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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 7 months ago

Text

Onstage

What - it's nothing to panic about, Lori's secret pregnancy, Shane's changes for the worse, Sophia gone for over a week, and now a barn full of walkers. It's fine. No big deal, nothing is wrong, so you're gonna step onstage and act like it. On the bright side, Daryl isn't stuck in a bed anymore!

When - the morning after Keep this dog asleep. (the night where Glenn discovers the barn in Season 2)

Who - this is part of the Slowpoke Series, which is a canon compliant slow burn Reader x Daryl. You're also Shane's younger sibling

Pronouns - she/her

TWs - a few cusses, panic, bad screenshots

References - lots, y'all, want the Masterlist?

Length - longer bc I've been awol, I've been dreading posting again, friends, so thank you much for reading. Kind feedback is always welcome :)

“Goodness. You two slept together.”

“Wha—Carol!” you squeak, accidentally splashing some coffee on your hands while you’re at it, to which Carol apologizes, “Oops!”

Glenn and you fell asleep beside each other, by the fire pit. You two must have conked out while staring at the barn.

Brr, the sun hasn’t warmed the day yet, you’re like an ice-pop.

“Wh’appened?” Glenn mumbles, still half-asleep in Dale’s camp chair.

Carl, freshly freed from the house and now officially back to the tents, also wanted to know, “What was the joke?”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” Carol whispers in your ear and wipes the coffee off your hand with a tissue she had in her pocket.

That ship has sailed, Carol!

Lori smiles and shakes her head, and hands Glenn a coffee cup. “Carol was teasing them about having spent the night out here. Must’ve stayed up far too late having fun.”

“‘Fun,’” Glenn groans to himself, blindly nursing his coffee. You notice he winces and reaches for the back of his neck when he tries to bend it forward. Must’ve slept on it wrong.

“How late did you guys stay up?”

“I don’t even know, little man,” you answer Carl while reaching out for a hug. “But ‘far too late’ sure is correct.”

He returns your reach and hugs you back, tucking his head down across your neck like he used to when he was little. You press a kiss to his temple and hold him awhile longer, not wanting to let go first.

It’s good to have started the day on an up-note. You’re already on guard this morning. Less so about the genuine, bona-fide barn full of walkers on the property and moreso that Glenn won’t keep the secret long enough.

Which is backwards, but…the worry is that Shane will, um, and, and— oh God, and Carl can’t go near it! What are you gon—

“—Here, Maggie left these for you two.” Lori has returned and plunks down what resembles an Easter basket filled with peaches.

“Wait, should you be lifting heav—” Glenn cuts himself off, apparently having woken up a brain cell and remembering the pregnancy is still a secret.

You run onstage and speak up for Lori. “That’s how her arms stay so toned. Can you believe she hand-whipped the cream for the ambrosia?” Solid improv.

Lori seems to tamp down on whatever frustration she’s feeling. “It’s not heavy, Glenn.”

“Mom can lift so much, that puny basket of peaches is nothing,” Carl tells him, apparently thinking Glenn was being dumb.

Rattled, it takes a moment before Lori recalls what she was talking about. “Maggie also gave us a bucket filled with tomatoes along with another big bowl of eggs. We have to find a way to thank them. They’ve done so much.” She sighs. “Even last night, we cooked the meal, but they provided the food. Meat, even. All we contributed food-wise was the field green salad and the two cans of creamed corn.”

You’ve got to keep it to yourself that by not revealing the Greene’s massive secret about a barn full of walkers, you’re certainly giving them some kind of fucked up recompense.

And like you said last night, there are worse things to be bribed with than food. In fact, you have no immediate plans to do anything other than sit here, miserably tired, in T-Dog’s camp chair and stress-eat peaches — and stick close to Glenn lest he get the urge to open Pandora’s box about that barn.

“Carl, Miss Patricia hopefully mentioned how the barn is unstable? They won’t even go near it, and we are forbidden.” You swipe a peach and have at it. The juice dribbles down your hand and chin. Carl smirks. You snort; at least he’s seen you look grosser. So, in a very ladylike fashion, you shove the rest of it in your mouth in one bite and immediately swipe another. “There’s some kind of vermin problem, too, and you don’t want none of them diseases rats and the like carry. Keep away.”

Mid-chew, you realize that you just lied flawlessly by slipping in truth. You’re not big on lying. In fact, you hate it. You don’t do it, or, at least you think you don’t? Do you?

This and the weight of last night’s inward decision that you made sits heavy in your stomach, making the peach sink like a rock.

You’re going to leave, with your brother. Shane can’t stay here, not when the news of the baby and now the barn gets out. You’ll even go to Fort Benning despite all your misgivings. Anything to keep things from imploding here when those secrets get out. Not, um, not that you’ll stay away forever from the group, just until, um…

Well, if looks are any indication, Glenn’s also busy being miserably tired and stressed. He was the one to discover the barn’s secret, first off. And he’s not good with secrets, and now has three to contend with. The pregnancy, Shane losing his temper and physically hurting you. And now, the stupid, stupid, awful barn.

“Did your head flop down when you fell asleep, Glenn?”

“It must’ve, it’s so stiff!” he mutters. “I can’t have a stiff neck when the…”

Smart, he knows not to finish the sentence and instead resumes warily eyeing the barn. You’re grateful your neck is fine and dandy, you’re in no fit state to mess up your neck or shoulder again. For real, by the grace of God, you’d fallen asleep nestled in T-Dog’s camp chair and your neck stayed blessedly straight and untwisted.

“We search for Sophia in groups, it’s all good,” you cover for him. Carl is still next to you, so the fewer questions, the better.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but you’re restless. Seeking something to busy your hands with, you think to yourself you know what? Your friend could use a massage. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, considering you slept together (lol).

Shoving the rest of the second peach in your mouth, you consider that slurping the juice off your hand may be a mite untoward, so instead you…wipe it on the clothes you wore all day yesterday and fell asleep in…such a feminine, classy woman. Didn’t even brush your teeth last night.

Whatever, a neck and shoulder rub is the least you can do for a friend you may not see again. “Glenn, I can do you a massage,” you offer.

“Wait. Really?”

“’Course.” Let’s face it, you may not see him again after you leave. Maybe no one here, just look at the track record of losing peop — oh my gosh, crybaby much? Get your butt back onstage and act fine.

“Can you, with your arm still wrapped like that?” he checks regarding your modified sling.

“Sure can.”

“Dude, that would be, like,” Glenn sighs, then you hear Lori call for Carl, who gets up and goes to his mother. “Thank you, that would be awesome, it hurts really bad,” your friend accepts.

“Eh, it’s the least I could do, considering last night we did,” pause for dramatic effect, “sleep together.”

“What the h—”

“—Bro, I know," you drone. "That’s what Carol joked about a few minutes ago. Didn’t expect that joke outta her, right?”

“Slept together, now I get it,” he cracks up halfheartedly. But in an instant, his gaze gets drawn right back toward the barn and resettles into uneasy, blatant stare.

That rattles you. Suddenly, you become convinced he’s gonna spill the beans before the one week (at least one week!) trial. For a few moments, you feel breathless, as in you can’t inhale enough. That happened last night, too, you figured it was because of the cold air.

You cough, inhale extra deep. The sensation goes away. But now you’re starting to get mad. As you rise from the chair, you’re more than conscious of your inner kettle beginning to simmer. Not gonna lie, you sound snotty when you comment, “Glad to see they didn’t learn how to jump as high as a hayloft and find their way out yet.”

“Y/N.”

In lieu of any new comeback, you start on his neck. Immediately and likely without meaning to, he lets out a thankful groan. That warms you, and you remind yourself he’s worried for a good reason and that you love your friend.

And, strangely, then you think back to how you did this for Daryl, gave him a massage. How pleasant the closeness felt, how strange it made your stomach feel. How he’d silently cried but was vulnerable enough to ask you not to stop��

And with the jokes about you and Glenn, you’re feeling some unpleasantly conflicting emotions. Full disclosure, you’d had some hidden and very unwelcome hurt feelings when you found out about him and Maggie. Residual, you reckon, from when you’d two had a little fondness (lol Dale) for each other.

Really, you know it’s just that you’re lonely and things are stressful. More than stressful.

“Wanna kick the ball around later with the others, see if the girls can’t beat y’all this time?” Together, Jimmy and he have been an unbeatable team so far, and you three girls want to change that.

“Anything to make the pharmacy trip suck less.”

Man, you’d forgotten all about that. It’s supposed to feature none other than Glenn, Maggie, yourself, and maybe T-Dog. “That’s still on?”

Glenn shrugs. “I don’t remember. And I don’t want to go today, let’s do it tomorrow or Monday.”

“Fine by me. Naught dire we need yet.”

He unexpectedly exhales in pleasure when you must’ve hit a spot he needs worked out.“I haven’t gotten a massage since, like,” your friend sighs again, and he sounds weighed down when he continues. “Varsity baseball in high school. Appa was really good at shoulder rubs.”

“Oh.” A memory about his dad might will probably spark a whole lot of memories, and he’s still iffy about crying in front of people. “Want me to stop?”

“Heck no.”

“Are you cool with crying? Massages sometimes do that,” you hesitate.

“What do you mean?”

“I meant the act itself can make folk cry sometimes.” Especially if memories get brought up.

“Make ‘folk’ cry?” he teases. "You already used the word 'naught,' too, bumpkin."

You pause the massage to give him a very light shove. “Shut up, buttface.”

Breakfast is eggs again, you can smell them cooking. The Greenes have been very generous with eggs. And, of course, now extra-generous with the peaches and some tomatoes, apparently. Maybe the thrill of yellow squash or string beans is in the future, too.

Ooh, or dairy. Oh my gosh, or red meat! Jimmy mentioned they’ve made a ton of jerky what with their cattle.

“G’morning,” you hear Shane behind you.

“Heya.”

“Morning, Shane.”

The razzing is clear in his tone of voice, but try telling that to Glenn as your brother says, “Lookin’ cute, you two. Didn’t know this was a thing now, I thought that ship had sailed.”

Yeahhhhh, Glenn wriggles away from your hands quicker than you can whine, “Shaney!” who simply cracks up, “Just teasing.”

“I’ll tease your face,” you wish you weren’t snickering back. “And you know my heart belongs to darling Theodore,” you add in an exaggerated accent.

T-Dog, unfortunately, hears, and utters a soft “Da hell?” aaand you cackle even harder. Surely he knows the not-so-secret secret that you think he’s a catch? Too old for you, but, like. What a gem.

“Glenn, my apologies.” Shane winks. “It’s too easy to rile this one up. And Dog, don’t worry.”

“It’s cool,” Glenn answers so awkwardly.

You scrunch your lips at your brother in an effort not to smile. He’s acting like himself again, the real Shane. You don’t feel as if you’re looking at a stranger, you don’t feel the urge to stay on-guard or stay onstage. “Proud of yourself?”

He shrugs with a lazy grin. “It is real easy to rile you up.”

“Mmhm, well I’m fixing to escape to Fort Benning right now, lemme just wash up first.” You insert this little seed in hope it takes root. He was planning to go there before things changed.

He was planning to go without your input or foreknowledge, too, but he was doing what he thought was best for the group. For Lori and Rick.

Until he didn’t anymore, according to what he said to Lori.

That night, the same day Daryl had almost died, was something else.

The things he said to Lori echo in your head, the confident flirting while she was visibly unreceptive and shaken.

Then you recall the way he’s been “pragmatic” and almost irritated about the continuing search for Sophia.

Then the way he blew up at you, hurt you.

And finally, how your first reaction to finding out there was a barn filled with walkers a mere one minute trek from where your people are sleeping in tents was to insist that the secret must be kept from Shane at all costs. That the secret had to stay that way because of what would happen if Shane found out.

Maybe it’s from sleeping too close to the campfire or because it was so chilly last night, but the breathing trouble is back. It's fine, this happened last night, it ended up being fine.

You cough a few times to try and inhale more deeply and ease the tightness in your chest, but you feel strange and a little nauseous. Maybe you're coming down with something.

“Lemme take over here — aw, Glenn, hey, sit back on down,” Shane insists to your friend who just tried to escape. “Heard you slept on your neck wrong. That shit stinks, man. But,” he holds out his hands and wiggles his fingers. “I got so much practice with massages from this one’s migraines, I might should switch careers. C’mon then,” he says lightheartedly.

The unease you just wrestled with lessens. This is the real Shane, the confident, even cocky, but goodhearted one.

Huh, cool, your breathing feels a little better, too.

He looks at you and points with his thumb toward the house. “The uh, the little one, what’s the blonde girl’s name again?”

“Soph—oh! Um, sorry, y-you mean ‘Beth,’” you stammer, all the mirth from a moment ago zapped.

The look in your brother’s eyes changes from easygoing to dampened to cold.

He tries to sound nonchalant behind a thin veil of both defense and offense. “Yeah, the, uh, the teenager. She asked for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” You’d be off like a shot if there wasn’t another potential time bomb to worry about.

Glenn.

To your friend, you assure in truth, “He does give a mighty solid massage.” But when you lean over enough for him to see your face, you can feel your eyes darken when you hold the finger to your lips and set your jaw.

And as you make toward the house with your coffee and another two peaches, you’re grappling with the fact that, in an effort to keep Glenn quiet so everything won’t blow to pieces, you’re behaving not unlike the very person that you’re trying to prevent from igniting the explosion in the first place.

Another worry is the way you so easily slipped in and out of being onstage.

You’ve always been one to insist on truth and honesty. It’s a badge of honor you wear with pride, and even Daryl, prickly grump Daryl, has mentioned it and appreciates that about you.

And yet, look at your conduct over the past week or so. You can certainly lie, and be believable at it. You don’t like that.

Ew, gross, you’re getting nauseous again.

As you near the porch, Beth’s soft, clear voice calls your name, and she exits the house to meet you. “I got somethin’ for you. Can you come upstairs?”

“Sure. Your dress is cute!” comes out automatically. You’re still dazed and stressed. Her sundress really is pretty, though. Briefly, you consider how it would be nice to feel feminine again.

She leads you up the stairs, and it strikes you how odd it is that you have to go upstairs for whatever she’s going to give you, right? Then, you worry that it’s to do with the barn.

And you’re right.

Or, at least, you think you are. Maggie is upstairs when Beth brings you there.

The tightness comes back, so you focus on your breathing and will your stomach to chill out. You're onstage, you need to perform.

“Y/N, hi!” Margaret says this a little overly chipper, even though her appearance suggests that she’s had about as much shut-eye as you, if not less. “Sleep okay?”

“A-About as well as you, I reckon,” you answer with a hint of humor and only a trace of a stress stutter. Buying time with a few more coughs, before you get too defensive, you play it off as if Beth does not know that you and Glenn know. “We stayed up far too late and ate way too many peaches,” you say the girl. Which is the truth, you aren’t lying! You aren't lyi — nope, don't you cry! Stay onstage, stay onstage, stay onstage—

—As it so happens, now is when you recall how you are currently carrying two peaches in your hand, so your cheeks heat. The urge to cry goes away, so, small win. “I ate way too many, at least.”

Beth giggles. “I love peaches, too. I had peach cobbler as my birthday cake two years ago. The ones we grow are so good!”

“Thank you for the basket of food, by the way, it was very kind.” Very kind bribery, please keep it up, we haven’t had this much available food in months, in fact, we’ll probably do anything you ask us if you let us stay here!

“There’s plenty more where the peaches came from. The season’s almost over, but we still have bushels left to pick, the hens haven’t slowed production yet, and we’re almost out of canning supplies we’ve done so many,” Maggie responds.

Beth is opening a big trash bag on her bed that looks like it’s filled with blankets, so Maggie takes the opportunity to lock eyes with you again. She mouths, “Thank you.”

For not saying anything? “She doesn’t know we know?” you mouth back.

She shakes her head.

You relax muscles you didn’t know you were tensing.

“Yay, I got it open without rippin' it!” Beth exclaims. “Y/N, Maggie and I had gathered up a bunch of clothes for charity, but that’s when things got, w-well,” she halts, unsure of how to describe the outbreaks. “The bad things happened, but, um, we, well, we still had all the donations bagged. Daddy and Shawn also…” She quiets at mentioning her deceased older brother and turns weepy.

Her big sister finishes for her. “Shawn donated clothes, too. And Mom.” She swallows. “There’s plenty to share with your group, is what she means.” Maggie nods her head at the bag on the bed, then to two others on the floor.

They're sharing...all of those?

You don’t get a chance to ask it because Beth is already answering. “When I saw how y’all looked, it was scary. The,” she starts, then stops. “Not that you were scary, I meant y’all must’ve been out there a long time. It’s scary to think about.”

“In your defense, I did look scary the first time you saw me.” Wild hair, sweat-drenched, sobbing, and covered in Carl’s and your own blood. Rough day.

But having been ‘out there,’ as Beth worded it, it’s not so scary when you’re with a group you trust. It even feels comforting to have them all. Which is when you consider how Shane and you will be back out there in a couple weeks, alone.

“Here.” Beth shyly points to the bag. “I wanted to offer for you to look through the bags first. If, if you want.”

The offer is (more) bribery to keep you quiet, which cools the warmth of the charity, but doesn't lessen the grateful tears you spill. Plus, yes, you all could use some fresh clothes, there’s only so much mending that can be done. And to be offered first dibs, even if it’s just to butter you up, is still being offered first dibs. “I’d love to take a look, thank you,” you say in earnest.

Beth combs through the bag and chats in her shy manner, handing you a barely-worn, calf-length dress that had been gift for Maggie, then a (pure wool?!) cardigan their mother had been giving away.

You find it hard to believe that she’s doing this as bribery, Beth doesn’t seem the sort to easily conceal things. She’s got an innocence that hits as genuine.

But, then again, you who hate dishonesty are apparently great at it. Who’s to say she’s not, too?

The breathlessness briefly comes back. You clear your throat and cough once.

Beth next, to your apprehension and then delight, has you try on the dress and cardigan (which shockingly fit). While retying the modified sling around your upper arm, Maggie keeps trying to catch your eye again in order to, you don’t know, communicate something via meaningful glance? But you don’t have the bandwidth for it, so return her look with a polite smile and shrug.

Her little sister then proceeds to gussy you up in a way reminiscent of how Amy did once at the quarry camp to see how Glenn would react. Gosh, was that only two-ish months ago, wasn’t it? Or has it been longer? It feels like longer.

Beth has manages a quick, respectable braided style for your hair, touches up your eyebrows for you, and even adds blush. She then claims that your hiking boots “look okay” with the ensemble and has you use the full length mirror in her closet to inspect the full results.

The dress is lovely, you have to admit. The neckline doesn’t dip too low bonus that it doesn’t show your bruise, the waist is defined, and it’s long enough past your knees to be comfortable. The length also helps lessen the lingering apprehension you have about showing natural (*cough cough unshaven*) legs.

You actually feel…pretty. Been a while.

It’s as if she knew you were yearning to feel girly again. If this is bribery, you welcome it. Worse ways of being bribed than with fresh food and a makeover from a genuinely sweet kid. And hey, since you have to be onstage so much, might as well dress nicely for the audience.

When you’re walking downstairs to bring your people the donations, Maggie murmurs in your ear, “Y/N, I didn’t put her up to any of this, it was all her.”

When you pull away from her, she's insistent. “It wasn’t her bein’ nice to keep you quiet. Remember, she doesn’t kn—”

“—Good mornin’, girls. What’s in the bags?” Patricia’s voice calls from the bottom of the stairwell.

“We had some clothes to donate since before Easter,” Beth answers. “I figured they could use ’em.”

“They certainly could. I’m glad I have plenty I brought from my house when we moved in.” You can see Miss Patricia in the hallway by the stairs, clearly wearing one of her late husband’s shirts over her dress. Her brows lift. “Seems you dolled your friend up some. You clean up nice, sweetpea!”

“Thank you, ma’am. I-I do feel like a lady again,” you allow, your cheeks again warming.

“Never stopped being one, as far as I’m concerned. Always kept your Ps and Qs,” she’s kind enough to maintain. “Oh, speaking of ladies, I don’t know how y’all are doing on girls’ supplies, but we should have enough to share while you’re still with us.”

“Margaret and I were gonna look for some more on the next drug store run tomorrow or Monday to make sure you’re well stocked.” Along with everything else on the list(s) that was forgotten when those two…got distracted.

Ugh, how different things would be if you’d gone along for that trip! None of this barn bullshit!

Again, you feel the need to cough to help you breathe better, so you cough twice and try clearing your throat.

“Uh-oh, sounds like cold and flu season is well on it’s way,” she muses. “Don’t let me keep you holding them bags all day, girls. It’ll be funny watchin’ your daddy react if one of them ends up dressed in his giveaways,” the woman comments wryly. “Now, I did intend to check on those stitches today, Y/N, so come see me later. Hersh is just finishing up with Daryl’s, in fact, then he’ll be all set to go, if you were wantin’ to see him out.”

Oh, right! Today is finally the day he’s leaving that room!

Carl, too, but he’s already out and has been wandering around outside as much as his energy and mom will allow (which isn’t very much yet).

Daryl, on the other hand, has been too dizzy and too ashamed to do much more than a trip around the perimeter of the house.

Carol and you cleaned his tent yesterday as a surprise. It was her idea, of course. She enlisted your help specifically because you twice mentioned not thinking his sweat smelled bad, which is weird, but, for real, it doesn’t smell bad to you. The cigarettes, on the other hand, ew.

“Are we not going today?” Maggie asks quietly about the postponed pharmacy trip.

With tact, you suggest, “We could all use some rest after stayin’ up so late.”

She peers into your eyes, then nods and adjusts her hold on the two bags in her hands.“That’s a good idea. I’m not up to it, either.”

Upon stepping back outside onto the front porch, Jimmy and Glenn are kicking the soccer ball around already. Glenn is keeping his neck taut as he and Jimmy go back and forth, but the pain must have lessened.

The irresistible urge you have to make light of everything seizes you, and you leap into matchmaker mode because, why not? You won’t be here much longer, and maybe Maggie and Glenn linking up will lead to the rest being permitted to stay. That’s what matters.

Oh, and, uh, because you love Glenn, and Maggie is kind…oh fuck, are you just a calculating, cold strategist?

The feeling that you’re running out of air and going to vomit returns, but you push yourself onstage and commit to the role. You have to keep your shit together.

“Ain’t he handsome when he plays? Good sportsmanship and confidence rolled into one.” You playfully hold a smile back when you glance at Maggie and giggle to hide your heavy breathing. “Also the shiny hair.”

“He does have great hair,” she softly agrees.

“Y/N, do you and Glenn like each other? I-I thought…” Beth’s face has paled.

Maybe that’s why you over-act when you exclaim, “Of course I like him, that’s why I’m such a great wingwoman for him.”

Margaret blushes. “Let’s get these bags to their camp.”

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

Him

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

“I can’t hunt?”

“You can do as you please,” the old man remarks. What, is he making fun of him? “But doing so while recovering from a concussion would be foolish, as would be heavy lifting or other strenuous activity, and that’s not considering your collarbone and ribs. I’m curious as to how you’d wield your weapon or bring back what you hunted, for one, if you would even make it off the property without keeling over.”

Daryl bites his tongue and keeps his words to himself. Well, fine! I can still bring that little girl back. She’s got legs, she’ll be able to walk on her own.

Hershel cleans up his stuff and stands. “Now, then, I’m sure you’re ready to finally see yourself out.”

“Damn straight,” is probably not the smartest response in front of the old man, what with the cuss word, but damn straight he is ready to get the hell out of there. Still, he remembers his manners. “Thanks for everythin’.” He even holds out his hand for a shake. Which is dumb because the guy’s hands are full.

Daryl…puts his hand back down and grabs the few things he had in there with him. Y/N once described the Dr. Farmer as ‘unreadable.’ Definitely is that.

Unreadable, Hershel drawls, “It’s good you’re on the mend,” and inclines his head toward the door. “After you.”

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

You

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

Dude, you had a panic attack.

It wasn’t too too bad, all things considered. Initially, you’d thought it was a mild asthma attack, but in hindsight, wow you were oblivious to all of the signs.

It started to happen when some of the group was going through the clothes, right after Maggie and you dropped them off and she left to do choring.

Lori was beside you, low-key beside herself trying to figure out how your people could “ever repay the family now?”

Next, T-Dog joked about the sizes being too small for him. “Ain’t sure what here I could fit that won’t result in a show for y’all.”

This is when Andrea murmured to Carol, “Reminds me how it’s been awhile.” The way Carol reacted clued you in that it might have been a sex joke. Especially given the way Andy next gave your brother a once-over as if you weren’t right there. You vividly recall licking your teeth and rolling your eyes.

Then Shane — and he did this without having seen Andrea do the once-over — nudged T-Dog in the ribs and began to unbutton his own top. “Worse things than a show these days, friend. And that there clean shirt is calling my name.” Naturally, he proceeded to swap garments right where he stood.

Per usual, Lori was more graceful than you. She ignored it as if he were her own brother acting like a frat boy, and merely continued to sift through one of the bags. She smiled upon finding something, tapped Carol on the shoulder, and handed it to her.

It’s been a week now since Shane's betrayal of her and Rick. Even you are still figuring out how to see him. The hopeful part is that he’s been leaving Lori alone. If his sights have indeed turned to Andrea, all the better.

Back to the moment, you next worried that what if he and Andrea got a little too close, did something foolish, and she ended up pregnant, too.

Not that Lori’s baby is Shane’s, the baby is Rick’s regardless, but...

The tight feeling returned in your chest.

It was in the midst of this that Dale complimented you. “Kiddo, you’re all gussied up! Any occasion?”

“Mmhm, all dressed up for the ‘show.’” The nausea was back, plus a fun new notion of being observed, as if everyone and anyone, seen or unseen, was staring you down.

Dale just nodded with raised brows, and you and he shared a look. Instead of tempering your fears, it piqued them. It wasn’t his fault, but Mr. Horvath’s expression started to mirror the way he stared into your eyes after catching Shane lose his temper and leave you with a bruise on your sternum.

The fears within you, the stress, the dread, all started roiling stronger and stronger. You cleared your throat, then coughed, but it didn’t help. You felt so restless and, oddly, cornered.

And so, not knowing where to look therefore looking in all directions, you happened to spy Glenn staring at the barn. Again.

The air felt too…thin? And then you noticed Lori examining the torso of one of the shirts in the bag as if testing it for stretchiness or room. You could see the shadows clouding her face right before she abruptly put the shirt down.

Then, there was Carol, holding up something that had clearly must have been Beth’s a few years ago, and it looked as if it would fit Sophia perfectly now.

It was just about then that your lungs simply couldn’t keep up.

“Kiddo?” sounded in your ear.

You may have panted something to do with “puffer,” referring to your largely unused inhaler. At any rate, instead of next going to the logical location of the RV to find the med bag, you made for the treeline. You didn’t want anyone near you, didn’t want anybody to see you, didn’t want a fuss, didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want anyone to even think about you, so you had to hide.

Panting, a numbness started to affect your fingers and spread to your torso and toes. You repeatedly coughed in an effort to break up whatever was making it hard to breathe.

Once you started coughing, it dominoed. Your stitches were tugging at the forceful coughs, and soon, you were hacking. The hacking led to retching, one, two, three times. Tears started to fall.

“Baby, here,” came from your right and a warm, delicate hand touched the small of your back. Lori. She pressed the inhaler into your hand. “I shook it up, it’s all ready.”

Bending forward slightly to open your airways, you tried to exhale enough so you could take the dose properly as you clasped the trigger.

One puff. Hold breath in.

Your pulse thudded in your ears.

Another puff. Hold breath in.

The relief that usually comes with the medication wasn’t as apparent as it normally would be. It helped somewhat, but.

You tried another dose.

More tears of frustration. You panted to her that you thought your were going to pass out. "F-Feels like m'gonna die," you may have also said.

The phantom sensation of your hand being covered in Amy's blood returned. You recall wiping it with the hem of your dress, and Lori taking your hands, preventing you from continuing to do so.

Lori calmly instructed you to, “Try this with me, honey,” and slowly breathed in through her nose. You copied as best you could.

She then slowly breathed out through her mouth. You copied as best you could.

Over and over she coached you until things started to ease.

You looked around you. Your new sweater was hanging off your elbows. Your pulse was still loudly thumping, but two doses of a corticosteroid will do that. In your escape, you’d made for the big rocks where you’d shared (sort of) a cigarette with Daryl. The stones felt nice and cool, and Lori’s gentle rubbing of her hand across your back was comforting.

“Been a while since you’ve needed the inhaler. ‘Decorative,’ you called it once,” she softly chatted. The sensation of not getting enough air wasn’t quite gone just then, but you felt pretty normal again.

“I reckon the cold and the smoke must’ve done me in,” you mumbled. Your throat was mildly sore after all the coughing. “It’s good it was mild.”

“Were you wheezing?”

“No, I…just couldn’t breathe enough or something.” You shrugged. “I don’t always wheeze when I need it.” Your nose was stuffy from crying.

She was thoughtful for a moment, and had begun to lightly scratch your back. “You and Glenn seem off this morning. I’ve seen you two tired before, but today you both seem…there’s something else going on, clearly. Did you two fight?”

“Not exactly.” It’s true. “We’re on the same page.” You weren't prepared to have to go onstage again, but just in case, you tried pulling yourself together.

“Was it about Maggie?”

You laughed genuinely. “Ha, not at all.”

Lori didn’t mirror your laughter or even smile in return. “Honey, I think you had a panic attack.”

That's ridiculous! was your initial reaction, which is why, at first, you protested. “Oh, it wasn’t that dramatic.”

“It looked different from where I was. But even still, it didn’t have to be or feel ‘dramatic’ to have been one. You know that.” The nonjudgemental straightforwardness in her voice, in her eyes, was enough to convince you that she could see straight into your heart and read what was there. “Y/N, is there something more going on?”

More than anything, at that moment, you didn’t want to lie to her.

But what could you do? Tell the truth, yes, 'the truth will out,' you know that. But you were convinced that telling the whole truth, right then, would be like lighting dynamite.

In your view, you would be exposing everyone to chaos and even violence, and you'd all seen too much of that already. And no, you couldn’t just tell one person because it never just stays with one person. Lori was/is not in any position to have more fear on her plate.

So what did you do?

You crawled back on that stage and you lied — by telling the truth.

“I’m worried he’ll talk.” Vague and a lie of omission, and maybe a little throwing your friend under the bus, but Lord have mercy on you, it was truthful.

Lori squeezed her eyes shut. “Me, too. Oh honey, I’m so scared!” she whispered, covering her mouth.

So scared of Shane, just like you are. “Rick won’t hold any of it against you. We all thought he was dead.”

She shook her head and stared at the ground.“But you saw how Shane behaved, you, you heard the things he said, Y/N,” she nearly hissed. “I don’t know who that man was, but it wasn’t Shane, just like when he had m—” then Lori cut off.

“When he had what?”

She shook her head again. “Seems Dale’s on his way over. He told me about what was going on so I could bring your medicine to you. He hadn't known what 'puffer' meant." A look of pure guilt. "And —oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry that you’re worrying yourself like this over my mistakes! It's not fair to you.”

“Your kid ain’t a mistake, it’s so good that they’re here,” you replied in total honesty. First time all day.

Maybe she’ll be honest with you and spill whatever Shane did that she’s not being upfront about. Whatever it is could surely have been described in a sentence. “What else did Shane do, Lore?” It can’t have been that bad, or could it?

All she did was shake her head once more. “Like you said, he hasn’t been himself.

‘Hasn’t been himself.’ Fine. You’ve got secrets, too, so there’s no way on earth that you can cast stones.

You stepped back onstage for hopefully the final time, and made yourself deliver the next lines. “That’s why we’re goin’ to Fort Benning.” Without you all. “Just him and me. Within two weeks, I hope?” The nausea still hadn’t gone away, and simply saying this brought it back.

Her brows sunk caution. “When was this decision made? I-I thought—”

“—I ain’t told him about it yet.” The bitter smile, you hadn’t been able to stifle. “Shouldn’t be hard to convince him, considering he was fixing to not so long ago.”

Lori’s apologetic tone wasn’t a put-on. “I’m so sorry he didn’t tell you. I had no idea you were left in the dark.”

That’s when some tightness came back to your chest, and your breathing turned faster again. “I know, Lore.”

She noticed. “Honey, hey,” she soothed, “breathe slowly, deeply." Her hand cupped your cheek. "His mistakes, his choices, his reactions are not your responsibility.”

“I know, b-but—”

“—And you don’t have to leave with him if you don't want to.”

“But wh—”

“—No buts.” Lori cupped your cheek, stood, and swiftly made toward Dale.

And here is where you hadn’t known she was going to be quite so straightforward with him.

In fact, you’d hoped she’d join you onstage and lie, too, but she behaved beyond reproach. “It was a panic attack, so please make sure to respect her privacy about it. I’ve got to check on the laundry.”

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

Him

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

Funny thing, he’s wearing the same clothes he had his accident in. He’s in the same stuff leaving that he had been when he got carried in there, except now they’re cleaned and mended.

It’s been good to be back outside, he prefers it. He can’t wrap his head around why some people can keep inside in front of a screen all day. You don’t get to hear or feel the wind indoors, can’t hear the birds and all that.

Now, he couldn’t say for sure, but stepping outside and knowing he didn’t have to go back in must feel at least half as good as getting freed from prison.

If prison was a nice-ass farmhouse without the risk of getting shanked or worse, obviously.

Merle would have some words if he heard Daryl say something like that out loud. Though, Merle was pretty settled when he was in lock-up. Fared fine.

His first view when he steps out into freedom is Glenn and the teenage boy kicking the ball around. Those two are straight into it and pay him no mind as he walks around them.

The rest of the group is around the picnic table, looks like they’re sorting laundry (?), therefore ain’t paying him no mind, either.

Phew.

This is good. He was wondering if Y/N was gonna parade him out or make it a big deal, but after hearing her and the other ladies talking in the hallway, she didn’t come back in. Works for him, he doesn’t like a crowd.

…But, like, where is she? He figured she’d be around, is all, but she ain’t by the table.

Ah, yeah, duh — she's probably still doing something with the girl that's about her age and her little sister. Still seems off Y/N and Glenn are only “five or six years younger” than him, but that’s what Y/N has said a few times.

The next thing he sees is Lori, who is swooping down the yard and toward the big rocks where he and T-Dog took a smoke break once. And where Y/N had her first try of a cigarette, too. Lori looks like a woman on a mission, damn. Dale is staring in the direction Lori is walking, those big-ass brows of his slanted downward. Wonder what that's about?

Over the sound of a few leftover end-of-season cicadas, he hears the normal drone of crickets, light talking from the group, the thunk of the ball getting kicked, a very loud crow, some cows mooing, somebody coughing, birds doing their thing, chickens clucking, the wind blowing. Mmm, good stuff. Being inside and hearing it just don’t sound as good as being right out in it.

Then, “Daryl!” comes from his left, and he sees Carol walking to him. She’s a good woman.

And now the memory of her kissing him on the cheek is making his cheeks heat up as quick as she steps toward him.

“I’ll carry those for you,” she quietly insists about his small pile of clothes. He lets her.

She’s been very, um, attentive. Been having most of her meals with him, babying him as much as he’d allow, and all-in-all has been treating him extra after he had his accident.

There are more coughing sounds that he almost pegs as being Y/N’s, but when he looks back in the direction of the noise, there’s no one, just Lori off on her walk, and she wasn't coughing.

“We moved your tent closer to the rest of us, so you would be closer to where we could help you.”

Closer. Great.

Daryl wanted nothing less, but a kind gesture is a kind gesture, so he mans up and acts proper, grunting, “Thank you.” It’s not like they went and messed with his stuff, they just moved the tent, and for a real kind reason.

Glenn rears and kicks, sending the ball soaring. Damn, he's good.

“Now, it may smell and look a little different, but all of your things are still there.”

“Huh?” What’d she mean?

“You deserved a nice, clean place to go back to,” Carol explains. “Y/N and I tidied your tent.”

…

...

…they what?

He gets the weirdest image of himself as being onstage and forgetting whatever it was he was supposed to say next, leaving him standing there like a mouthbreather in front of the audience. And he kinda wants to cuss the audience out.

His first idea after learning Carol and Y/N was: What the hell, y’all been messing with my stuff?? What gives y'all the right?

But, come on, even he had it in him to keep his mouth shut. They’d taken the time and effort to clean up his shit and it was probably as nice as when Carol had worked her magic in the RV. That's damned decent, in fact.

So, Daryl does not act like a jackass, and instead, remembers his lines and thanks Carol again.

“It was no trouble. How about I bring you some more breakfast once you’re settled in?” she quickly offers. See? Very attentive. And he didn’t do shit to have earned it, which made it more uncomfortable.

Aw shit, his cheeks feel all warm again. First around Y/N, now Carol? Maybe there is something to this whole concussion bullshit.

Or, maybe Carol done kissed you on the cheek and said you were a good man and that you did right by her little girl as much as a father should and that’s the best possible thing somebody could be told.

“Do you want some more coffee, too?”

I wanna to be left alone, lady. “Nah, m’great. Thank you.”

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

You

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

“Last night seemed to be an indication summer was officially over. But today,” Dale blows through his lips, “Well, we can already tell it’ll be a warm one.”

“Did we hit the first day of fall, yet? I forgot what date it is today.”

“No, that’s on the 21st. We’ve got some time.”

“Oh, wait!” you squeak (ouch, your throat is still sore from coughing). “Ain’t it the Holy Days for you still?” Rosh Hoshanah was sometime last week, but that one got sort of messed up because of everything that’s been going on.

Oh man, it was the day after Daryl got into his accident, wasn’t it?

Dale’s cordial expression falters. “Yes, it was last week.”

“Yom Kippur is soon then, right?”

“It’s on the 18th this year, yes. Two days away.”

There’s this very insistent raven that’s been cawing away. Or is that a crow? You can’t tell the difference. You can tell that you’ve bummed Dale out, however. “I’ve bummed you out.”

Smiling sadly, he concedes, “Jewish holidays are usually lonely ones in mixed company. And now, especially with it being the holiest time of the year, after everything…” He lifts his shoulders.

“I’ll do the fasting with you so you won’t be alone!” Ow, stop raising your voice so high. “Is it no food or drink at all on that day, or is water okay?”

A happier smile. “No food or drink — barring serious health concerns, of course, in which case, one is required to not fast.”

“No water must suck! When my lot do fasting, water don’t count.”

He nods his head once. “It’s all part of the atonement. It’s considered a blessing for us to fast for it.”

“And the feast after it is fun,” you sigh with a grin. You’ll enlist Carol and Lori to see about making him a yummy fast-breaking meal for the day.

This is what you needed. Dale didn’t press you regarding the panic attack, and has simply been keeping you company by the big rocks. You’ve haven’t had to go back onstage while he’s been sitting with you. You’d probably be content to stay here a good, long time if you didn’t have to use the toilet something major.

“Did you see if there was a pair of suspenders in the bags so you and Mr. Greene can match?”

“Is this your way of saying you’re feeling well enough to head back, or that you need privacy?”

“It’s my way of sayin’ I gotta go potty real bad.” You stand. “Suspenders are pretty cool, you can party like it’s 1899.”

“I actually quite like how suspenders look,” he chuckles, stretching and getting to his feet.

“Mm, they remind me of the Old West, I love ’em.”

Dale and you walk back until reaching the side of the farmhouse, whereupon you excuse yourself to head to the treeline and do your business.

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

Him

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

As soon as the heat starts to sink in, he unbuttons his shirt halfway and kicks his shoes off. Getting the socks off without hurting himself takes some effort, but it’s worth it. His stuff is so squeaky clean and fresh, he wants to avoid sweating the place up too quick.

His old pillowcase is gone, probably scrapped for dishrags seeing as it was pretty worn. In its place is a flower-covered one with soft, thick cotton fabric. There's some phrase about a 'woman's touch' that must apply here. Or, if Merle were here, prime Darylina ammo. Joke's on him, the pillowcase is soft as hell.

And being in there might seem boring, but it's 10 times better than being stuck in a damn bed and listening to music for days on end. Just cloud-watching through his tent window is fun enough for him.

In fact, it’s rad! He’s so psyched to not be in that room anymore!

Cloud watching, playing with his bolts, farting if he's gotta; he's content as can be. Seriously, he’s in such a good mood right now.

But as luck would have it, by the time he’s decided to see how easily a bolt can poke a hole through the mesh window (the answer is very easily, and it’s real satisfying) none other than Andrea herself appears at his tent door. The chick who shot him.

Now, she’s pretty as a picture and then some, but he doesn’t want his belly showing in front of her. If he’d been paying attention and heard her making her way to him, he would’ve buttoned up.

So, he tries out the same tactic as last night, when Carol walked in on him shirtless; maybe by not closing his shirt, she wouldn’t think about it? Or…fuck it, just about everybody has seen some part of him uncovered in the past week. At least there ain’t no scars on this side.

All he’s got to do is make like he’s onstage and that it doesn’t bother him having his literal nipples on display.

“Hey.” Andrea steps into his tent, looking like she is about to eat crow.

She hands him a book. He accepts the maybe peace-offering.

“It’s not that great, but…” she trails off, breathes out, and looks as shamefaced as can be.

Y/N, Carol, and T-Dog all mentioned she’s been kicking her own ass for shooting him. Granted, he’s still a little pissed, and, yeah, real thankful that she’s a shit shot, but — she was trying to protect the group, right? Ain’t even her fault he got stuck in that damn bed. The concussion, split side, and broken ribs did that for him.

He figures he’s gotta make it clear that she’s off the hook without making her feel worse for being let off the hook. And, he thinks he knows just the way to break the tension. It’d got the librarian at his high school to laugh the first time he made the remark, which is probably why he was usually allowed to eat in there during lunch if he asked.

Now, he knows reading is still on the no-go list, don’t worry, Y/N, but he casually holds the book up and flips through the pages.

He’s gotta, it’s the setup.

It’s good that Andrea ain’t said nothing yet, because it’s the perfect opportunity for him to pretend to be dead-serious when he complains, “What, no pictures?”

The joke does the trick. Andrea smiles and relaxes.

“I’m so sorry. I feel like shit,” she starts to go on, but he puts a stop to it.

Tucking the book aside as he settles down onto the pillow, he cuts in, “You and me both.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but, if there’s anything I can do, I—”

He cuts in one more time, “—You were trying to protect the group. We’re good.” He means it.

But, ya know, just because things are chill doesn’t mean he can’t bust her balls a little, right? “But hey,” he stops her as she’s leaving. “Shoot me again, you best pray I’m dead.”

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

You

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

“It went great! Better than I ever expected.” Andrea takes a seat beside you on the log. Judging by the look of serenity on her face, it appears that the monkey she’s had on her back for the past week is finally gone.

“Good, m’glad.” You knew it would be fine, but Andrea was so nervous.

“And I have to say, I can see the appeal now.”

“What appeal?”

“Daryl was,” she thinks on the right word and picks: “Charming.”

Ah. You see what she’s trying to do. “Well, go tell him that, then,” you suggest, cool as a cucumber. She and Dale thought you and he had a romantic thing going on. Lol, nah.

“And he was funny!” she goes on.

You sip your tea. “Mm, he can be.”

“Not angry, or, or nasty.” She closes her eyes and breathes out a sigh of relief. “I was so worried about how it was going be.”

You tilt your head in partial agreement. He can be a dick.

Your job for the rest of the day, so Papa Dale done told you, is to be chill (yes, he used the word ‘chill’ and it was adorable). It’s your only responsibility today, seeing as he joined you when you went to check the highway spot for Sophia. She hasn’t found it, it’s untouched. Again.

So now, your job = keep chill.

“Are you helping with target practice later?”

Oh, right, and there’s that. You suppose you could continue helping Beth with drawing her weapon smoothly, keep drilling her never, ever forget to switch the safety back and forth.

But…okay: maybe today, that isn’t your job. Maybe you need a rest from being onstage. “I think I’m gonna sit today out.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I just need a day,” you answer in too high a pitch.

Andy doesn’t inquire further. “How’s the little fuzzball?” she instead asks.

“Still sleeping,” you coo. The sluggish little chick you’d scooped up while quickly sprinkling feed-corn in order to feel useful is your insurance for keeping chill. Can’t not keep chill with a chick asleep in your lap.

“It must feel nice and safe wrapped up like that.”

“Mm.” The chick is nestled in a dishtowel, half its body also covered by your new cardigan.

“Y/N, have you not gone to visit him yet?”

“Not yet. He’d appreciate some time to himself, I reckon, after a week bein’ stuck in there and visitors and checkups at all hours.”

Glenn’s off doing farm chores with Jimmy, so he’s being kept busy and won’t be a concern. As for you, you’ve got your sleepy chick and are content to stay here on the log. You ate lunch, yet another peach (you’re up to six), just finished the leftover raspberries, and are now washing it all down with some fresh mint tea you made in honor of one of your best friends. She’d make her own mint tea and would call it ‘wild mint’ tea because it sounded exotic.

When Dale mentioned today’s date, you remembered it was her birthday. She was the most confident girl you’d ever met, and a sweetheart to boot. You really hope she’s alive.

Andrea chuckles to herself. “I gave him that terrible book to keep him occupied.”

Book?? To Daryl? But the concussion! “A book?”

“I brought him The Case of the Missing Man,” she shares with a grin. “He can join the survivor’s club of those who’ve read it — Y/N, is something wrong?”

“Oh, um, nah, it’s all good, uh,” you are fumbling so hard right now. Cool, you’re feeling lightheaded again, cool cool.

It’s all cool. There’s no fire. Stay chill. “I’m gonna pop over and make sure he ain’t cracked into it yet, he’s, it’s, it’s not safe yet. C-Concussion and all.” Listen to you, smooth like butter.

“Oh shit.”

“Andy, don’t sweat. Even if he did start on it, like,” and you pause, because, “I don’t actually know what can go wrong, I didn’t ask Miss Patricia, but I’m sure it ain’t nothing serious!” You cup the (awoken and now loudly peeping) chick between your hands as you book it (pun intended?) to Daryl’s tent.

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

Him

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

For Y/N to glide over wearing a pretty dress, hair all fancy, and holding some little bird was not something he put on his bingo sheet.

“Hiya, Daryl.”

It takes him a second. “Hey.” He ain't never seen her in a dress.

And with that little bird, he gets the image in his head of her bursting into song and the farm animals and forest critters doing a musical number with her.

He’ll *ahem* keep that to himself...

“I hope you’re enjoyin’ your new freedom! Mi—”

“—Who’s the little guy?” he had to ask first.

“It's a chick.”

Clearly. “Why?”

“It’s cute.”

She ain’t wrong. “…Can I see?”

“Yeah, it's adorable!”

He begins to get up, but she steps over faster than he can stand. She kneels beside his cot and, delicately, transfers the wrapped chick into his hands. Carefully, he unwraps the washcloth around it and slips his hand underneath it so sits on his palm with its teeny legs dangling through his fingers. It’s peeping like it’s getting paid for it, holy shit it’s so fucking cute.

“I came here wonderin’ if I might I borrow the, uh, the book Andrea just lent you?”

Ha, called it! The second Y/N found out he had contraband, she came to the rescue.

The chick quiets down, appearing to relax in his hand. His hand must be good and warm for it.

Maybe it’s because he’s in a good mood, but he smiles like a dipshit for a few moments before saying anything. “Nah, I wouldn’t dream of checking it out ’til you said it was fine.”

“Oh ha-ha,” she play-mocks, assuming he wasn’t being serious.

Eh, okay, maybe he was sorta razzing her, too. But he wants to come out on the other side of this whole concussion bullshit on the up, and if reading is still off-limits, it’s still off limits. He’s not gonna full-on disregard somebody who gives a shit.

“How’d ya end up dressed like that?” is his second question while he pets the chick lightly along its head using the feathers on his bolt.

“I wear this, like, all the time.”

“Oh right, yeah, you do,” he sarcastically responds. He tries to reach with his left arm to pick up the book under his cot, but gets a sharp twinge and surrenders that he can’t do that move yet.

Y/N snorts at the sarcasm and tells him straight, “The Greenes had some giveaways, so Beth gave me this outfit. Oh, thank you,” she says when he instead points in the direction of the book. She picks it up and hugs it to herself. “I do believe Carol put a few things aside for you to try on, too.”

“’Kay.”

Y/N looks pretty.

It’s nothing new, obviously her face is nice, but it's the whole blushing thing that keeps happening to Daryl's face that's annoying. Seems he's started blushing like a belle over all the damn women in camp these days. That really was some smack to the head he got.

He’s imagining himself as being back onstage again, forgetting his lines. He can make something up on the spot: “How you gonna search in that?”

“Ain’t like my ankles are tied together. Women have always been able to move, play, do manual labor of all sorts in dresses, corsets, stays, stockin’s, you name it,” she serves back with just enough fire that his belly did one of those good flippy-floppys. “That reminds me, Nervous Nelly came back! Did any of us tell you? She’s fine as can be, I fed her half a peach yesterday!”

Some of them baby hairs around her face are coming out of the braids. Her skin's got a sheen to it. And did she put pink stuff on her cheeks or something? Or is that because she was moving around a lot and it’s gotten warm out? Because her lips don’t look like there’s nothing on them but they’re nice and —

“—Dare, you okay?”

“Yeah. Tired.”

“You must be.” Why is she frowning? “You looked like you’d just got hypnotized or — you sure you feel normal?”

“M’fine, I just spaced out.”

She’s gonna have him do a thing, isn’t she? “Follow my finger for a little, please?” Ah-ha, see?

Pointer finger extended, he goes along with it for the 10 or so seconds it takes for the slight crease between her eyebrows to relax.

“Please stick out your tongue for me?” is her next request and, uh, why?

Well, he goes ahead and does it for her anyway. The hook ’em horns he makes at the same time are a sure sign he’s in a good-ass mood.

Y/N lets herself smile, then elaborates: “If it came out tilted, it’s a sign of stroke.”

Stroke? That’s a little much.“C’mon, you’re worried I had a stroke?”

She nods once. Her chest expands big as if she were inhaling really deep. “A smoker, extended bed rest, head trauma,” she quietly counts.

Is he hearing things, or does her breathing sound a little too fast?

“Can you point your toes three times?”

He point his toes three times, and yes, her breathing is a little too fast.

“Now please lift both arms parallel to the bed.”

He lifts both arms. The baby chicken is sleeping now and doesn’t wake with the motion.

“Okay,” Y/N whispers to herself.

“Tell me you’re not stressing out about nothin’.”

She blinks a few times and deadpans, “I would never.”

“Here,” he holds the chick near her face. “Get zen like this pipsqueak.”

“But you ain’t ‘nothing’ and you are at an elevated stroke risk.”

He’s only got the one word for her: “Zen.” The hovering motion he made with the chick was a fun touch, the little thing didn’t even mind.

Her expression suggests she’s trying to not smile, and, in a move he doesn’t anticipate, she leans forward to rub her nose on its beak. Her lips brush against his fingertips when she does, and his train of thought derails.

Next thing, her hands are overlapping his as she gently takes the chick back and re-wraps it in the washcloth. “’Lil buddy you’re fine, you’re fine,” she coos. “I’ll grab you the hand sanitizer and leave you to some peace, alright man?” she addresses to Daryl, who's still a little distracted, so a grunt and a chin tilt is how he acknowledges this.

Merle would be laughing his ass off right now, goddamn. ‘Sweet lil virgin Darylina’ sounds about what he’d be cackling about.

Y/N flips open the cap with her thumb and squirts the hand stuff onto his palm. Smells like lemons.

So, he didn’t have that stuff before, meaning she’d likely been the one to put it in there when she’d cleaned his tent with Carol. “Hey, um, thanks for the surprise.” Damn, he’s awkward. Smells way better in here.”

“Carol is so wanting to help you in any way she can. I was in it just to see you end up with that pretty floral pillowcase. I had to stop her from hangin' the matching curtains,” she snickers, then waves him goodbye and, boom, leaves.

So…how long until his heartbeat and head stop racing?

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

You

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

Yet another stage performance today. You had to act like you weren’t distracted by how boyishly charming Daryl looked lounging there with his shirt unbuttoned to his hecking waist, good Moses. But like, the way he snuggled the chick, and how your legit lips bumped into his fingers?? It was an accident! Ohh, but how he'd noticed your panicking so was all soothing and stuff...

Dude, and you were trying to sit like a dainty lady the whole time, too, what a poser.

Still, you think you were convincing in your latest stage performance. Oscar-worthy. Golden Globe. Emmy. Tony. Somebody hook you up with your EGOT.

Oh, and that little jab at his new pillowcase, aw yes, that was top tier friendzoning!

Or — oh, it wasn’t interpreted as flirting, right? No way did you intend that! And, hold up, there's no way he'd even care. It's Daryl.

Eh, you've earned a B- so far at being chill. You've got to get that grade up.

So, you are going to go pick fruit, alone, and you’re going to stuff your face because the show is over, you’re off stage for the rest of the day!

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

-> Masterlist link here <-

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

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saintship · 30 days ago

Text

Apocalypse’s spring

Prison era!Rick x fem!bitten!reader, a bit of honoring Lori’s death

warnings: angst, fear of death, grief, implied su1c1de, description of injuries

༻✦༺ It was a few days into the first warmth of spring. Only a few stray piles of snow remained on the bows of trees and atop swathes of briar, which you weaved through quietly on your walk back to the prison. A large rabbit swayed limply from your belt thanks to a knot Daryl had taught you. You really liked how he was taking some of the weight off Rick. It was frustrating that he still held onto Shane’s ideals; the separation of women and men in the group. It made you want to rip your hair out when he refused help, but if Daryl was the one relieving Rick, you were just glad it was happening at all.

The prison came into view, light filtering through the trees to light the widening path. When you heard the hiss and gnashing of a walker, your fear dissipated to annoyance that you’d gotten so close to having an uneventful day of hunting. drawing your knife, you turned, expecting one or two. It felt like your throat closed when you saw how far the herd stretched; if you remembered clearly, it was around the same size as the herd the group had to clear when everyone arrived.

Shame burns in your gut as you run. Even though plenty of people would do the same, this period of your life had almost conditioned you to be ashamed of choosing against the fight.

“Carol!” Her name ripped from your throat.

“The gate!”

She didn’t need any more explanation, pulling you inside while Carl closed the entrance again. Hundreds of walkers slammed up against the barrier, from one end of the fence to the other, snarling and spitting, crawling over each other in their hunger. You took Carl by the shoulders; poor, ill-fated Carl. You can’t imagine another universe where you’d be gripping a child this young, asking him to act like an adult. You understood indulging him with responsibility, but it also made you want to smack Rick. Would Judith be the same story?

“Go tell everyone inside what’s going on, please.”

He nodded, taking off while you and Carol stayed and started working on clearing the walkers that had gotten their arms stuck through the gaps. You were exhausted from the day, the sprint to the gate, the stress of the last months. A walker forces her way to the front; a little girl. Her little pink shoes and pigtail braids look out of place. Distracted by the heart wrenching sight, you were pulled tightly to the fence by the dozens of grasping arms, your abdomen level with the girl’s head. The sharp pain on your stomach followed by the damp sensation of blood was dull in your mind, all you could do was stay upright and keep taking down the gnashing, infected things.

The group worked at the herd for nearly three hours before it was safe to retreat inside, the stragglers not powerful enough to breach the gate. Finding a small bathroom, you lifted your shirt to reveal what you already knew was there. It was a messy one, the bite unclean and jagged. Pieces of skin frayed, blood still seeping down your hip. While you were trying to decide what to do next, Rick’s voice made your blood run cold.

“Here I was, thinking we got off with no serious injuries..”

His accent was always a bit rougher when he spoke quietly. You loved the way he said certain words, the way he’d roll his eyes when you imitated him. It seemed like everything you loved about him was rushing through you as you came to grips with the bite. Your mouth opened a few times, but Rick didn’t need you to say anything. His hands, still battered and partially bloodstained, run down your arms gently as he stands behind you. The touch releases a shaky exhale from your lungs.

“I need you to stay calm..” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. He looked so tired these days.

“I’m not gonna fight.. or run, or anything.” You rasp.

He nods, his eyes flickering to the bite in your reflection.

“I.. I wish I could-"

You shake your head, and he falls quiet.

“No use trying to bargain.” You murmur.

Frustration passes over his expression, but it’s stifled by his shaking voice. He leans down, close enough to speak at nearly a whisper.

“Thank you.. for everything..” He murmurs into your hair, and it feels like the room is spinning. You’re expecting to jolt awake, to see your cell walls around you and lay back down in relief. But all you could feel was Rick’s chest brushing your back, his hands holding your shoulders, his soothing voice reaching every corner of the dingy bathroom. You formed the only words that kept coming to mind.

“I don’t want to go..”

Your voice sounded unlike yourself, almost juvenile. The kind of tone Carl used back when he wasn’t allowed to have a gun.

Carl. Oh god, Carl. You miss the kid already and you’re not even dead yet.

Rick’s breath shakes as he exhales. In the mirror, you watch his brow twitch that way it does when he’s holding back what he really wants to say.

“I’ll stay with you..”

Your head shakes, though you don’t feel in control of your body.

“No.. I have to end it..”

His hand grips the basin, and you can feel it; the hint of anger that always bleeds into grief.

“Are you positive you want to do it yourself?” He murmurs, his eyes trained on the sink.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a question to you; you knew he was more important; he had to have a peaceful memory of you, and besides, he’d had to kill Sofia, and that was more than enough for one person’s lifetime.

He slowly turns you around, wrapping you in his arms. Closing your eyes, you could just pause all of this for a moment, pressed against his chest with your arms embracing his back. You feel the brush of his lips over your hairline, and that’s when tears threaten your eyes.

“Rick..” You breathe shakily, but he soothes you, holding you tighter.

“Shh.. I know..”

Your heart feels like it’s being constricted when you feel him slide a pistol into your holster. He walks you out to a side entrance, the forest nearby. The sun was setting. He gathers you against him one last time, squeezing you comfortably before pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m always with you..” He whispers.

“I’m with you too..”

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to pretend you didn’t care about Lori, but you did. So you press your lips to his stubbled cheek, a bit of your tears clinging to his skin.

“Bye, Rick..”

You step down through the destroyed part of the prison, starting toward the woods. Dappled sunlight flits over the path, the Georgia breeze tousling your thin flannel.

You can’t bring yourself to look back, but if you did, you would have seen Carl walk up silently to his father’s side.

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dead-sirens · 26 days ago

Text

TWD Poly AU part 1

(Daryl x Fem!Reader x Shane)

Just an AU I've been daydreaming about in which: Rick never was shot at the beggining, so Shane never got with Lori and even though he's very annoying he isn't a total asshole

warnings: this isn't redacted properly because my first language is not english so I don't want to mess it up, and I do this mostly to have my ideas sorted

What happens when everyone is at Hershel's farm long-term because Shane isn't as psychotic and they all spent their energy securing the farm instead of fighting him

When the world ended you were at work with your best friend: Glenn. He was a delivery boy at the pizza restaurant that you were a cashier at

And you two escaped together, soon after you met Daryl and he protected you both. In canon Daryl is supposed to be around 45 in S1, and reader is around 25 (same as Glenn)

So Daryl was very respectful and helped you and Glenn survive until you found Rick's group and joined them

You had a massive crush on Daryl since he saved you, Glenn loves to tease you about it

But you kept it to yourself because Daryl is always very respectful and takes his distance from everyone so you think he is just not into you

Glenn insists every chance he gets that you should totally confess your feelings

But you don't, Daryl is a great friend, you don't want to ruin that with a silly love confession

And then one day: he gives you a potato

Its a wild kind of potato, and you love it because you were an amateur gardener before the world changed and you've been obsessed with finding edible plants around the woods (before the group got to Hershel's farm)

Then when you got to Hershel's the need for an edible plant kind of died because well, you were at a farm and Hershel had edible plants all over the place

But still, you loved that Daryl remembered and got you one

so you decide to plant it in the lake (is a water potato) and Glenn tags along bc you're besties and like to gossip

"He gave you a potato and you act like it's a wedding ring"

"Says the guy who hasn't stopped talking about Maggie and the way her hair smells like flowers"

But while you two are yapping and laughing, Daryl is watching from the distance near the lake

And he actually doesn't understand why oh why is he feeling uneasy

So days after he confronts Glenn to ask him if you two were a couple

I mean, it kinda makes sense to him: you two were together when he first found you, and you were always talking and doing chores together, even if he's never actually seen you hold hands or kiss or say "i love you" to eachother, some couples don't do that, right?

So he talks to Glenn, to warn him about playing with your heart and all that stuff

He thinks he's just a little protective of you because you've become his friend and he got attatched or something

But the Glenn laughs in his face because, honestly? You and him? That's just ridiculous

And then he decides to intervene for the greater good

"Daryl, she totally likes you"

And you can actually see him processing this new information like it's something he never thought possible, like, why would you like him? He's just some old dude, too old for you anyways

And it actually took Daryl DAYS to process everything, was it real? were you actually interested in him? And why? he was always hunting animals in the woods and couldn't remember the last time he took a shower, definetly not attractive characteristics

And then there was the moral side of him telling himself that it wasn't right, he was 20 years older than you, that had to be innappropiate at least

But he still had to make sure because he thought you were so pretty and nice the first time he met you, and he just likes to hear you talk about plants for hours and honestly he can't stop thinking about how beautiful your eyes are

He liked you since the beggining but was very self-conscious, he didn't want you to think he was just some creep, so he took his dinstance, but with this new info he was gathering the courage to make a move

So he decides to talk to you asap, and he is totally not following you around to see when you are alone (he totally is)

So he tags along the next time you go to the lake without Glenn, to "ensure your safety"

And at the lake he tells you "Glenn said you liked me"

And you freeze because what the actual fuck, you wanted to kill Glenn in that instant

But you decided to be honest and said "It's true, I like you"

And then Daryl starts blabbering about his feelings, saying stuff like "why would you like me?" and "You should get someone better"

And you kissed him because you just can't deal with how adorable he is being, and he kisses you back

And the kiss escalates quickly, you end up falling in the lake because neither of you wanted to stop the smooching

And then you're making out, kissing, touching, calling eachother's names, hungry of eachother

And I wont write it here but you two... "get familiar with eachother" on the sand (do lakes have sand???)

And then you two are together, kind of

You havent actually talked about being boyfriend/girlfriend, but you are together all the time now, Daryl absolutely loves being around you whenever is possible

And you love him being around you of course

Glenn still teases you all the time

"He gave you a potato and you let him get it"

"Shut up Glenn, you did it in a drugstore"

That's all I have for now

Actually I have more but that's for the next post because in case you're wondering "why is it poly if she ended up with Daryl?" JUST WAIT BECAUSE I HAVE PLANS

But I don't have time rn so maybe later I will update (that's why it says part 1 obvs)

#polyamory #poly au #twd polyamory #twd poly au #reader insert #headcanons #shane walsh #daryl dixon #shane walsh x reader #daryl dixon x reader #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #shane walsh fanfiction #glenn rhee #maggie greene

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k-nayee · 1 year ago

Text

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 ᵗʷᵈ

Navigation

❝In a world gone dead, what makes you human might be the only thing that keeps us alive.❞

───────✧₊∘∘₊✧───────✧₊∘∘₊✧───────✧₊∘∘₊✧───────

ੈ✩‧₊ ̗̀➛ 𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 you navigate a world overrun by the dead, discovering your purpose and finding unlikely allies along the way.

∘₊✧───────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧───────✧₊∘

⇢ ˗ˏˋBLURB ࿐ྂˏ•*⁀➷ and Author's Note

⇢ ˗ˏˋCHAPTER 0.5࿐ྂˏ•*⁀➷ | OPERATION CRADLE: LOG AND CONDIFIDENTIAL REPORT

⇢ ˗ˏˋCHAPTER 1.࿐ྂˏ•*⁀➷ i | FLASHPOINT

⇢ ˗ˏˋCHAPTER 2.࿐ྂˏ•*⁀➷ ii | FALLOUT

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

── all rights reserved K-NAYEE 2020-2024. any and all fanfiction seen here belongs to me unless stated. please do not copy, plagiarize, translate, repost, or upload on any social media (tiktok, youtube, hell even facebook) without my permission.

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aspenmissing · 1 month ago

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

𝚁𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙶𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜

𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚕 𝙳𝚒𝚡𝚘𝚗

𝚁𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢

𝙽𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚂𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚑

𝙶𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚗 𝚁𝚑𝚎𝚎

𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚎

𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

#The Walking Dead #The Walking Dead Fandom #reader insert #rick grimes x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #Rickly x Reader #negan x reader #glenn rhee x reader #maggie greene x reader #platonic!reader

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lemonbxrry · 10 months ago

Text

Doctor's Orders

ZERO / ONE / TWO / THREE / FOUR / FIVE / SIX / SEVEN

Season Two, Episode Two: Bloodletting

Season Two, Episode Three: Save the Last One

I look at the cop that was lying on the gurney, checking his pupils and seeing that he wasn't responding at all. I expectantly looked up at my attending, waiting to hear the orders that they gave me.

"[Last Name], did the bullet go through or not," my attending, Dr. Fresk said, being on the opposite side of where his wound was. I quickly check, trying my best to not add more injury to him, finding that it did shoot all the way through.

"Alright, what do we need now [Last Name]?" Dr. Fresk asked, making sure I knew exactly what we needed, the consequences were me being kicked off of this trauma.

"We need to get an MRI scan, see if the bullet grazed any organs, and to see if there are any possibilities of shrapnel, we will then irrigate the wound and get some antibiotics, we need to also get a head CT to ensure there isn't any brain bleeding," I answered quickly. Dr. Fresk nodded his head in agreement, we waited as the MRI loaded.

"Alright [Last Name], we need a stapler, lidocaine, morphine, and an irrigation tray, you're gonna do it and I am going to oversee you do not mess up, got it?" I stare at him in awe, surprised he was even allowing me to do this, yet it was expected if I wished to go into trauma. I nodded my head quickly, asking the nurses around us to get what we needed as we headed to an operating room.

THE WALKING DEAD

I exit the operating room, heading to the waiting room where there stood another man in a cop uniform, having been with the man who we just did surgery on, he was anxiously pacing around in the same place, his hand in his hair. I gently call out to him.

"Are you here for Mr. Rick Grimes?" I pulled my surgical mask down, looking up as I got closer to him, he was slightly towering over me. He stopped his pacing, stopping in front of me.

"Yes, yes I am. Is he okay? He has a wife and a kid, he can't leave em," the man said, spilling out information from his anxiety.

"Yes, he is, his surgery went well, we just don't know when exactly he will wake up since he didn't seem to be responsive when we got him, and when we took him to a CT it didn't show any brain bleeds," I explain to him, clasping my hands together gently, having a small sympathetic look on my face.

"Wait, so there's a chance that he won't wake up?" the man asked, worry evident on his face.

"There is a possibility, slim, but there is a chance that he won't wake up, we won't know for a while," I tell him. He put a hand to his mouth, cupping it as tears seemed to pool into his eyes, as he bent over, putting his hands on his knees as his body shook quietly. Sympathy flooded my mind as I gently patted his back, bending a little bit to try and help him stand back up, "I'll be one of the doctors that are always on his case, okay? So if I find anything new or if you ever come in during these times I'll be here," he nods his head in reply, seeming to calm down from his emotions.

"Thank you Ms., Ms. uh," he said, wiping at his eyes. I give him a gentle smile, taking a small step back to give him space.

"Doctor [Last Name], you can call me [Name] if you prefer, however a lot of people call me [Last Name]," I put my hand out to shake.

"Deputy Shane Walsh, a pleasure to know that someone that is good is going to be taking care of him," Shane said, shaking my hand, I nod my head.

"Well, visiting hours are close to ending, so let's get you to see him before it ends," I tell him, walking with him down the hall to Rick's room.

THE WALKING DEAD

I race alongside Rick, having used my jacket to try and cover the bullet hole that tore through Carl. My lungs burned and I felt like I could pass out at any moment, yet all I could focus on was getting Carl any type of help.

"Hey, you move shithead! You get us there!" Shane screamed at the man with the shotgun, yanking him forward.

"Shane! That's not going to help us right now!" I yell at him, halting my run with Rick, turning to look back at the man,

"How far?" Rick asked, fear and anger evident in his tone.

"Another half-mile that way, Hershel. Talk to Hershel. He'll help your boy," he wheezed out. Rick and I turned and continued to run, panting and struggling to keep running for as long as we have been. We soon reach the outskirt of the barn.

"Rick I can carry him, let me help," I tell him, he nods hesitantly, giving me Carl as we ran the rest of the way, watching as a family came out, guns in a few of their hands.

"Was he bit?" the older man in front asked.

"He was shot," I called out, blood dripping from the now-soaked jacket onto my black short sleeve shirt.

"By your man," Rick added, having been by us the whole way.

"Otis?" someone asked, already knowing who was out there.

"He said to find Hershel. Is that you?" Rick asked as the group got closer, "Help me. Help my boy," Rick begged, holding Carl's head, careful the boy was going to break even more.

"Get him inside," Hershel ordered.

"I can help, I'm a doctor," I tell Hershel as I carried Carl inside, following after.

"Good, good, Patricia, I need my full kit," Hershel said, pulling his sleeves up, "Maggie, painkillers, coagulates, grab everything. Clean towels, sheets, alcohol," he continued listing off as we turned into the bedroom closest to the door. I set him down on the bed, immediately helping him get to work on helping Hershel with Carl, "Pillowcase," Hershel said.

"Is he alive?" Rick asked quietly, not gaining either of our attention.

"Pillowcase, quick," Hershel repeated.

"Is he alive?" Rick asked, louder this time as he reached for a pillowcase by Carl's head, handing it to me. I quickly folded it, making a small pad out of it, and took my jacket off of his wound more fresh blood began to flow out I quickly press the pillowcase against his wound, Rick pressing with me. Hershel grabbed a stethoscope, listening for Carl's heartbeat, I could only hear my own though, anxiety eating away at my mind that we didn't arrive in time.

"I've got a heartbeat," Hershel said after a moment, Rick took a shaky breath in, shaking, "It's faint,"

"Rick it's okay, I got it," I tell him, he slowly nods, taking a careful step back, "You gotta take a step back. Do we have an I.V.?" I asked, looking around at the other women here in the room.

"Your name?" one of the women asked, gently pulling Rick back.

"Rick," he answered, not taking his eyes off Carl.

"And who's the little lady with you?" she asked, seeming to be asking about me.

"[Name], she was my doctor before this happened," he said, stumbling over some of his words.

"Rick, [Name] and I are gonna do everything we can, okay? You need to give us some room," Rick only glanced at us as we bandaged Carl, I press my hand gently against Carl's back, trying to find an exit hole, "Now," Hershel said, seeing Rick didn't take a step back or attempt to leave. I glance up, seeing the teary and sweaty face of the sheriff, we held our gazes for a moment before he nodded stepping out of the room, seeming to be in a daze.

I glance back up as Rick, Shane, and the man who I am assuming is Otis enter.

"Do you know his blood type?" Hershel asked, looking up at Rick.

"A positive, same as mine," Rick answered.

"That's fortunate," He said, glancing back down at Carl, "Don't wander far. I'm gonna need you. What happened?" Hershel asked, looking over at Otis and Shane, the two men standing behind Rick.

"I was tracking a buck. Bullet went through it, went clean through," Otis said, his voice having pain in it and sadness. I glance back up at Shane and Rick, then back at Carl.

"The deer slowed the bullet down, which saved his life, but, now it's still inside of him, it didn't go through Carl," I explained, giving a small sigh through my nose, "It broke into pieces, so we will need to do a small surgery here, Hershel, do we have anything that can help?" I ask, turning to look at the man. He shook his head in response. "I can count six so far, but I won't know until I go through the wound," I look up at Rick, feeling a wave of Deja vu hit. This felt like how it was before, except ten times worse. I started to tune out Otis, not wanting to hear how broken he was sounding, I keep the pressure on Carl's wound.

"Lori doesn't know," Rick murmured, swaying a bit, he leaned into Shane, "My wife doesn't know. My wife doesn't know," he repeated, crying now.

"Rick, you gotta be strong for your Carl, I know it's scary right now, but you gotta be as strong as you can be because he's just as scared," I tell him, trying not to cry myself, "He is strong just like you and he's going to get through, I just need to the right supplies,"

THE WALKING DEAD

"Maggie, go get Rick," I tell the brown-haired woman, looking up from my spot, having lost some feeling in my arms from pressing so long, trying to console the now awake and crying boy. Maggie comes back with Rick, explaining that he needed blood as Carl continued to cry and groan. "Shane, please help hold him down, he's moving too much and it's going to cause more problems," I explain quickly.

"Dad," Carl cried out, his face pale and sweaty, continuing to squirm under our hands.

"Almost there," Hershel said, extracting one of the pieces out of Carl, the boy screaming loudly.

"Stop! You're killing him! [Name] make him stop!" Rick screamed, trying to rush to where his boy was laying, Maggie having to hold him back.

"Rick this is the only way that helps him live," I almost snap at him, cleaning the area where Hershel was extracting the bullet fragment.

"He needs blood," Patricia reminded, telling Rick.

"Do it now!" Shane screamed at Rick, holding the boy close and watching Carl and me. I glanced between Carl and Rick, continuing my own side of work.

"You are doing such a great job Carl, I know, I know it hurts," I tell the boy, pushing his hair back while trying to help soothe his mind, "You are so strong buddy, you're gonna be okay," I murmur, tears pricking my eyes, I blink furiously to try and stop them, only a few escaping. His crying soon stopped, his head falling to the side, causing an uncomfortable quiet.

"Wait, wait, hey," Shane said worried, staring at me with worry.

"He just passed out, he'll wake up again," I reply, just as Hershel pulled out the first shrapnel, placing it down into a bowl.

"One down, five to go," He said solemnly.

THE WALKING DEAD

After bandaging Carl I sat in the living room, resting my elbows on my knees to prop my head up in my hands, breathing deeply. It felt great to be doing something surgical again but god did it hurt knowing that it was Carl that I was going to do it to. I felt the couch sink next to me, I glance to see Shane have a faraway look but have a small look of worry on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks, putting his hand on my back. My body felt so warm and his hand felt so cold, it was nice, yet I knew it was just the anxiety that was making me feel so warm.

"Best as I can be, I really need that supplies," I tell him, rubbing my temples and groaning at the small headache that was forming, "Are you okay?" I ask after a moment.

"Not really, but, Rick needs someone right now, or people who can support him," Shane responds, I give a small nod.

"I'm gonna go talk to Rick, possibly go out and get the others, I'll be back," I nod, watching him get up and leave, I close my eyes tightly, finding a small moment to finally rest. Yet all I could think of is the fact that something was going to be wrong.

THE WALKING DEAD

I awoke to Shane shaking me gently on the couch, I sat up quickly, panicking.

"What happened, is Carl okay? Did someone else get hurt?" I stumble up, almost falling, he quickly helps stabilize me, shaking his head.

"No, no, I'm going with Otis to find the supplies, doc says that one of his blood vessels got nicked, and Otis knows what it looks like. We decided it would be best if you stayed here, don't want anything happening to our only other doctor," Shane explains. I nod slowly, blinking as I try and remember where I was at.

"Okay, be safe, if you find anything else, like medical books, please bring me, I don't know every single surgery and I don't want to have to go in blind someday," I tell him, following him outside, Rick catching up with us, "You better be safe too, Carl needs one of his favorite people coming back in one piece," I try and lighten the mood, making it seem like I am still completely on his side.

Stepping to the side we watch the two men drive off in the blue truck. I head back inside with Patricia, Rick, and Hershel following after as we go to check on Carl and see how he's doing.

THE WALKING DEAD

I stay in the bedroom with Carl, holding onto his small clammy hand. I place my forehead down on the edge of the bed, praying to whatever higher being was out there.

"I'm so sorry Carl, we should have just had you go with your mom, none of this would have happened to you," I tell the sleeping boy, soon watching as Rick and Lori came in, her expression breaking at the sight of her boy.

"My boy, my baby boy," she quietly said, crawling into bed with him. I took that as my queue to leave, nodding to Rick as I watched them hold hands, holding one another tightly. Rick gave a small nod back, about to reach back but pulling his arm back, going to hold his wife instead. I walk outside, taking in a deep breath of the warm summer air, and closing my eyes. Hershel seems to be taking care of him for now. I stay outside for a bit before coming back inside, coming in during a conversation between Rick, Lori, and Hershel.

"Well, yes, in a sense," Hershel answered, I pop in next to Rick, confusion going through my head.

"In a sense?" Lori asked, turning to look at me, "Have you done this surgery [Name]?" she asked, looking between Hershel and me.

"I didn't ever have it happen like this, the only recent one that I got to do was with Rick's surgery," I answer her honestly.

"Honey, we don't have the luxury of shopping for two surgeons," Rick told her, taking her hand in his.

"No, I understand that. But I mean, you're a doctor, right?" She asked Hershel, giving him her attention.

"Yes ma'am, of course. A vet," he said, nodding.

"A veteran? A combat medic?" she hurriedly asked.

"A veterinarian," Hershel looked her in the eyes as he said this, glancing at Rick and me. I place my hand over my mouth, shock filling my body.

"And you've done this surgery before on what? Cows? Pigs?" Lori asked, taking a shaky breath in.

"I have to, I have to sit," Rick said, falling into a chair, I carefully catch him on his other side, careful to not let him fall onto the floor.

"Completely in over your head, aren't you? At least [Name] is here, she can help," Lori said, looking at Hershel.

"Ma'am, aren't we all?" the man replied. I gave a sigh, gesturing for Rick to continue drinking his orange juice.

"You should get some rest [Name], you got a big surgery to do tonight," Lori said, sighing, she gently rubbed my shoulder, "Thank you for helping," she said, honestly, bringing me in for a hug. I freeze for a moment, surprised, before going to hug her back, closing my eyes. It felt like my mom's own hugs. It felt like family and warmth. I take a step back and go to the living room. I take a seat on one of the couches and close my eyes, finally finding a moment to rest.

The Walking Dead

I look out at the field from the porch, having decided to stay outside while I wait for Shane and Otis to come back with the supplies. I barely even moved when Maggie came and sat down next to me, having a sandwich made, gently holding it out to me. I hesitantly reach out for it, holding the plate in my hand, and giving a small nod of thanks.

"You doin' okay, sweetie?" she asked, looking down at me from where she was standing.

"Oh, I'm doing the best I can right now. Thank you guys for letting us in, haven't really had the time to be civil, y'know?"

"Of course, Otis didn't mean to shoot your brother," Maggie said, giving a small sympathetic smile.

"I know, Otis was simply lookin' for some food, not gonna blame a man for that, it was a freak coincidence that we were both there," I tell her, not bothering to even say that Carl and I weren't related. The Grimes family was the closest thing I had to feeling like a normal family, and I wasn't gonna let that go. I eat half of the sandwich and it was silent for a while before a car decided to pull up, and two figures came into view. I put my sandwich down, eyes wide with recognition of who the two figures were.

"Did you close the gate up the road when you drove in?" Maggie asked, looking at Glenn and T-Dog. Glenn held his gun close to him, seeming to be dumbfounded.

"Uh, hi. Yes, we closed it. Did the latch and everything," he said, gesturing back, "Hello, nice to see you again. You too, [Name]," Glenn said with a bashful smile. Maggie stayed quiet, only raising her eyebrows a little. I took a glance at T-Dog, noticing how he was shivering, and it was not from the cold. "We, um, we met before briefly," Glenn elaborated.

"Look, we came to help. There anything we can do?" T-Dog asked, I stood up from my spot walking over to them with Maggie.

"T-Dog, what's happening with your cut, did it get infected?" I asked worriedly, gently taking his arm and looking at the makeshift bandage, lifting it up and seeing the pus leak out a bit. I scrunch up my nose, shaking my head, "This isn't looking too good, you can't help when you have an infection like this," I tell him. Maggie took a step back, eyes darting between the three of us.

"Like the ones out there type of infection?" she asked, fear evident in her voice. I quickly shake my head.

"No, no, he cut himself on a car out on the highway," I explain quickly, "We're also waiting on Shane and Otis to come with some supplies, so hopefully they get here soon for you and Carl," Maggie nods.

"Alright, I'll let them know you both are here then," she replies, heading inside, "Come on," she said, gesturing for the two men to follow after us.

We go in a line into the room where Carl was laying, Patricia, Hershel, Lori, and Rick were sitting around the young boy. Glenn took off his hat, glancing at the three of us standing behind him.

"Hey," he called out softly, a look of pity on his face.

"Hey," Rick replied, glancing up at the four of us at the door, and looking back at his son.

"Um, we're here, okay?" Glenn said, trying his best to sound supportive.

"Thank you," Lori said, nodding at Shane, glancing at her husband then putting her attention back to Carl.

"Whatever you need," T-Dog rasped out, before I gently took him by the arm, leading him into the living room, Glenn following after, Maggie leading him.

"Let's get this bandaged correctly and redone with antibiotics," I tell him, taking the bandage off, Maggie has already gone off to get fresh bandages and ointment. When she came back I began to apply more of the ointment, watching as Lori exited the room, heading outside seeming to be crying. My heart clenched in sympathy, before putting my attention back once I saw Rick go after her.

"So, how'd y'all meet?" Maggie asked, looking at the three of us.

"Found each other on the highway, trying to get out of Atlanta, some awful traffic," I told her, finishing T-Dog's new bandage, patting him on the shoulder, and looking at the painkillers Glenn brought, saying it was from Daryl. I give him the amount it says to take, passing them to him, "I'll hold onto these, can't have you getting addicted," I explain, putting them into my pocket.

"Well, [Name] and I kind of knew each other since I was always somehow delivering to her apartment," Glenn said shrugging.

"Oh yeah, you found me when I needed to finish my studying for my board certification," I tell him, him nodding.

"So you're a real doctor then? Not like a nurse?" Maggie asked, sounding surprised.

"Well I mean, nurses are also trained, they just don't go through the same training as surgeons, both are tedious," I pop my neck, "I'm gonna see if they need any help inside, you will know where to find me," I said, giving a small wave. I lean against the door frame, watching Carl sleep until he started coughing and gasping, waking up, his eyes frantic and looking everywhere.

"Where are we? [Name]?" Carl asked, his voice full of fright as he tried to sit up, shaking.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, it's okay," I tell him, ushering him to stay laying down, Rick and Lori came out of the bathroom, rushing to Carl's other side.

"Hey little man, that's Hershel," Rick said, trying to help calm him down. Hershel gave a small smile, passing a small look toward Rick. "We're in his house. You had an accident, all right?"

"It hurts, a lot," Carl gasped out, reaching to touch his wound.

"It's good that it hurts, means that your nerves are intact still," I reply, smiling at the three of them softly.

"You should have seen it?" Carl said, smiling up at his mom.

"What?" She asked, playing with her son's hair.

"The deer. It was so pretty, mom. It was so close. I've never been..." Carl trailed off, stopping mid-sentence. My heart dropped, a feeling of dread filled my entire body.

"Carl?" Rick asked, his voice cracking. Just as he called out to the boy, Carl started convulsing on the bed, grunting. I quickly flip him to his side, making sure his head doesn't snap in an awkward direction, holding him up.

"Stop, don't hold him down, you'll hurt him," Hershel instructed Lori and Rick, seeing as the two parents tried to hold him down.

"You can't stop it?" Lori asked, glancing down at her son and then back up at Hershel and me.

"No, he has to go through it. We can't stop it, we can time it, Rick, make sure it doesn't exceed five minutes," I quickly tell him, still keeping Carl on his side. Carl continued to convulse, Lori sobbing, soon Carl stopped convulsing, falling limp. "Brain's not getting enough blood. Pressure is bottoming out. He needs another transfusion," I say out loud.

"Okay, I'm ready," Rick said, about to sit in the chair where he had been getting his blood drawn out for the past day.

"Rick we can't, you've already drawn out two liters, you could go into a coma or cardiac arrest," I explain, looking up at him from watching over Carl.

"You're wasting time," Rick pleaded, sitting in the seat next to Carl. Hershel grabbed the device, beginning to set it up and get ready for the next transfusion despite my warnings.

THE WALKING DEAD

I pace out on the porch of the house, biting at my thumbnail, glancing out to the field and back to the floor, having just hooked Rick up to do the transfusion for Carl since Shane wasn't here yet. All I could think about was how this was all caused because of a deer. A deer stopped for Carl and stared at him. I take a deep breath in, finally stopping my pacing and just looking out at the field we came from. I enter back inside the house, making my way to the bedroom, and passing a small glance at Glenn, who seemed to be absolutely in a trance with Maggie, I look away, biting the inside of my cheek.

"He's losing blood faster than we can replace it, and with the swelling in his abdomen, we can't wait any longer or he's just going to slip away," Hershel said, gently placing Carl's arm down, "We need to know right now if you want us to do this," He said, looking at Lori and Rick, gesturing to himself and me.

"He might be out of time, we have to do it now or he won't make it," I solemnly tell them, tying my hair back up, having taken it down in between working on Carl and taking short naps, "You have to make a choice,"

"A choice?" Lori asked.

"A choice," Rick echoed, turning to face his wife fully, "You have to tell me what it is," Lori placed her hand on Rick's face gently, her lips twitching in a frown, she then turned to face Hershel and me.

"We do it, you save our boy, [Name]," she tells us, giving a small nod of her head.

Patricia comes in with a metal moving table, wheeling it into the room, we carefully place it at the front of the bed.

"Okay, get the corner of that bed. Let's get the sheets down, and get the I.V. bag on the sheet. Okay, on three," Hershel instructed, I stay at my corner of the bed, "One, two, three," we carefully and quickly pull Carl up, placing him onto the table, Patricia pulling out the tools and getting a lamp to help light our area better.

"Rick, Lori, you may want to step out. This isn't going to get better," I tell them, looking up from the other side of the table. Then the sound of a truck approaching filled the air. Rick quickly strides over, pulling the curtain of the window, revealing the blue truck we saw hours before leave comes back, "Hershel, I'll stay, go help them get everything in, we don't have much time," I order out, they all quickly run out of the house, a moment passes before Hershel comes back inside with a bag, and we quickly set to work.

THE WALKING DEAD

Hershel and I step outside to where everyone was waiting on the porch, wiping our hands off on some towels they had laying around that were clean. Rick and Lori stand up quickly turning to us with expectant eyes.

"He seems to be stable," I tell them, giving them a smile, Rick lets out a small hopeful laugh, tears in his eyes he hugs Hershel, Lori comes up and hugs me tightly, pressing a small kiss on the top of my head, holding me close, I quickly hug her back, not wanting to let go.

"I don't have words," Lori tearfully said, almost laughing in joy.

"I don't either, wish I did," Hershel said, once Lori broke our hug, he glances around at us, "How do I tell Patricia about Otis?" I blink, looking around at my group with furrowed brows, not knowing what happened, I stare at Shane, who had an unreadable look on his face as he stared right back.

"You go to Carl," Rick says, turning to his wife, "I'll go with Hershel," he says, following Hershel inside, Lori glances back at Shane before coming inside, the two of us watching as Patricia breaks down in sobs in the kitchen. I pat her gently on the back, making my way back outside, sitting down on the porch steps, T-Dog sitting down next to me.

"You did a good thing today," he says, I glance out the side of my eye, giving a small shrug.

"It was scary. Especially with the fact that we barely even got the supplies in time, pure luck," I tell him, running a hand through my hair, taking it down from its up-do.

"You still saved Carl's life, I know you would do anything for us, especially them," T-Dog says, patting my shoulder, throwing a glance at the front door, I already know who he is talking about, which is the only whole family left within our group.

"Yeah, they remind me of my own family back before this whole, epidemic started," I explain, closing my eyes and putting my head against the pillar on the stairs. "I don't wanna lose them to anything, so of course, I'll try my best to make sure they stay connected and together. Within my couple years of being a resident at the hospital, I saw so many families be torn apart because of so many things, it kind of leaves you fearful of losing your family," I elaborate.

"I'm sure that you won't lose them, not for a while," T-Dog said, patting my shoulder and standing up, "Let's get some rest now, we'll be seeing everyone else tomorrow," he says, I nod, standing up and walking in after him, giving one last glance back outside.

"I think I need to take a shower, I got too much blood on me," I mutter, pulling at my shirt which was slightly solid from all the blood. I walk around, looking around for Maggie, finally finding her. "Hey Maggie, do you have any clothes I can wear? And if there's an available shower?" I ask her, giving a small thinned smile. She nods, heading into a room and coming back out with a flannel and a couple of towels.

"Flannels were Otis's, so that's why it won't fit, didn't want you to be in too small of clothing, sadly don't think we have any pants for you that'll work," I shook my head.

"No, no, that's okay, my pants are okay to wear, it's just the shirt, thank you," I tell her, she nods, pointing to a door down the hall.

"That's the bathroom," she said, soon walking away. I walk into the bathroom, and set my new shirt and towel down on the sink. I looked at myself in the mirror as the shower heated up, I wash away all that had happened, scrubbing until my skin felt raw.

#reader insert #romance #x reader #daryl dixon #female reader #rick grimes #fem reader #reader insert fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd #the walking dead show #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #glenn rhee #carl grimes #lori grimes

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tawneybel · 2 years ago

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Imagine Glenn shampooing your hair while you give him his first blowjob. He apologizes for being premature, until you gently ask him switch places so you can finish.

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slasherslittlesimp · 17 days ago

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Living Dead Girl (TWD X F!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Warnings: This story may contain mentions/details of: Suicide, Depression, Violence, Death, Gore, Assault, Abuse

CHAPTER ONE

Your body sways side to side as you walk, unable to keep your balance as corpses repeatedly bump into you as they walk past, the horde heading the opposite direction as they head who knows where searching for something to consume despite not needing food to survive. You do nothing as they bump into you, simply staring straight ahead as you walk, seemingly unbothered by everything around you.

It doesn't take long until you break free from the horde, left on your own as they continue on their journey. Without much thought, you walk into the building you've claimed as your new home, shutting the door behind you yet leaving unlocked. Even if a corpse made it in it wouldn't matter since they ignore you so you've never seen the point in locking it. Hell, the door could completely disappear and you still wouldn't care.

Okay... maybe a little, but only because you took a long time cleaning up the place and don't want it getting stenched up and dirty by a bunch of corpses.

Like a routine engraved into your soul, you make your way to the bathroom, flicking on the oil lamp left next to the sink. The small flame lights the room with an orange glow, barely allowing you to see yourself in the mirror. You step closer to it, your eyes trained on the mask covering the lower half of your face- a black mask similar to one's doctors would wear, just made of cloth instead. Slowly, your eyes trail up until you make eye contact with your reflection.

The sight that greets you is the same one that greets you every other time.

Your left eye is cloudy, looking much like the eyes of the corpses outside. You can still see perfectly fine for some reason, yet the sight of it bothers you as it reminds you that you're no longer human. Just a living dead girl. Your right eye, however, is still the same (E/C) it's always been, just a bit dull and lifeless due to obvious reasons. You stare into your reflections eyes for a moment longer before pulling down your mask, curling your lips back to reveal your teeth. They appear normal, showing no signs of discoloration like the teeth of the corpses outside. Satisfied, you put the mask back over your face before sighing.

Now comes the part you hate the most.

Shrugging off your jacket, you reach up to the collar of your shirt, hesitating only a moment before tugging it aside to reveal your shoulder. Small discolored scars greet your sight in the shape of a bite mark. It's small, probably about the size of a clementine. Your fingers trace over them, feeling the indentations left by every tooth, minus a little gap where a tooth was missing. The second you feel yourself growing emotional you release your hold on your shirts collar, tearing your gaze from the mirror with a clenched jaw.

No matter how often you do this routine it never gets any easier. Every damn day you walk into this bathroom and check over yourself for any signs of change- any signs that you're becoming more of a corpse. And every day you're met with the same damn sight of everything being exactly the same. No signs at all that your infection progressed. No signs that you're any closer to becoming just a dead girl, rather than a living dead one. And every day you find yourself upset that nothing has changed. That you're no closer to being put out of your misery. No closer to joining your loved ones on the other side.

Yet despite your desire to die, you've never once considered suicide.

Suicide wasn't a strange or unknown concept to your family. When you were just a little girl, your Pa killed himself, losing his battle against his depression. You never blamed him for it either. The guy had a rough life growing up until he met your mother. And they had a good few years together before she passed giving birth to your baby brother- a brother you never got to meet since he was stillborn. You can still remember how broken your Pa was when he got the news. And you quite frankly don't think you ever saw the man smile again. On top of losing his wife and son, he was let go from his job, and quickly found himself drowning in debt, struggling to keep a roof over your heads.

It got to the point where he only really saw one way out. And he took it.

Being so young you were instantly put in the system. Thankfully, you were only an orphan for roughly two months before you were adopted by a lovely woman named Luanne and her husband. You had never met the woman before, but she claimed to have known your parents. It's because of this that you never blamed your father for committing suicide. Mama Luanne made sure to always tell you about your parents- the good and the bad. She didn't want you to forget about them as you grew older.

She also didn't want you to have any hatred towards your father if you did happen to remember his suicide. She didn't have to worry though, as you have always been mature for your age, seemingly understanding everything happening around you. When she sat you down one day to explain why your father did what he did, you simply told her you already knew. That was the first time she realized just how mature you were. That your little six year old brain understood the concept of life and death, and everything in between. Almost as if you had already lived many lifetimes.

She started believing in reincarnation after that, funnily enough.

Any time anyone passed away after that, she'd sit down with you, snuggled up under a blanket together while sipping your favorite warm drinks discussing what you thought the deceased might reincarnate as. Nothing was off limits. And despite her being many decades older than you, she always had sillier guesses than you. She'd always choose the most random things, like sea urchins or slugs. You? You always chose things that seemed more logical. Such as reincarnating as a human again. And if not human, then an animal with human like intelligence.

When your family died... you couldn't find it in yourself to keep that tradition of guessing. You didn't want to think of them reincarnating back into this fucked up world where they'd just experience a traumatizing and gruesome death again. Instead, you chose to believe that they passed on somewhere more peaceful where they'd never have to experience death again.

And you hope it's true.

Because you'd fight every God known to man if you knew they were forced back into this world despite deserving peace.

#reader insert #x reader #slasherslittlesimp #the walking dead x female reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #twd x female reader #twd x reader #rick grimes x reader #daryl dixon x reader #glenn rhee x reader

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filthyfluffyfantasies · 2 years ago

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masterlist ┉ glenn rhee

You’ve reached my masterlist for ( glenn rhee ). Below is a complete and mostly up-to-date list of pieces I have written for ( glenn rhee ) and a little list of symbols and their meanings to better help you find exactly what you’re looking for.

Happy reading, my darling!

NSFW

Alphabet

↪ here

Headcanons

↪ here

Interludes

↪ here

SFW

Alphabet

↪ here

Headcanons

↪ here

Interludes

↪ here

OTHER

Fic Name

↪ info post

#glenn rhee #glenn rhee fanfiction #glenn rhee fic #glenn rhee x reader #glenn rhee x self insert #glenn rhee x you #fandom file : the walking dead ; character - glenn rhee #life quotes

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 3 months ago

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D-O-N-E

feliz spring forward y'all!

What -- The day won't end and you're so done. D-o-n-e.

Who -- The series is slow-burning, canon-compliant Daryl x Reader with a focus on the found-family theme in the show. In this chapter, you're joined by all the Grimes, your big brother Shane, Glenn, Maggie, T-Dog, and Carol. Dale doesn't get a chance to speak with you.

When -- Following earlier events of the day in Trust Nelly's Instincts. It is now the late afternoon and evening of S02 episode "Secrets," after the pharmacy run. The chapter picks up in the aftermath of Lori taking and then vomiting certain pills...

Perspective -- 2nd person

Pronouns - none

TWs - mild language at the end, bad screenshots.

Masterlist to the rest of the Slowpoke Series :D

D-O-N-E

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With Lori

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You hadn’t understood why Maggie was so furious by the time the three of you returned from the pharmacy trip, other than to conclude it was a sort of trauma response.

And you’d been so grateful to Nelly the horse for possibly saving both Maggie’s life and your own, which is why you offered to take care of the horses when you three returned. The saddles you’d only be carrying for a limited time and your shoulder was doing great, so carrying them wasn’t a concern. Alone time was welcome, you could pray, cry, whatever, in solitude.

So, you missed when Maggie apparently yelled at Lori and threw some of the stuff from the pharmacy on the ground at her feet. Including the pills.

Right now, you’re with Lori next to the long, worn path that leads to and from all the different pastures and fields. It’s golden hour.

Thank God today is almost over.

“I don’t want to lose it.”

“That’s why you threw the pills up,” you soothe, rubbing your hand back and forth across her shoulders. “And you knew full well the ones you took weren’t the right ones. They don’t cause the lining to break down or cause contractions.”

At least, you think they don't? You need to read more, but you know this much: the ones Maggie brought were not the right type of pill for a pregnancy at this stage. Another saving grace today.

“When you’re as far along as you are, it shouldn’t hurt them or you. They've been implanted for weeks.”

Lori knows a lot about this stuff, far more than you to the extent that you're out of your depth. But right now she needs reminding that what she took shouldn’t effect anything this late — and obviously wouldn’t do anything when vomited out.

But because she’s no stranger to miscarriage, there’s far more baggage here.

“Honey. I took five times the dose of a pill that stops the brain from signalling ovulation. Did they even know what that might do?” she spits, angry at herself and scared. “Studies show high or repeat doses affect the strength of the uterine li…”

You shut your eyes, her words fading as you recall the shock of Maggie telling you what she and Glenn secretly brought back for Lori. Then, the relief of seeing all the empty boxes in her tent knowing that those were different.

What Lori just mentioned is something new to you, but still, the fact remains: “Pills don’t do much when you throw ’em up.”

She sits with her eyes closed, unmoving. Then, she curls in on herself and buries her face in her hands. “What if some of them still absorbed?”

“Lore, I found two things there, you say, not entertaining her question. “It’s, um, well, the first is the rhogam stuff. The other one, remember the stuff your new doc had prescribed for the losses?” You did a college paper on it, in fact.

Repeated miscarriages over the years. In two of her previous doctors’ own dismissive words, “At least we know you can get pregnant!”

The new doc she’d started seeing finally prescribed her a relatively uncommon treatment to help stop it from happening again, if she ever got pregnant again. It only happened once, and as expected for the first trial, she had another loss. Then, her and Rick's marital problems arose worse and openness to new members seemed to have been taken off the table.

“You found them?” Lori perks up and learning what you brought back. She thinks for a moment, then lets out a heavy sob. Her childhood accent slips out when she whimpers, “But it didn’t work. It didn’t work at all. Nothin' ever worked.”

“Which was expected for the first trial. Maybe this time…”

“I should be used to it, I should be. I-I am. But if it happens again, this time, it will be entirely my fault. And if anything,” Lori is shaking her head rapidly from side to side. “If anything happened to either of you on that trip, it would’ve been entirely my fault. And it almost did! You and Mag—”

“—We needed to go back anyway. They didn’t get the full list last time,” you interrupt. If you hadn’t, she’d have kept spinning down.

There’s movement in the pasture across the path.

Softly, you tell her, “Ricky's on his way.”

She groans as if in pain.

“Lore?”

“I was so afraid of hurting him. Now I’ve gone and done this.” Her face is accepting, solemn. Drained. You get the feeling that she’s readying herself for the worst.

“But he don’t know ab—”

“—You knew from the empty boxes I left torn when I ran to throw the pills up,” she hushes. “You think he missed them? Unless you meant that he doesn’t know about Shane.”

You don’t know what to say, and so go mute.

“And do you think this would be something to keep a secret from him?”

“…No,” you whisper back with shame at having implied it. “A-Are you gonna tell him about both?”

“I must. He deserves to know all of it, no lies, no secrets.”

Rick is almost at the dirt path.

“Honey,” Lori asks, touching your arm. “Please burn the boxes before Carl sees them?”

“Oh my gosh,” you blurt out. “I’ll go right quick! And d-do you want me to come back, for support, or?”

She shakes her head no but nearly begins to cry again.

Then, she switches to nodding her head for you to yes, please come back.

“I will.”

You stand. Walk toward Rick.

He’s had better days, too, by the look of him. “Y/N, is she…?”

“She loves you more than words and needs you right now.” You note the blue boxes in his hand. “She did ask me to burn those. May I?”

He gives them to you and quietly, quietly confirms to himself, “You knew.”

“Yes. I've known she's pregnant.” You won’t say any more and don't want to, because 'congratulations!' is not the thing to say at the moment. That'll be for another time.

This day won’t end. It really needs to end.

D-o-n-e.

As you take the longer route down the dirt path instead of cutting across the overgrown pastures, you stew over every bad detail of today and none of the good ones.

You really should start focusing on the good details but it’s so much easier to not. Why can it be so much easier to see the bad?

Carl thinking he had to steal and carry a gun.

Mr. Greene confronting you about the barn.

Learning that Glenn blabbed to Mr. Horvath about the walkers.

The hostility between Glenn, Maggie and yourself during the pharmacy run.

A dead man nearly ending Maggie and you.

The furious disappointment at witnessing your brother and Andrea interact after getting out of the car, observing in their behavior that they’d done something sexual.

The flush of horror at Maggie confessing to you about how the prescription she and Glenn were keeping secret was ‘abortion pills.’

How Shane is going to know soon, about the baby. Getting it into his head that they are Rick’s and not his will, um, well it shouldn’t be a problem given your raising, but…

In an act of surrender, you stare up at the sky, breathe out loudly, and mime dusting your hands off. You're done, you can't handle all this, and you shouldn't have to. D-o-n-e.

You feel you eyes moisten, your muscles tense, then get that post-cry rush of relaxation in your limbs.

Better things pop into your mind, like how Maggie understands about walkers now. And how you’re really, really glad Maggie got the wrong stuff at the drug store today. Lori is, too.

The sky is orange-gold by the time you reach the campsite. The fire is crackling, and Carol is away from the cookware, so there’s some privacy. Enough for you to discard the small boxes, at least.

“What did you just throw in the fire, Y/N?”

Scratch that, you didn’t notice Carl was here.

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

With Carl

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

Of everyone in camp, it was the one you were supposed to hide the stupid boxes from, shit.

“Secrets,” you sing-song.

“What kind of secrets?”

“The secret kind.” Which is unsatisfactory for him and you intoned it a bit rudely, so, you explain. “Pill boxes take up space. The blister packs were removed.” Which is not untruthful.

“I didn’t know they made pills for blisters.”

The innocence of the statement softens your hard lines. “The plastic thingies pills come in that you pop 'em out of are called blister packs.”

He peers at you. “Y/N, was someone mean to you? You don’t seem okay.”

“I’m not, little man,” you exhale. “A lot of unexpected things went wrong today.”

“Was that what Maggie was upset about? I heard her yelling.”

You had intended to go back to Lori straightaway, but the idea of sitting down wins. T-Dog’s camp chair feels so welcoming as you sink into it. “Yeah, we had a close call. Her especially.”

His response is to hug you. No better response, really.

“I, um,” you try to word it. “Uncle Shane doesn’t know yet. Let me be the one to tell him, okay?”

“Okay,” he promises. He hasn’t let go of the hug yet. You won’t be the one to do so.

A good few minutes pass before he relaxes his hold and sits next to you. You’d be of mind to stay here all night, but, the day’s not over yet and you’ve got jobs to do.

Maggie asked to speak later, she wants to talk things over. And you’ve always debriefed with Glenn after a run. It won’t be fun, because you’re fixing to drive home how the pill he’d intended to find leads to over 1/3 of the women who report taking it to require emergent medical treatment. He’d have needed to be responsible and have prepared for that possibility.

Oh, and Shane. The stupid, stupid boy. It was clear he’d wanted to say something to you after seeing your face when he and Andy got back, but that’s when you peaced-out, ran into Maggie, then ended up seeing the empty boxes in Lori’s tent.

“Your ma wasn’t feeling too well. I know your dad went and checked on her, but I promised I’d go back,” you explain to Carl, standing from the chair.

“Did she feel like she was gonna throw up again?”

“She did throw up again.”

“Aw, man. Should I bring her something to drink?”

“Have a drink ready for her when she comes back. A nice fluffy pillow, too, maybe switch out her pillowcase for a clean one?”

He nods and makes as if to go, but stops. Turns. “Y/N, I just wanted Mom to feel safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“This morning. Mom’s been so tired and feeling sick a lot because I know she’s super worried about something bad happening to me again. I took the gun thinking it would help." Carl looks at the dirt and toes at a very small pebble. "Like I could defend her, so she wouldn’t have to look after me all the time. And I figured I needed to take it first and prove…” he trails off and stares into space. “I didn’t mean to worry her worse and I didn’t realize what I did was stealing! And I know I upset her enough this morning when I figured the chicks’ mother had been eaten. Mom looked so worried—”

—While he goes on, you’ve already wrapped your arms around him again and smooched one too many kisses to his head.

How are you going to tell him that both you and Shane are leaving? You’d rather walk barefoot over broken glass than have to leave this kid.

After answering Carl that yes, herbal tea is a great idea for his mom, you make yourself get back to work despite how done you are with today.

When you start the trek back to where Lori and Rick were, the shadows have already grown taller. The sky begins its change from golden to pale as the sun lowers.

It stuns you when you’ve all the sudden arrived back to where Lori and Rick are, because you have no recollection of the walk there. That means you weren’t paying attention at all during the walk, which was risky. Well, what you mean is: it’s been so long since that has been a possibility, to ignore your surroundings, so it feels wrong.

They’re standing close together and saying nothing, but her hand is in his. You draw the conclusion that you aren’t needed anymore. It’s a good thing.

You wave once so she sees you, and turn around to go back to the house.

Time to see Maggie.

One step closer to being done.

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

With Maggie

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

“So. Pregnant.”

“Yup.”

“Is she still?” she snides.

“Yes. She retched up the pills almost immediately.” Your particular shade of nagginess has you consider bringing up how accounting for a 1 in 3 chance emergency would have been necessary if the pills were the real ones. Surely, she knows!

You’re so done. D-o-n-e. Simplicity will do just fine. “Wrong type of pill anyway, pregnancy shouldn’t be affected this far along.”

D-o-n-e.

“All those doses would do something. I hear taking too many can do it.” She is sitting uncharacteristically hunched over. And behaving differently, too. This brand of nastiness isn’t normal for the Maggie you’ve come to know.

Biting your tongue, you cannot neglect the fact that today was Maggie's first close call. She’s reeling from it and processing stuff.

Her call was so close that you’re still in disbelief as to how she kept that guy from biting her. As unpleasant as you may find her current mood, you have a sense of solidarity with her far greater than before.

In the end, all you do is shrug in response. “Pills don’t usually work when you vomit 'em.”

“I’m glad she had a change of heart and we went through all that for nothin’.”

Yup, still processing stuff.

You wouldn’t describe the way you respond as gentle, although it is. It’s more tired than anything. “We still needed to go on another pharmacy run.”

It’s odd: you aren’t seeing red, you aren’t licking your teeth, you aren’t even huffing.

If you had to describe it, you’d say that’s it’s as if your emotions have gone on power-saver, similar in that aspect to how a depressive episode can be. It crosses your mind that it’s likely a trauma thing due to this afternoon’s events. Maggie is presenting in one way, you another.

Eh, isn't everyone in some sort of permanent trauma cycle these days? Either way, somebody stick a fork in you; you’re done.

“Am I being a bitch, Y/N?”

You shrug again. “A little bit.”

“A lot bit,” she mutters. “I’m just so — it’s like I don’t know how I feel right now.”

“That can happen after a close call like we had. Was this your first one?”

“I don’t like the sound of ‘first one.’ It implies there’ll be more.”

“There likely will be.” Aren’t you a joy to be around. In your defense, you said it kindly.

There’s a knot in the wood on the porch floor that Maggie keeps running her thumb over. Softly, she shares, “Y/N? I told Glenn I loved him.”

????

That wasn’t on your bingo sheet.

If only the emotional thing was working normally — this is exciting news! Granted, it's also weird news given how pissed she’s been today and at Glenn specifically, but exciting nonetheless. Civilization ending has made everything a little weird, right?

“And I kissed him again.”

“Naturally.”

“How was it that you first described him?” Maggie next asks, still tracing her thumb along the knot in the wooden plank. “Something about a snowstorm?”

The corners of your mouth tug up in recollection. “‘A ray of sunshine in a snowstorm.’”

Maggie nods, her gaze serious but fixed on nothing. “He’s smart, and good, and strong. He’s a leader, but he’s humble.”

“Writing them vows already, Margaret?” you quietly tease.

Wait, is she crying?

“Y/N, I feel like I’ve been so blind, so clueless!” It’s good she’s crying it out. She’ll sleep better. “About the dead, about you all. Today, you and me nearly got bitten or killed! Bein’ that close to one, seeing how it wasn’t — oh, Y/N, they aren’t just sick.”

No resentment, no condemnation, just calm agreement. “They aren’t.”

“How could your people have sent him down the well, if they all know what they are, what they can do?”

The vivid memory kick-starts your emotions only enough that your nose twitches in anger, but the moment passes before you feel much. “I was spitting mad at them, too.”

“The thought of what could’ve happened, then or today…” Margaret trails off, so you look to see her shaking her head. “I don’t want my dad to kick your group out.”

Thank you, God. “Me, neither.”

She turns her body toward you and reaches for your hand. “Y/N, will you be there, when I try to talk to him?”

“I can.”

“Daddy likes you. I think you remind him of Beth and me.”

…Say what? “I wouldn’t go quite as far as that,” you tactfully counter with a polite smile.

“Trust me, he does. He’s talked about you to Patricia. Now, I know I asked for your trust about the barn, but—” Her breath hitches. “You kept that trust, I just realized. It was Glenn who told the older man in your group.”

“As Dale would say, ‘the boy has no guile.’” You mimic his accent and manner of speech fairly well! “That’s the highest praise comin’ from him.”

She breathes out heavily and leans back on her hands. You mirror it.

It was a solid debrief. You’d been worried, but you can rest easy on this aspect of today, at least.

Onto the next, you reckon.

Who will it be, Glenn or Shane? Or Dale. Or Rick, you can’t imagine him not wanting to ask you a question or two following this afternoon’s revelation.

The real question is where you’re gonna dig up the energy. You’re d-o-n-e.

Maybe now is when you decide to run away and hide in the Greene’s attic. Ha, or the barn loft, right? Ain’t nobody will look for you there.

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

With Shane

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

In the final minutes of the day's sunshine, your brother appears to have been waiting for you with your hoodie and the wrap for your arm. “Hey. You doing good?”

“Yeah. Tired, real tired.” You accept the hoodie and pull it on, leaving it unzipped.

“Can we talk about earlier right quick?”

The man is gonna have to specify. “When do you mean?” you check, shoving your hands into the pockets and making your way to a spot that looks private and comfortable enough.

“When Andrea and me got back.”

Ah. Right.

Under your breath, you mindlessly correct it to “Andrea and I,” for some reason.

Shane either finds it amusing or is being nice. “You know I love it when you’re a pain the ass, weirdo?”

“I am quite skilled at it.”

He’s smiling but it’s clear he wants to be serious for a minute.

“Alrighty, loser,” you tell him, feeling…nothing. Zen as a statue. “I’m sufficiently buttered up. What about when you and she got back?” The spot you two have chosen is acceptably private. The tree roots aren’t very comfortable, but you manage to find a position that cradles your legs.

Without words, Shane gestures with the wrap to signify he’s going to tie it back on.

“I know that you saw how we, that the way we were actin’, uh,” he struggles with what to say. He pulls the fabric around once, twice. “Dale ain’t talked to you today, right?” He finishes tying the ends of the support wrap. “That too tight?”

“It feels okay. And no, he ain’t talked to me. Why?” You already have an idea of what happened, so it’s silly to beat around the bush. “Did something happen between Andy and you?” you simplify for him.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

Hearing it confirmed doesn’t stop the intense disappointment. Even if Lori is pregnant from Rick, which of course she may be, there's still the question. And here Shane is, doing who-knows...

Your inner kettle heats up, but that’s as far as it gets. The stove is broken.

The thing that is sticking out to you, however, was the hesitation in his answer. There’s something he’s holding back. Another secret.

Not that you can judge, not with the two massive secrets you’re withholding from him.

“Dale was pissed about us making googly eyes,” your brother brushes off.

It’s fascinating to feel so passive. You have the oddest sensation as if you’re much, much older, while Shane is much, much younger. Even your tone is oddly mature and reflective. “Dale wouldn’t get mad at y’all making googly eyes, he’d be mad at y’all making babies.”

Shane just throws his hand up and looks away. A smug yet angry smile with a hint of shame. His hand rubs against his buzzcut several times. “It was a heat of the moment decision between two adults.”

Slight nausea comes upon you. 'Heat of the moment' decisions can have lifetime consequences even when there's no new life involved.

You put to him a question that’s been on your mind. “I want to check about them things you said to Lori in the hallway that night.” The night when he flirted with a married, horrified woman. The words, the intonations, every detail is seared into your memory. ‘The only thing I care about now in this world is Y/N, you and Carl. So I, apologize if I appear to be insensitive to the needs of others, but see, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe.’

He becomes more defensive. “Of course the prude would bring that up. Y/N, you know I’m tryin’. What Andrea and I did today might should be a relief.”

A strange sense of foreboding curves around your throat. A slight twinge of fear.

Then, a stronger, stranger notion of pity. You really do feel so old right now, and that he is so, so young. You smile sadly, hoarse when you murmur, “Y-you can be a real stupid boy sometimes, Shaney.”

Curiously, you seeing him lick his teeth in anger just makes you swell with nostalgia. It’s a family trait.

“I’ve made far stupider decisions,” he states.

You lean against him, your brother’s arm tensing initially, but letting go somewhat as you settle. “Did you hear about the pharmacy run today?”

He must be confused at your unusual reactions and responses. After fully relaxing his body, he lightly musses your hair. “Tell me all about it, weirdo. Anythin’ fun?”

“There was a close call,” you begin. "Glenn saved the day."

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

With Glenn

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

Talking it out with Glenn is easy. Usually is; Glenn and you are pretty willing to admit wrongs and learn. And beginning by talking about the happy development with Maggie lead to good feelings all around. Even the part about the pills went smoothly.

“No more secrets between us, okay? I hate that I kept it from you.”

“But I get why you did.” You look at the stars and pull the hood strings tighter. It’s getting nippy. “As for your inability to handle a secret —”

“—Dude.”

You stick out your tongue to drive home that you were only joking. He seemed like he needed to laugh at himself. “For real, though, Shane asked me what the heck you sayin’ Mr. H was teaching you ‘to clean the spark plugs,’ meant. I had no idea what to say except I didn’t know nothing about mechanics.” You do wonder, “Do spark plugs get cleaned?”

“No, but I could literally feel the secret trying to jump out of my throat. ‘Cleaning spark plugs’ was the best I could make up on the spot.”

“No more secrets between us, within reason. I’ll go first.” You close your eyes. “I’m planning to leave with Shane in a week or two.”

There. It’s out.

Glenn was chewing a pretzel stick, but appears to have stopped mid-motion. “Dude — what?”

“We’ll scope out Fort Benning while, while y’all stay safe here.”

“Alone? When in the heck was this decided?”

“Only since we saw the barn, not long.”

He takes a moment. “But you’re coming back?”

Despite feeling at ease, you stutter, “I-I certainly intend to.”

“But what if you die?” he is blunt enough to put to you. “Y/N, after today, I mean — the worst almost happened here, of all places. No where else we’ve found is like this place and still one almost bit you and Maggie!”

“That’s most like why we were so unprepared. Glenn, I genuinely smelled the dead guy and wrote it off as rot in the walls. If Nelly weren’t going berserk…”

The two of you exhale in sync, loudly.

You lay down against the rock you're sitting on, staring at the stars, and remembering how you sat here with Daryl about a week and a half ago and attempted your first (and last) cigarette.

“Well, other than the barn, we barely see walkers anymore.” Glenn probably regrets just having tossed his pretzel stick onto the grass below.

“It’s wonderful here, ain’t it? Feels so like things used to be.”

“It is.”

“And things are fixing to improve when it comes to the barn, so that’s good,” you hope.

He sighs heavily again. “Yeah.”

The Milky Way is starting to become visible. “Do you regret tossin’ your pretzel just now?” you check.

“Yeah. I was mad and — yeah.”

“Do you have another in your pocket?”

“Why would I put pretzels in my pocket?”

“I got more pretzels in my pocket.”

“You what?”

For show, you take one out and pop it into your mouth like it’s a cigar. “I’ll offer you one, unless pocket pretzels are beneath you.”

“So beneath me that I threw mine literally on the grass down there,” he mutters, half-serious, half-joking.

You hand him one. He thanks you and promptly munches down.

“I don’t feel good about you going.”

“Me neither,” you speak plainly. Everything feels simple and inconsequential right now. “But it’s gotta be done.”

“Why?”

“Things will go better if Shane ain’t here while things are uncertain. And Fort Benning was the destination we had in mind anyway,” you quip as if this were a simple matter. You sort of sound like a therapist or a caseworker. “Best see if it’s an option or not.”

“Would it really be that bad if he found out about the barn?”

“I would not risk that. If it comes down to what he sees as protectin’ me or Carl, he will do what it takes even if it shreds his soul. You saw him at the CDC, man.”

His strong huff signals his frustration. “Daryl went crazy down there, too. Who’s gonna be here to stop him from taking matters into his own hands if you go?”

Hm, you hadn’t considered what Daryl’s reaction to the barn might entail. Perhaps because he’s not actually threatening to anyone here.

“You’d be the one who could tone him down,” Glenn goes on.

“Oh, yes?” you fill in with mild amusement.

“Oh yes.”

“I must remind you that Daryl can’t put up much of a fight right now.”

Done and zen as you may be, Glenn keeps pushing about you leaving. “Dale will be so upset. Even though I’m obviously his favorite,” he adds, probably to make things feel lighter.

“And we both know Andrea is his tip top favorite. So, his third favorite leaves awhile, no biggie. I’ll be back.” That’s when you remember. “Oh my. I forgot how Andy might come, I’m sorry.”

Glenn turns so upset that he begins to shout.

“What the hell, dude? This is —” He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands other than manhandle the pretzel stick. “What else have you been keeping secret like this, Y/N?”

He’s had a long day, too. This whole middle-school sharing circle you’ve got going may have been better left to another time when you both aren’t so thoroughly done that you’re overcooked. “Perhaps that’s enough for now?” you suggest.

“Oh my gosh, that means there is more!” He flops himself backward and lays the way you are, throwing his arms above his head.

How else would you respond than by chuckling like a wizened old hillbilly? You have to say, this is a sweet deal, having emotional reactions on standby instead of feeling them at full power.

It’s nice to find humor in stressful things, as if you’d lived through 2 wars and now sell wildflowers and shine on the roadside. “Not every secret is bad, sometimes just ain’t our business. I keep secrets because I’d want mine kept. I want to be trustworthy,” you point out with a small grin. “If you feel the urge to tell anyone about us leaving, Lori already knows. She’s safe to go to.”

“Thank you,” he groans. He’s quiet a few moments. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

The stars are coming out. More and more they’re able to be seen as the final hues of purple on the horizon deepen to black.

“Even though I suck at secrets?” Glenn checks.

“Yes. I trust you with my life just like you trust me with yours,” you remind him. The position you’re in is uncomfortable, so you adjust. “Besides, it seems you only got issues with secrets that have weight to ’em. Bad secrets. You’re an honest soul, where’s the fault there?”

“The fault is in not keeping my freaking mouth shut when things aren’t my business.”

“As if you ain’t talking to a hothead who can’t keep it shut, neither?” you lilt, still smiling to yourself, carefree and d-o-n-e. Ooh, that last part rhymes!

“That’s different.”

You nudge him. “Let’s trade, then. You can be the firebrand, I’ll be the lovable one.”

“So, I get that you’re, like, self conscious about everything you do,” he mumbles. “But really, you aren’t that big a hothead. And I think that you leaving will make things worse.”

It takes you moment. “Glenn.” You flip onto your side. It makes your shoulder pinch a little and the bruise on your sternum complain, but not too much. “Way to smack me upside the head with the kindest possible words you could.”

“Dude, I’m not okay with this,” he groans into his hands. “I don’t want you to leave, you’re literally my best friend. Like, even if you weren’t, you’re cool to have around. Even Maggie’s dad seems to like you.”

You have to giggle at that part. “You have Maggie’s declaration of love, I have her daddy’s begrudged acceptance as a new farmyard nuisance.” Mm, it feels good to laugh. “Glenn, are you by any chance tryin’ to butter me up, too?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not making this up. But, like, if guilting you into staying works, it works. Wait, who else was buttering you up?”

“Shane.”

Did he just tut? “What’d he do, now?” Glenn probably didn’t mean to sound so disgusted, either.

“He didn’t do nothing.”

“Except a few days ago when he did.”

If your emotional range were at a normal level, you’d have gotten huffy. But, seeing as you don’t have that, you don’t react at all.

Now, the incident with Shane about which Glenn is referring was very out of place. True, you’d been seeing someone you didn’t recognize in your brother more and more in his actions for months at that point. What he did almost felt like a long time coming, if you’re being perfectly frank. Yet, it was still not him. It was still very out of place. And since then, for the past couple days, Shane has been fully back.

“What you saw was not like him,” you emphasize. Doubts ripple your thoughts but you merely view them with consideration, not dread. Everything is as chill as can be right now to you.

“To be honest, I don’t care.” Glenn is somewhat less chill. “He blew up like that, end of story.”

“It was a lapse. Small, too.” How nice it is to remain tranquil like this. If the walkers busted down the barn doors, you’d merely sigh and calmly find a weapon.

“I’m gonna say it again. Things like that start small.”

You understand and appreciate his warning, truly. You’d be cautious of the same if you were in Glenn’s place. “Will you allow for mistakes and change in others?”

“Y/N, I’m just so — I don’t know what I’m even feeling about this right now, okay? But it’s bad, it’s not good, and I hate that you’re gonna go and this day has been insane!”

“Then let’s take a breather.” So zen, so immovable, so d-o-n-e… “Picture you got a teakettle what’s starting to whistle. What do you do?”

“Um, uh — turn off the heat and pour the water, I guess — why are you asking this?” he wonders, audibly confused and irritated.

“It’s a helpful image to cool your thoughts.”

“Yeah, so, the way you’ve been talking this whole conversation is like you’re Mr. Miyagi or like, Galadriel. Why do you sound like that?”

You crack up. “I dunno. I started to feel like this after what went on with Lori earlier. It’s like hearing underwater, but instead of sound, it’s emotions.”

“So…you mean your emotions aren’t working right? That seems…” He decides on a word. “Bad. Like, trauma stuff.”

“Whatever it is, it’s a break. I’ll take it. Today, I’m done.”

“It does sound kinda nice,” he admits. “Dude, I’m so done, too.”

“D-o-n-e.”

If you aren’t mistaken, there’s an owl hooting nearby.

“You went through the wringer today, too, Glenn.” He may not have had the close call this time, but he saved you and Maggie from yours. Glenn gets it, he’s no stranger to being almost bitten. “Did it happen to you when they lowered you down that well? I think I remember you seemin’ off.”

“I remember having nightmares the whole night. And th—actually, yeah,” Glenn recalls. “I sort of felt super, like, light? Just, like, out-of-it.”

“And after the CDC,” you muse. “It was as if we was all diluted a bit.”

“Ugh.” Glenn runs his hands through his hair. “It took days until things felt okay again after that. Though, like,” he adjusts his position and rests his hands on his stomach. “The pop from the explosion messed up my balance a little, so that played a part. And the ringing in the ears wasn’t fun.”

“Mm.” What a hell of a day that had been. Dale still doesn’t have full hearing in one of his ears yet.

As you look at the stars beginning to come out, you think to yourself how, after that hell of a day, you distinctly remember having been filled with a deep, strong sense of clarity. Of purpose. It really helped temper the heartbreak.

“It makes sense to me that, after things like close calls,” you slowly describe, “things might can get put into perspective. Like a needed grace for gettin’ through times like that.”

“Yes, sensei.”

Tranquil as can be, you press thumbs to pointer fingers in a meditation pose and try to make your voice sound huskier and wiser. “You’re a buttface, young nutcracker.”

Glenn snorts so hard he basically does a sit-up.

That’s interesting, why is he laughing so hard? Is he that overtired?

Eventually, you hear him wheeze, “Grasshopper! It’s ‘young grasshopper!’”

Ah, that would do it. ‘Nutcracker’ did seem a mite irregular. Oops.

Well, it’s good that he’s entertained, he needed a good laugh.

“So the student becomes the master, my young padawan,” you might as well add.

“Padawan is Star Wars.”

“I know.” Smiling, you suggest, “Let’s call it a night?”

“Heck yeah, sensei, let’s call it a night.”

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

With the Grimes

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

As Glenn and you are walk back from the big rocks, Teddy and Carol appear to be making their way to them. You have an inkling it’s for a smoke break.

T-Dog doesn’t smoke much, but you’ve seen him doing so on occasion (and all but twice it’s been with Daryl). Carol you caught smoking just once. You hope Daryl didn’t get T-Dog back into it, but the fact that those two have become friends is a huge development which no one saw coming. If cigarettes played a part in him unlearning his racism, so be it, it’s a win.

Teddy, Carol, Rick, and Jimmy did their extended search today. You can only imagine how much Carol must need to debrief. Her grieving is being stretched and dangled before her. Hell, if she wants a cigarette, give the woman a cigarette.

“What are you spacing out about?”

Blinking out of your thoughts, you answer Carl. “Mrs. Peletier and Sophia.”

You’re at the campfire with all the Grimes. As tempting as sneaking off to some unfindable place like the barn loft is, you’d never get the smell of walkers out of your nose if you did, among other awful possibilities.

“If you start to have nightmares, you can wake me up, okay? I’ll keep my walkie on.” Carl taps a pocket on his cargoes which is housing the pink walkie-talkie that Sophia had used. “Want me to check whatever part it almost bit?”

You lean over to touch your forehead to his, then unzip your hoodie, tug your sleeve up, and show him your perfectly unscathed forearm. He does a thoughtful exam in the firelight, even scooting off to get his flashlight to aid in the inspection. You know there’s nothing there, but it’s also about his peace of mind.

Lori and Carl soon head to bed, leaving you and Rick.

"Glenn told me about the pharmacy, the walker."

"He probably minimized the part where he full-stop saved us both, Maggie and I. If someone find canned bacon again, he's earned at least half the can."

His eyes glisten. With the arm closest to you, he reaches to cup the back of your neck and tells you how relieved he is that nothing worse happened and that you're okay.

Then, he inclines his head and begins to say, “I wan—” but Shane comes and sits beside you, two spoons and the rest of the jar of peanut butter in hand. One spoon is for you, and he and Rick pick up the conversation.

You can’t help but think this is the calm before the storm.

But, perhaps things will go smoothly when Lori’s news becomes public knowledge. Perhaps it’ll make going away easier — going to scope out a new place as permanent and safe, like Shane hopes Fort Benning will be. After all, the Shane you know would want to do what’s in his power to help his best friend keep Lori safe.

“Shane, is that the salt shaker?” Carol asks. She’s back from wherever she and T-Dog went. Her eyes look wet and red.

T-Dog doesn’t look too cheerful himself, but cracks up nonetheless. “The pepper shaker. Y’all ain’t seen how those two do that?” That man’s grin could melt ice, you swear. “Y/N once had the audacity to claim it ‘elevates pb&j.’”

“Hell yeah it do.” Shane tips the shaker downward to sprinkle it into the remnants of the peanut butter jar.

With zero embarrassment, you agree, “It real yummy. Wanna try some before it’s gone?”

This snack is not that unusual, right?

…Right?

“Don’t risk it Carol. I once heard them two Walshes mention craving they mother’s pineapple casserole.That tells you a lot.”

Rick leaps in to defend it, albeit with humor. “Don’t go knocking ’til you’ve tried it.”

“Pineapple casserole wasn’t even at one church potluck, Teddy? Are you even from the south?” you tease, still zen as can be. ~Om~

Carol’s smile is small but not forced. “Did she make it with a Ritz crust?” she asks you kindly.

“Mama liked to use corn flakes.” You begin to twiddle with the wrap around your arm. “She'd do it up with seasonings.”

“And Dog, you would not believe how good it goes with ham and bacon,” Shane insists, scraping the sides of the jar to get as many dregs onto his spoon as he can.

T-Dog has only one thing to say: “At times like this, I find the blessing in the collapse of civilization.”

This presents to you as the perfect spot to call it a night for yourself. Seems like someone is D-O-N-E!

Beaming at the prospect of kicking this day goodbye (no, not ‘kissing.’ Kicking.), you bid those still around the fire goodnight, throw a peace sign to Andrea where she’s coming back from a walk, and then fully intend to go to your tent.

From your left, you hear someone step out of the RV.

“Kiddo, are you heading to bed?

You turn to answer Dale. “Yeah…”

…It seems you’re not d-o-n-e, judging by how Dale is looking at you. Is it serious what he wants to talk about? His expression indicates that he’s clearly concerned about something. Probably to do with the barn. Damn that barn.

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

With Dale

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

“Y/N, before you call it a night, can we talk a minute?” Shane calls before Dale says anything.

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

With Shane again

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

“Shane, I’m so done with today that I’m overcooked,” you grumble once you’re far enough away to feel comfortable doing so. “What’s up? I think Mr. H was about to ask me something before you whisked me off, now I feel impolite.”

“When Dale and I spoke, I said some things he might take the wrong way.”

So it was intentional, whisking you away before Dale had the chance. Oh, Shaney, what did you say?

“You know I love Rick.”

Curious thing to bring up. “He’s our brother.”

“I’d never hurt him.”

“And when you said what you said to Lori, it was a lapse. I know you.”

“Y/N, I love that man. He is my brother. Dale is under the impression that I — Y/N, I’m askin’ you to trust me on this.”

Everyone wants that today, it seems.

“Dale is under the impression that he saw me aim my gun at Rick.”

Through your absence of emotion shoots a cold chill up your spine. You walk a few paces without responding. “When does he think he saw that happen?”

“Must’ve been, uh,” he fumbles, agitated. “I’d say sometime when we was lookin’ for Sophia, I guess.”

He’s lying again.

You know him when he’s lying. This is one of those times. Like when he lied about Otis during the funeral. Why he lied was clear, he wanted to put the family at ease and give them peace. This time, he must be trying to do the same for you?

As if you were merely an observer with no stakes or heart in the game, you remain placid. “When was Dale with y’all? He was never with the two of you for a search.”

“Listen, I don’t know, maybe it was back at the quarry before any of that,” he cuts in. “All I know is he’s gonna try and use that.”

Shane talking too fast and bringing up that the incident may have been as as far back as the quarry means that it was indeed as far back as the quarry. Rick would have recently returned, he’d only been there two or three days before it was overrun…and Shane would still have been in love with Lori.

You think back and conclude it would have been the very small window of time when the Rick and Shane would have been scouting in the woods, after that solitary walker had wandered into the camp bounds. The kids came across it when it was eating the deer Daryl had hunted.

For clarification, you quote, “‘Use’ it?”

“He doesn’t trust me or like me, never really has. Wants me gone. Hell, he told me to go. You, on the other hand, he acts like you’re the apple of his eye.”

In another circumstance that didn’t involve your brother being disliked, it would warm you to hear that a man like Dale thinks of you paternally. Not this circumstance. “Even Mr. Horvath can be a downright idiot if he don’t see you how I do,” you say in earnest.

“Y/N, I —” In his way, Shane rubs his hand on his head back and forth against the peach fuzz he has left after buzzing his hair off. And he looks all around without picking a spot, both sure signs he’s riled in some way, grasping for an answer.

If you could feel much of anything, you’d be feeling…you aren’t sure. But something in you knows what’s coming. You know what he’s about to tell you and you wish it weren’t so.

He confesses it: “Y/N, I did aim at him. I held him there.”

The nausea sweeps back in. It’s not too strong, kudos to your current mental state for keeping things on power-saver. Another grace to get through this day that won’t end.

“He also thinks that when Otis and—”

“—Did you fire?” You want to nip in the bud whatever his survivor’s guilt is gonna claim about what happened that night with Otis. You’re done. So done. “At Ricky, did you fire?” you repeat.

Not expecting a follow-up question with such an obvious answer, he flounders. His eyes shine in what little moonlight there is. He won’t look at you directly.

“Well then,” you continue. “Seems you had a bad thought, fought it, and dismissed it. Basic Morality 101, you overcame the bad thought. And let me guess; he brought it up, you got defensive and said some stuff what sounded tough and scary.” Seriously, you’re fucking done. “We’re both leavin’ in a week or so, anyway, so after you apologize, Mr. H will have ample time to wise up and think better on you before we come back.”

Are you feeling anger again? Is this your emotions kicking back on?

And why ain’t your brother saying nothing?

“I’m tired, Shane. I-I'm done.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if this whole revelation were some big tragedy.

Yes, you are starting to get angry again. Lord above, you’re done!

“For what? Doin’ the right thing?” D-O-N-E. “No harm, no foul, Shane. Screw Mr. H if he’s too stupid to understand that the struggle ain’t sinful, the consent is.”

You watch as he squeezes the bridge of his nose at the spot between his eyes.

No, you do not have the patience to wait for him to say anything in return.

“Walk back with me, please, unless you’re fixing to stay out here and get ticks all over.”

And, no, you do not wait for him to join, either. You take off and don’t care overmuch if he’s following. You need to have a little chat with Dale, so whatever remaining time is left until your feelings jump-start fully again, you’ll need.

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

With Dale Still with Shane

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

“—Y/N, don’t talk to him tonight. Wait on things.”

Oh, your brother has finally decided to use his words? “Can it.”

D. O. N. E.

“Come on now, kettle off the burner, kid,” he calls.

“I said can it!”

"I don't know why you're so upset, Y/N, but I d—"

"—It's been a long day." You have not broken pace in your storm toward the RV. "Almost fucking died, for one." And you can't tell Shane any more of it, minus the part he knows about the walker.

There are too many secrets and you don't know what to do other than demand to know why Dale hates Shane so much. Shane is your family, your heart!

“Y/N,” Shane next warns. “As much as I’d love to see you chew the old man out, you won’t like yourself if you do. You know that, you ain’t stupid.”

Those words break your pace. You slow. Turn.

Your throat tightens and you swallow.

Before, you’d felt as if you were the older one, much more older. Now, you’ve swapped. You feel helpless and small and stupid. The lack of strong emotions is somehow making it worse. “H-how am I gonna sleep if I don’t? Shane, I-I need to sleep, I need this day to be done. I'm done.”

“But you won’t sleep a wink if you go to him now, upset and angry. Wait 'til the morning.”

He’s right.

The thoughts race, race, race. Too many hidden things.

The baby. The barn. Shane giving you a bruise because he blew up. This new secret that he held a gun at his best friend, his brother.

What can you do with all this? You’re so fucking done!

God. Fucking take all this! I can't!, you inwardly shout, frustrated, angry, scared yet not able to feel much more than exhausted. Until you can't quite seem to breathe enough.

"Y/N, hey, shh. Whoa there, it's all good. Don't panic," you hear him saying.

His arms fold around you in an embrace that you don't resist one bit. You want him to be the one to somehow fix it all. He has been such a cause of fear and stress, so all you want is for him to fix it all and prove your fears false.

The way he releases the hug so he can apply firm pressure to your torso is something your mother used to do. A sensory calming trick.

It does the job. Soon, you've eased. Your breathing gets back to normal. The exhaustion returns as the panic fades. A feeling of wanting to hide your face. "I'm so tired, Shane. I want to be done."

You look at his creased brow, his set jaw. The hardness melting when he sees that you've calmed. It's Shane, not the stranger you'd been seeing in him.

How is it possible to love someone so completely despite them being the cornerstone of all your fears? Or, is that normal? Are you an idiot? Or are you just overtired...

“Let’s get those earbuds in, play you some music, alright?” Your big brother curls his arm around your shoulders and gently guides you back to the tents. "The day's done, so you're done," he soothes. “D-o-n-e.”

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