice the pack was slicked with dark stains—blood, and not all of it looked dried.

Her stomach turned. She glanced behind him into the darkness, expecting to see the broad shape of Otis following. There was no one. “Where’s Otis?”

Shane went rigid for a second. He averted his eyes. “He… didn’t make it.” His tone was flat, almost too flat. “Walkers got him on the way out. I barely got away.”

“Oh… no.” Her heart lurched. Otis—the man who had accidentally shot Carl—was dead. She pressed a hand to her mouth, unsure what to feel. Sorrow that he’d lost his life trying to fix his mistake? Or anger that none of this would have happened if not for him? She settled on a quiet, “I’m so sorry.”

Shane just shook his head, jaw clenched as if refusing to let emotion in. “It was him or me,” he said after a beat, voice gruff. “He… he saved me, buying time when I hurt my ankle. I wouldn’t be here if not for him.” The words sounded practised, like he’d decided on the story during his long run back. “But we got what Carl needs. That’s what matters.”

She exhaled a shaky breath of relief. “Shane… thank you. We need to get these to Hershel, right now.” She bent to grab the stained pack, but Shane was already hauling it up again despite a wince of pain.

At the commotion, the farmhouse door flew open. Rick filled the doorway, pale and drawn but upright. His eyes went wide at the sight of his best friend. “Shane!”

“Got the equipment,” Shane grunted, limping forward. “Where’s Hershel?”

“Here!” came Hershel’s voice from inside, urgent and relieved. The older man rushed forward, Maggie on his heels. Shane passed the heavy pack to Hershel, who immediately knelt and began rifling through its contents by lantern light. “This is it,” Hershel breathed, pulling out packages of sutures, a curved needle holder, and a small generator-powered ventilator. “This is everything we need.”

Rick clasped Shane’s shoulder tightly. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with gratitude. “Otis…?”

Shane shook his head, face grim. “Didn’t make it,” he replied quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Maggie sucked in a breath, lifting a hand to her mouth. Hershel’s expression flashed with pain—Otis had been their friend and farmhand—but he pressed his lips thin, refocusing on the mission at hand.

“We’ll mourn later,” Hershel said, steeling himself. “Right now, we have to save this boy.” He rose, arms full of supplies. “Maggie, get Patricia and put some water on to boil. We need to prep for surgery immediately.”

Within minutes, the farmhouse bustled with controlled chaos. Hershel and Maggie moved Carl to a sturdier table they’d covered as an impromptu operating surface. Lori refused to leave Carl’s side until Rick gently pulled her away so Hershel could work. “We have to let him do this, Lori,” he murmured, guiding her toward the hall. Lori finally relented, sobbing quietly into Rick’s chest as he held her.

She hovered near the doorway, unsure if she should stay. Part of her desperately wanted to be there for her brother, to see any sign of improvement, but Hershel needed space and steady hands—not a terrified sister in the way. And after her mother’s outburst, she felt too raw to be near Lori right now.

As the preparations continued inside, she found herself backing away, retracing her steps to the porch. The screen door creaked as she slipped out. A moment later, Shane followed, having been similarly ushered from the crowded room. He eased himself down the porch steps with a tired groan and sank onto an overturned bucket by the wall. In the faint glow from the window, she could see him clearly now—sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead, and a reddish bruise was swelling on his left cheekbone.

She approached him hesitantly. “You should come inside and rest,” she said. “You look… you’re exhausted.”

Shane huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “I’ll rest when that kid’s outta the woods,” he muttered. He glanced up at her, eyes softening. “How ’bout you? You holding up?”

Her instinct was to answer yes, but the word wouldn’t come. Instead, her eyes stung. What was the point of pretending? Shane could see the truth written all over her face. She lowered herself to sit on the porch step, a short distance from him. The cool night breeze lifted a few loose strands of her hair, tickling her face.

Her composure shattered like thin ice. Before she knew it, the words were tumbling out in a broken whisper. “Mom… she blames me.”

Shane frowned. “Blames you? For what happened to Carl?”

A hot tear slipped down her nose. She nodded, breath hitching. “I promised her I’d keep him safe,” she said, her voice cracking on the last word. “I promised, and I— I failed.”

Shane was quiet for a moment; she could feel his gaze on her, steady and intent. When he spoke, his voice was low and careful. “That why you were outside earlier? ’Cause of what Lori said?”

Another nod. A shiver of remembered hurt coursed through her. “She was so angry,” she murmured, barely audible. “She said… she said I had one job. That I didn’t keep my promise.” Her face crumpled as she relived the moment. “She’s right, isn’t she? I should’ve kept him closer—I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight—”

“Hey, hey.” Shane shifted off the bucket and knelt in front of her on the dirt, ignoring his own aches. He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. “Look at me.”

She dragged her eyes up to meet his. In the faint light, Shane’s face was drawn with exhaustion, but his expression was earnest and fierce. “This was not your fault,” he said, pronouncing each word with emphasis. “You hear me? What happened to Carl… it was a freak accident. You did protect him. You stayed with him, you did everything you could.”

A sob lodged in her throat. “It wasn’t enough,” she choked. “I promised her, Shane… I promised.” Fresh tears blurred her vision. “What good is a promise if he d-dies?”

“He’s not gonna die,” Shane said instantly, a flash of anguish in his eyes at even the suggestion. His grip on her shoulders tightened as if he could physically hold her together. “Hershel’s gonna save him. Carl’s a tough little man. And Rick and Lori— they need you strong for him, alright?”

She tried to believe him, to cling to that hope, but the fear was too great. Her composure collapsed entirely. “She h-hates me, Shane,” she sobbed. “Mom… she hates me now. And if Carl— if Carl—”

Her breaths were coming too fast. The edges of her vision darkened as panic closed in, a crushing weight on her chest. Dimly, she felt Shane’s hand move from her shoulder to cup the side of her face, his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. “I… I can’t… I c-can’t—”

“Shhh, hey. Breathe.” Shane’s voice was soft but commanding. “Just breathe, darlin’.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made the images sharper: Carl collapsing, blood blossoming on his shirt; Lori’s devastated face twisting in rage.

Suddenly, Shane’s hands framed her face, warm and steady. Before she could register what was happening, he leaned in. His lips pressed against hers—firm, grounding, and utterly gentle.

All thoughts short-circuited in her mind. The world fell away for an instant; there was no fear, no grief, no sound but the faint rasp of their breathing. Shane was kissing her.

Her eyes flew open in shock, but the warmth of his mouth, the certainty of his touch, held her in place. It wasn’t hurried or frantic—he was holding her as if she were something fragile that might break, pouring all the reassurance he could into that single, tender kiss.

Slowly, the tightness in her chest eased. Her hands, which had been trembling in fists, unclenched. One of them found its way to Shane’s arm, grasping on as if he might vanish if she let go. A different kind of heat flooded through her, momentarily eclipsing the pain. She realised, faintly, that she was kissing him back.

They lingered there in the dark, lips pressed together in a promise unspoken. He tasted of salt and desperation, and when he finally drew back, she felt cool night air rush between them, making her realise just how warm he had been.

Shane kept his face close to hers, his forehead nearly touching hers. His hands slipped from her cheeks to her waist, where they remained, holding her as if she might float away. Both of them were breathing unsteadily—her tears had stopped in pure surprise.

“S-Sorry,” Shane managed, voice hoarse. “I… probably shouldn’t have—”

She answered by shaking her head quickly, her hand tightening on his arm. “It’s okay,” she whispered, and she meant it. Her heart was pounding, but for the first time since Carl fell, it wasn’t solely from terror. There was something else there, a flutter beneath the grief, brought to life by the feel of Shane’s lips and the steady weight of his hands.

To her astonishment, the storm inside her had quieted. She drew in a shaky breath and found that she could, in fact, breathe again. The panic that had threatened to devour her was ebbing, held at bay by the feeling of Shane’s arms anchoring her.

Shane exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath too. Wordlessly, he shifted to sit beside her on the step. One arm slid around her shoulders, drawing her against him. She went willingly, folding into his side. The solidity of him—the steady thump of his heart under her ear—was a comfort she hadn’t known she needed until now.

In the stillness that followed, neither of them spoke. They simply stayed there, huddled together on the porch while a sliver of moonlight peeked through the clouds. Inside the house, low voices murmured and the wooden floor creaked as Hershel and Maggie worked to save Carl. But out here, it was quiet, the chirp of crickets the only chorus to their vigil.

She didn’t know how long they remained like that, holding each other against the darkness. Minutes or hours—time had lost meaning. Gradually, the adrenaline of the day ebbed, leaving a bone-deep fatigue in its wake. Safe in the circle of Shane’s arm, she felt her eyelids grow heavy. She fought against it at first, unwilling to surrender to any rest until she knew Carl was okay. But Shane’s hand gently rubbing her arm and the warmth of his body lulled her more effectively than any lullaby. Eventually, curled against his shoulder, she slipped into a light, fitful sleep.

The next thing she knew, a rumbling motor was groaning up the farm’s long drive. She stirred awake with a jolt, lifting her head from where it had been resting on Shane’s shoulder. Early dawn light bathed the porch in grey-blue, and for a disorienting second, she didn’t know what had woken her. Then she heard the unmistakable chug of Dale’s RV engine drawing closer.

Beside her, Shane roused, blinking hard and straightening up. She realised they had fallen asleep leaning against each other, his arm still loosely around her. A flush warmed her cheeks as the memories of the night—of his kiss—rushed back. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sudden crunch of footsteps on gravel made her turn.

Daryl Dixon stood a few paces away, half-hidden by the corner of the porch. He must have come ahead of the others. His crossbow hung in his grasp, and he looked at her and Shane in silence. His expression was guarded, but she caught the faint lift of his chin—like he’d been about to greet her and thought better of it.

She sat up straighter, instinctively easing away from Shane’s side. “Daryl—” she began, voice still thick with sleep.

At that, Daryl gave a tight, wordless nod. His gaze flickered from her to Shane, then back. Whatever he saw made something shutter in his eyes. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, boots crunching over dirt as he headed toward the sound of the arriving vehicles.

Puzzled, she watched him go, a slight frown pulling at her brow. She hadn’t missed the flash of emotion that crossed his features when he saw her tucked against Shane, but in her groggy state, she couldn’t quite parse it. Hurt? Disappointment? Before she could dwell on it, the RV rumbled into view by the yard, followed by the familiar blue pickup truck from the highway.

Shane cleared his throat beside her. She realised suddenly that his arm had dropped from her shoulders and he’d shifted a few more inches away, as if only now remembering himself. The two of them exchanged a look—shy, uncertain—and then the moment was swept away in the flurry of the arriving group.

The RV’s brakes squealed as it came to a stop. The door was flung open even before the engine died, and Dale emerged, looking weary and anxious. Andrea hopped down right after, her hand on her pistol out of habit as her keen eyes took in the farm. Sophia’s absence hung over the group like a cloud, but Carol herself came next, her face drawn with worry.

The moment Carol spotted her on the porch, Carol hurried forward. “Sweetheart, are you alright?” Carol’s voice was hoarse, as if she’d spent the whole night crying (and she likely had). The older woman reached up and gripped her hand tightly. “How’s Carl?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, the front door creaked again. Rick stepped out onto the porch, his face gaunt with exhaustion but lit with a fragile relief. “Carol,” he greeted softly, managing a faint smile for the worried mother. “Carl just came out of surgery. He’s stable. He’s gonna be okay.”

A collective breath seemed to whoosh out of the gathered group. Carol’s legs nearly gave out; she clutched Dale’s arm for support, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh thank God… thank God,” she whispered. Relief and lingering sorrow warred on her face—joy for Carl, renewed fear for Sophia.

A chorus of thankfulness rippled through the others. Andrea closed her eyes, murmuring something that sounded like a prayer. Dale patted Rick’s shoulder with open gratitude. “That’s wonderful, Rick,” he said warmly. “We’ve been worried sick.”

Rick nodded, emotion tightening his throat. His eyes found his daughter standing on the steps. In that moment, her heart soared with relief—Carl was going to live. She felt tears of gratitude blur her vision. Rick opened his arms, and she flew into them, hugging him fiercely.

“He made it, Dad,” she whispered, voice watery with happiness. “You kept your promise.”

Rick held her just as tightly. “So did you,” he replied in a rough whisper. “He’s here—he’s alive. We didn’t let go.” There was a world of meaning in those words, and she knew he wasn’t just talking about Carl’s fight. He was talking about their family.

Over Rick’s shoulder, she noticed Lori standing in the doorway now, hovering just inside the threshold. Lori’s eyes were red-rimmed and shining as she gazed out at the reunion. For an instant, her gaze met her mother’s. There was no anger there now—only immense relief and regret.

Before either of them could say anything, Hershel called quietly from inside, asking Lori to help with Carl’s settling. Lori disappeared back into the house without a word. Rick let his daughter go and turned to the others, thanking them for coming, for their support.

In the following minutes, the group began to disperse into a semblance of order. Maggie directed Carol and the rest toward the kitchen to get some food and water after their long night. Dale offered to park the vehicles out of the way and Shane went with him to help, giving her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder before he left. Andrea climbed the porch steps, intent on checking on Carl herself if allowed.

Amid the shuffle, she slipped back inside the house. The living room was dim and empty now. Voices drifted from the bedroom down the hall—Hershel’s calm cadence and Maggie’s quieter responses as they tended to Carl. Lori must have been there too, but it was oddly quiet; perhaps Carl was still unconscious.

She hesitated, not wanting to intrude. Part of her yearned to see her brother with her own eyes, reassure herself he was really still breathing. But she wasn’t sure if she’d be welcome at Carl’s bedside yet, not after the things Lori had said.

As she stood there wringing her hands, low voices emanated from the kitchen nearby. Through the half-closed door, she recognised her father’s tone—tight with barely restrained anger. And Lori’s—tired, defensive.

“…had no right,” Rick was saying, his voice hushed but seething, “to put that on her. To say that to her. Our daughter just went through hell worrying about Carl, and you—”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Lori snapped back, her words thick with remorse. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I said? I was out of my mind with fear, Rick—I wasn’t thinking straight!”

“Fear or not, you hurt her,” Rick hissed. “I saw her face, Lori. She blames herself enough already. How could you…?” He trailed off, a tremor in his voice.

There was a heavy silence. When Lori spoke again, it was quieter, choked with tears. “I know. I know. The moment it came out of my mouth I wanted to take it back. But I couldn’t—I can’t. And now she probably thinks I… God, Rick, what have I done?”

“She’s going to need to hear it from you that you didn’t mean it,” Rick said, exhaustion and frustration vying in his tone. “She worships you. One cruel word from you cuts deeper than any walker’s teeth, you understand?”

A muffled sob. “I’m sorry,” Lori whispered. “I’ll make it right. I will.”

Heart pounding, she stepped away from the kitchen door, cheeks hot with the feeling she’d witnessed something not meant for her eyes. She backed into the hallway just as Andrea emerged quietly from the bedroom where Carl was. Andrea gave her a brief smile and a squeeze of the arm in passing, then continued outside to rejoin the others, leaving the front door ajar.

For a moment, she remained rooted in place, absorbing what she’d overheard. Her chest ached. Yes, her mother had been cruel—but hearing the regret in Lori’s voice eased some of the sting. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t hate her after all.

The kitchen door creaked open then. Lori stepped out, hastily wiping her eyes. She looked around, almost frantic, until her gaze landed on her daughter standing down the hall.

“Sweetheart…” Lori breathed, taking a tentative step forward. But before either of them could move further, voices called from outside.

Lori startled, her face tensing as if only now realising the entire group was present at the farm. She closed her eyes for a second, visibly steadying herself.

When Lori looked at her again, her expression was flooded with guilt and resolve. “Can we talk?” she asked softly. “Outside. I-I need to apologise.”

She drew in a breath and gave a small nod. “Okay,” she murmured. She wasn’t sure what else to say; the knot of emotion in her throat made it hard to speak. Lori visibly steeled herself and turned toward the front door.

Outside, the early sun was cresting the trees, spilling gold over the quiet farm. Wanting a shred of privacy from the others, she walked off the porch toward the field fence, her heart thumping nervously as her mother followed.

Before she could move farther, Shane came striding towards her, concern written plainly on his face.

He must have heard their voices; he must have known something was wrong. His eyes flicked between her and Lori, and instinctively, he gravitated to her. “You alright?” he asked her under his breath, as if Lori weren’t there. His hand found the small of her back in a steadying gesture.

She felt a tiny surge of warmth—his presence still had the power to steady her racing heart. She managed a faint smile. “I’m okay,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if it was true. Having him close made her feel safer, regardless.

Behind her, Lori quickened her pace to catch up. “I—” Lori began, but the words died in her throat as she took in the tableau before her: her daughter and Shane standing close, heads bent together in confidence. Shane’s broad palm resting protectively against the small of the younger woman’s spine. The gentle familiarity of the touch.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. The morning breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying the distant cluck of Hershel’s chickens from their coop. Lori stood frozen a few feet away, her eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. Guilt and resolve had brought her out here, but now something else flickered across her face—something like shock, layered with confusion and a hurt that had nothing to do with what she’d come to say.

Sunlight spilled over the three of them, and in that charged silence, the fragile truce of relief began to twist into a new tension.

She felt Shane’s hand flex slightly against her back, as if sensing the upheaval to come. Swallowing hard, she looked to her mother, whose eyes were locked on the subtle, intimate way Shane hovered at her side.

Lori exhaled shakily, struggling to find her voice. “I… I was looking for you,” she said at last, her tone uneven. She tore her gaze from Shane’s hand and met her daughter’s eyes. Emotions swam there that her daughter couldn’t quite read, complicated shadows under the morning sun.

She opened her mouth to reply, to step forward—she wasn’t sure which—when Lori’s expression crumpled, just for an instant, with something like realisation or pain.