Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A single drop of water fell from the ceiling onto a stalagmite, waking you like it had done countless times before. Eyes open, you watch as another drop lands on the same rock formation; a reminder that you were still alive. Sitting up, you assess the immediate area; there was no such thing as being too safe. When your eyes glazed over the large area that was Giant’s Hall, you nodded at the lack of the undead. No danger, no threat. You knew that in the darkness of this cavern, where it was cold, you were safe. But you were also keenly aware of the sun that would be waiting for you to come out—out to the New World. You would have to shield the light coming through the cracks of the boards you put up at the entrance of the building above, but that was a routine you were beginning to appreciate.

Despite the mini home you made out of this cavern, there was always too much of it creeping in. Light. It was there, no matter the amount of trees that hung over you or the occasional building you'd discover on your runs. All the buildings you've encountered so far were either inhabited by the undead, claimed by the living (which was rare but still dangerous by default), or dilapidated beyond repair anyway. You could keep moving, keep wandering the state of Virginia until you found people you could join up with—families and kind people who had a safe community, reliable shelter, and food you'd trust to keep on giving—but the reality was this:

You were alone, and you had been for months now. You preferred it this way.

Blinking and processing the new day, you start to move around in your makeshift bed; the base was made up of three layers of mostly clean blankets, all from the gift shop you scavenged when you'd discovered the place some time ago. You found the fourth one, which you'd been recently using as a top blanket, in an empty car a couple weeks ago. It was near the end of a run for food and resources when you realized you hadn't explored this part of town yet.

Luray, Virginia: population unknown. Too many casualties to get an exact number, you figured. Especially on West Main Street and South Court Street where they had all been met by the undead, the Plagued, as you called them. You found that they resembled a ghoul-vampire hybrid species from a TV show you used to watch. Sidewalks and main crossings had it the worst, though, what with the Plagued rotting the pavements and cement. Something that didn’t cross people’s minds—something that didn’t truly cross yours either until you happened upon it—was that under scorching heat, the undead cooked and baked and fried; some of the bits of brain that were left out on the road would waft in the air. As crude as it was, you used their bodies in your favor, sneaking through the town wearing Plagued blood and guts as a disguise, looking through every car that didn’t sound off at the subtlest of touch. And then you found one.

Nestled—hidden—underneath a hanging tree, its tires were slashed and the windows were partially broken into. Off of Stonyman Road, right next to the Willow Grove Mill, you pulled at the front door, the squeak coming from it worrying to you at first. There aren't any undead for miles, you assured yourself. You killed them already. Peering behind the seats and keeping your arms close to your chest, you inspected the vehicle thoroughly. There was no such thing as being too safe; you'd seen before the bloodshed and ripping of intestines as a result of doing first and thinking later. But there'd be no later—the Plagued would make sure of that.

Behind the passenger seat, laying on the floor, was the child's blanket. Little Bear themed with tiny owls and tuxedo cats dancing, laughing. Having fun. You grinned a sad grin and wondered what kind of child used to snuggle up with this blanket at night. If it was brand new when they first received it or if it was a passed-down family treasure. You would never know the truth, but at least it was something to fall asleep with and keep you warm. That alone sufficed your thoughts.

Time was a weird thing now in the New World. If there was anything you missed the most about the world before, it was having a clock. Always knowing the time soothed a part of you; whether it was simply knowing what time it was or the fact that it was something that made you feel human to own (because oddly enough it did), the clock signified having control. Something you lacked severely now in the New World. You missed having a clock.

Now, sitting up in your makeshift bed, you rub your eyes and hope it's somewhere around eight o'clock. The funny thing? You'd hated waking up around that time in the world before. Your previous graveyard shift kept you awake until eight a.m., not getting home to your apartment until eight forty-five. And while sleeping the second you returned home was the wisest choice, the times from eight forty-five to eleven-thirty were yours, and yours alone. Reminiscing on the world before brought up bittersweet feelings. You tried to ignore them. Tried to ignore what life was once like. But the thing about the past is that they are a shadow in a dim room—constantly trailing you and never leaving you alone.

Like most people in the world, you had a dysfunctional family who, at most times, loved and appreciated you as an individual. Although while your family had their own set of tangible quirks, you felt as though yours were taken with a grain of salt—not absorbed or dissected in a curious fashion like you had hoped. You'd felt that these quirks weren't tolerated or as accepted as your siblings' might've been. Maybe it didn't come as such a surprise to you. Either way, coming from a family whose only way of dealing with things was by way of unmeditated disapproval disguised as niceties, you thought you did your best to scrape by mentally.

Turns out, the turmoil that had grown between you and your family didn't pick at your insides for too long after the New World started. For some, disabilities and illness made life frustrating. An apocalyptic dystopia ended it altogether.

And then it was your sister, whose bloodshed was a result of doing first and thinking later. She wasn't the oldest, but she sure acted like she was by taking charge at any given opportunity and being the overall “responsible one”. Which was why her sleep was unexpected. At least with others, you could predict theirs. That was one quirk of yours; something your family tried but failed to understand about you even in the world before.

You didn't like seeing people’s expiration dates as deaths. Even people you didn't know who passed on left a sour taste on your tongue. Because death—like saying goodbye—was uncomfortable. It was awkward to talk about, read about, and hear about. Death was real. And you did all the things you could to make it not real. So the dead became sleepers to you. You weren't sure when that word was adopted to your vocabulary, but it had become a daily thing at some point—walking through Mountain City, Tennessee, your hometown, whispering 'they're asleep' under your breath every time you spotted someone you recognized, splayed open and exposed to the world. 

This wasn't you cracking or losing it, because you knew your sanity was still lying dormant underneath the fear that clung to your nervous system. This was a tiny sliver of redirection that simply gave you peace of mind. That's all it was, and that's all it ever would be.

That was the start of the New World. For you, anyway. There wasn't much time at all after the dust had settled for you to catch up with the people you predicted would still be alive, no time to vent about the current state of the World. Besides, who knew if there was still oxygen in their lungs? You thought about searching for them, the friends you made early on in your life. But if you were honest with yourself, they were long gone—already asleep. They had to have been. You also stayed hidden for the most part when the Plagued came. For a while, you weren’t even aware of what was going on, of what was taking place. No warning, no news broadcast. You guessed that was to be expected. Because when something catastrophic and meteoric—like a zombie outbreak—happens, there's no time for camera crews to capture the reality that is the world until after the dust has settled, maybe. But even then, who would want to do that? They'd be going live to sleepers and weakened spirits desperate for something better, wholly unaware of cameras televising their depleting decay.

When it came to surviving the outbreak, living in a senior apartment made getting out easier. Laying low in your apartment helped keep you alive. You stayed there and waited until you felt it was safe to leave. The undead (and the living) in that complex had their stamina and endurance expire years ago anyway.

The family that you still had; they left a note for you when you came looking for them. It was attached to the front door of the home you grew up in, 432 North Church Street. 'Go to basement' it read, your mom's cursive writing scrawled and smudged across the post-it note. Terrified, rushed, possibly injured—any of those could have been the cause of the smudging. Whatever it was, you acted fast. Taking the note, you ran not to the basement in the house but to the place that popped in your head immediately: the laundromat ten minutes away.

Years ago, when the washing machine in your house broke, you and your family visited 24-Hour Laundry House every week until the funds were all right again. The times your father perplexed you were insurmountable, but at the end of the day, the friends he was able to make in five minutes more or less kept the dollars from leaving the wallet. Instead of saved quarters, the owner of the laundromat showed you her secret, her basement. A comfy living space that couldn't have been more than 400 square feet housed two small couches, a coffee table, and a pull-out bed. There was also an attached full bathroom that needed some serious TLC, but the main room was clean and had a lot of canned goods in the storage cabinets along the wall. Mrs. Jonea, the forty-something-year-old divorcee, insisted that your family occupy it whenever you needed the room. It wasn't more than just a weird gesture at the time, something to nod and say 'thank you' at but then quickly leave and go about your business, never to think about ever again. What a refuge it ended up becoming, you had thought, approaching the perimeter of the laundromat.

Smudged note in hand, you inspected the parking lot from behind a thick tree. The area was unsafe, littered with the Plagued. The quickest way in was at the distraction of a tossed water bottle, the loud thunk it made when it hit the lamp post echoing throughout the parking lot & signaling to the undead that food was potentially nearby. They gravitated toward the distraction, and you made a bolt for it, catching sight of the open doors and fearing the worst. But once you were inside, there were only a handful of the Plagued milling around. Not too many, maybe four or five. A screwdriver was the only blunt object you had on hand, but it worked, and it worked well. Right through the cranium, and the Plagued would drop to the floor. It was their time to sleep.

It wasn’t until you reached the counter, though, that you found Mrs. Jonea. On her back, a knife was wedged into the side of her skull, just like she was one of the Plagued. She was killed here, you'd figured. But why? 

The key to the basement door was gone, no longer dangling on its hook. When you found the set of carpeted stairs that lead down to the refuge, you stayed quiet, inching closer to what you had hoped was your family. But reaching the door and standing in front of it was all it took for you to know that they weren't there. There'd be no need for the key as the door was unlocked, a thin crack of light spilling out onto your face from the room beyond. When you entered, you were surprised to find that the room was still intact. It looked untouched, even. But upon further inspection, you knew that that wasn't true. Dried specks of blood stained the upholstery, leaving too many juggling thoughts in your head to count. At least the food in the cabinets were still there.

As pained as you were to realize it, the note your mother left you lead to a dead end. Or a trap. Or some kind of damned result of doing first and thinking later, and even now, you still didn't know where they were. "Asleep," you deduced one day, having trekked through the forests and spending too much time escaping from the Plagued. And when you had passed the sign that welcomed you to Virginia, every step you took after that was another second you grew accustomed to that reality. 

You watch as yet another drop of water falls from the damp ceiling onto a stalagmite, its constant existence a reminder that you are, indeed, still alive and stand up from your bed of blankets. Taking another quick look around the cavern you closed yourself off into, you nod, relieved to see nothing at all. Tightening your ponytail, you clear your throat and head for the stairs that would take you up to the main building. The main building that was partially damaged but free of the undead; you made sure to clear the area when you first arrived.
And now, standing in the cathedral-sized lobby, you were proud of the little home this place was turning into. Passing the ticket counter, you approach the boards and peek out the cracks. It was another sunny day. You smile.

It was time for a run.

Chapter Text

The day had just barely begun and you were already bored from the lack of the undead. There hadn't been any close calls in days, and you missed the adrenaline rush that'd come with fighting off miniature hordes. With the barren town stretching out for miles, how else were you going to obtain entertainment?

Aside from battling the Plagued for leisure, you'd started to notice a pattern with the streets you've explored so far; there weren't many Plagued adults that milled the town. In fact, the majority of the undead Luray inhabitants were children. The odd elderly sleeper would pop out of a corner when least expected, but those were few and far between—rarely a common sight. This had you stumped however: adults were commonplace everywhere, so what happened here? What made Luray different?

It was this thought that echoed in and out of your head, repeating itself over and over again as you turned left onto West Page Street. There was a slight incline up this road, but you didn't mind it. Any form of exercise was taken gladly, because being in shape meant being strong enough to fight the undead, which only meant thinking first and doing second. You'd sometimes wondered if this way of thinking was too much of a tedious cycle, if repeating this mantra before making any kind of decision was becoming too tiresome. The choice to check a seemingly unoccupied vehicle could mean your death, but sometimes, in cases of hunger or thirst, you'd have to risk it. It made sense to have this mantra. You figured it also made sense to have food and water.

Low growls interrupt your thoughts, pulling you back into the New World. Gripping the base of your screwdriver, you sink low to the asphalt, quickly spotting a fruit tree to your left and hiding behind it. The growls came from several yards ahead, but in the chance of it being a horde, you continue to hide. You weren't about to risk being seen, much less trapped with no safe way out.

A soft whoosh of something flying past you makes you crouch even lower to the ground. Looking around, you can’t spot anything out of sorts. No large bald eagle searching for ground to claim, or rogue ballistic missile wanting to do the same. But something did fly by you, and it flew fast. 

There wasn't enough time to process the first whoosh because a second one just came out of the woodwork, whizzing by you and nearly grazing your ear. This time, you were prepared. This time, you saw what it was.

An arrow—or bolt—going God knows how fast flew past your head and buried itself in the left eye of a Plagued that stood not even a foot away from you.

"What the—"

You stopped your sentence when you heard someone walking towards you from behind. With your screwdriver in hand, you twist around, ready to plunge it into whoever had the obvious upper ground when it came to weapons.

The first thing you saw was his crossbow. And then you saw the tip of the bolt, its sharp end pressing into the space between your eyes. Coming into focus now was the man's dark and steely eyes, which penetrated yours, paralyzing you to the boiling asphalt.

And then the crossbow dropped to the man's sides, the bolt no longer an active threat. 

You expected some kind of warning or order from the man; a 'lay down' or 'hands behind your back' would make sense coming from him. You wouldn’t put it past him to be carrying skeletons tucked into the deep of the jacket he was wearing.

But instead of hijacking your freedom, he simply grunts and walks past you.

Turning slowly, you watch as he crouches down and pulls the bolt out of the sleeper’s face. There's a snapping sound, and you realize the bolt has broken in half. Whipping his head around at you, the disheveled man's eyes narrow, a scowl blanketing his face.

"You're welcome." He said quietly, the scowl not budging.

His voice was scratchy, gravelly. Like sandpaper rubbing against the sole of a tennis shoe, his voice reminded you of the funeral director you had in your hometown.

Pushing eighty, Arthur Bishop was the candy-yielding old man that used to hand out buttermints, the ones that melt in your mouth, to every kid that came by. And every time you visited the funeral home. You visited often, not because someone had died, but because Mr. Bishop never ran out of those buttermints. "They're wedding mints, _," he'd cough out, his face red and blotchy but otherwise cheery for being at a funeral home. "Too bad this guy can't enjoy em'," he'd chuckle and thumb towards an occupied casket in the corner. You weren't sure if that was a jab at being dead or unmarried. You'd decided it was both.

"I'm sure I had it." You return to the New World and ponder putting the screwdriver away. You decide it's best to keep it in hand. Who knew what this person was capable of? You weren't about to stick around to find out.

Walking past him and the sleeper that couldn't have been older than fourteen, you continue up the street.

"Fine," he gruffed from behind, a slight southern drawl dripping from his words. "Die for all I care, it don't matter."

You let what he said go to the wind—it wasn't worth it to argue with him, no matter how long it'd been since you last talked to someone with oxygen in their lungs.

Come to think of it, this was the first person you'd encountered since the New World started. Zoning out, you focus on the gravel from underneath you and try hard to remember the person you last spoke with, completely oblivous to the barrier in front of you.  The barrier, in all his glory, stood intimidatingly in front of you, his eyes burning a hole in yours. 

"Thanks." You tell him, figuring that's what he wanted to hear, and try walking around him. He gets in your way, blocking your path.

At first he says nothing to you. Just stares eerily, continuing your discomfort and doing nothing to ease it.

"You dropped this," he grunts, waving something in his hand. You look down and spot a familiar looking post-it note. 

You take it from him and slide it back into your pocket, where it's supposed to be. 

"Thanks." You wondered how your mother's last known note to you fell to the ground, but shrugged it off and found peace knowing it was back where it belonged.

The stranger walks off, freeing up the space for you to continue your trek up the street. You twist your head and watch as he walks off in the direction you came from. 

"Ass." You keep your eyes on him for another moment longer, ensuring he doesn't turn around and shoot you down. 

He doesn't.

Letting out a shaky breath, you ascend the street and end up walking down it to the end, not finding anything of value. 

In fact, you spend the next hour combing through the upper half of Luray, finding nine vehicles along the road but only going into four of them. 

It wasn't until you connected to Bixlers Ferry Road that you stopped in the middle of the road, needing a break. The large, amber source of heat and light in the sky continued to burn, and you guessed it was closer to noon. If only there'd been a watch tightly secured around your wrist. You would have known the time for sure.

Having wasted several minutes of daylight already, you tighten your ponytail and start walking again, continuing on for another fifteen minutes until you locate a small lot of cars on your left.

It wouldn't hurt to have a drivable car, you thought. But every time you had considered getting into one, you became worried. Worried about it breaking down, about it exploding unexpectedly. Worried it'd get stolen from you. That was an actual possibility now—now that Luray was population two. 

Thinking of him, the odd stranger from before, you pass the lot of cars and keep walking. You walk until you find a single, long, and sturdy board on the side of the road. "For the entrance," you say, lifting it and examining it for rotten parts. When you see that there are none, you tuck it underneath your armpit and decide to walk back to the caverns.

You guessed it was around two o'clock by the time you reached the parking lot, the entrance to the building just a few yards away. You let out a long sigh of relief, the fifty-degree caverns—and canned foods and water bottles from your stash—just around the corner. You find the concrete stairs easily, but a shuffling sound from nearby causes you to stop halfway up. 

Crouching low—just like you did earlier this morning at the tree—you go into panic mode. You'd cleared the area before leaving today, you made sure of it, you were certain of this.

You pick apart the parking lot behind you, making sure to look inbetween the abandoned cars. You look to the entrance where you came out of just hours ago. Nothing; no sleeper, and definitely no man with a crossbow, was nearby. So, you rise, thinking you imagined it. That was very likely.

When you find the entrance, you move the makeshift door made up of differently sized and colored boards. You had another one to add to it, but putting it up would have to wait. You place a hand over your talkative stomach and grin at the good timing.

It was time to eat.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen. At least you were fairly certain it had; you hadn't moved much from your little corner in Giant's Hall. Not since getting back from the run this afternoon. Besides, as soon as you returned, you downed two entire cans of pear halves and then took a nap—it wouldn't come as a major shock if it was dark outside. That was fine, you figured, so long as you were safe and tucked away in this corner for the duration of the night. Tomorrow would be different, though.

You weren't planning on going for a run; not the typical run you were used to going on, anyway. No, you were going to look for a weapon. Or weapons.

Today's run-in with the strange man had you thinking about it for hours. The screwdriver had helped you sufficiently so far in the New World, but it was simply that; a screwdriver with no other redeeming qualities aside from it being able to lodge itself deep into a sleeper's head and setting it down for an endless sleep. You think back on the crossbow in that man’s hand's, the bolt laying tightly within the arrow retention spring, the tip of the bolt digging into the center of your face. How you were so close to sleeping yourself.

Something shoots down your spine, and you fear momentarily that the stalagmites gained consciousness and decided slithering down your back would make for a good start at establishing dominion. 

But it was simply a chill, you noticed, making its descension down your back. It was getting cold, and the measly blanket was only doing so much. 

"I have to find something warmer," you say out loud, your teeth dancing against each other, and squeeze the microfiber quilt tighter around your body. 

But it was dark outside—at least you assumed it was—which meant a higher risk of running into the Plagued. You needed safety.

You stand up and tie the blanket around your shoulders, securing it like a second skin. You needed warmth.

Walking up to the coldest spot in the building, the gape in the wall—a.k.a the entrance—you peak through the slits between the boards. Sure enough, it was dark. Then again, you somehow knew it would be.

A couple Plagued bodies walked, trance-like, across the parking lot. Among them, a shopping cart from the nearby store stood still in its lonesome. You didn’t need it; you’d already stolen one when you passed Charlie's the day you stepped into Luray. Figuring it’d serve a purpose, you drove the cart around town, searching through the odd ma & pa stores, as well as the bigger, name-brand restaurants, for possible scraps. You had, of course, peered inside Charlie's the first day; it seemed like your typical, everyday general store, save for the shattered glass, debris and moldy food littering the floor. But like the rest of the abandoned stores throughout Luray, nothing of interest caught your attention.

Until now.

Among the undead, in its lonesome, you could see that the cart was not empty; a couple grocery bags occupied the cart, unknown objects awkwardly poking through the material. Risky, you thought to yourself. The more time you spent looking at it, the larger the next thought became: how did I not see this before? That thought then brewed into: did someone put it there when I wasn't looking? Had a Plagued pushed it around the lot while I slept? 

Whatever it was, it now posed as a threat; random, unexpected, and ultimately unsafe.

A slight breeze decided to roll in just then, blanketing your arms with goosebumps; it had to have been fifty degrees in the caverns but standing outside, with this breeze, it felt like thirty. 

The blanket you had wrapped around you wasn't doing anything, but it did remind you of your plan: search through the gift shop again for more blankets. Despite your knowing that you'd searched the entire place already, top to bottom. 

Gritting your teeth, you shake your head, ridding yourself of the 'don't do it's’ and 'maybe just try to go back to sleep's. 

It happens quickly—you push the boards to the side, a nearby Plagued croaks, and you glide undetected across the parking lot, passing the shopping cart at first but getting carried away by curiosity. You sneak a glance inside one of the bags and bite the inside of your cheek.
It was too dark to see anything. You'd have to wait until sunrise if you wanted a better peak inside.

The gift shop was just a couple yards away, and you squeezed both fists for good luck. 

The door to the gift shop was in sight now, but a Plagued child trudged in circles in front of it. Undead children were the hardest for you. Eyes glued open, you try not to think of the time you had to put your first one down to rest. So you don't. You swallow your guilt and run up behind the child, plunging the screwdriver in their head and then dropping them to the ground, letting him down gently and feeling the air escape his lungs. 

"Goodnight." You say under your breath before getting back up and pushing through the half-open door.

Like the last time you were in here, the gift shop was a mess. The majority of merchandise still standing were souvenir cards, the occasional t-shirt, and several thermoses and hydroflasks. All the slots for snacks and beverages were empty, naturally.  You shake your head in pleasant disbelief; it was a good thing you found that trash bag full of canned goods and water bottles by the bed and breakfast near South Court when you did. Very quickly did you go through the food you took from the laundromat’s basement back in Tennessee, and the fact that you still had plenty back at the caverns gave you much relief.

After combing through the store, you're ready to give up. Glancing around, you give the store one final look before sulking back to the front. Hissing through your teeth, you prepare yourself for the thirty-degree weather, the howling wind from outside calling your name. It's only when you're one foot out the door that you hear something move behind you. Something soft and instant, but any quieter and you would have missed it.

You turn around and spot the rodent zipping across the linoleum. "A rat? Seriously?" You scoff at the sight and shake your head at how anticlimactic that was.

It could have been anything; several Plagued faces, sizing you up from behind the counter, their purple fingers sticking to the glass and waiting for you to get closer. Or possibly it was the strange man from earlier, stalking you.

Hunting you.

Either of those two options would be cooler than the squealy rat that now stood still in the center of the store. Yes, it was dark, but even there in the sunless corner of the world, you could see the rat's eyes peering curiously up at you. Maybe this was creepier than you initially thought it was.

There weren't any undead in the store, especially not behind the counter, but there was something there behind it that you hadn't noticed before. Not even when you had explored it the first time in daylight all those days ago.

A single door, for staff most likely, was covered in dust. 

Walking back inside, you reach the counter and round it, stopping in front of the door. Nearly the same shade as the walls—a depressing taupe—it was closed shut and appeared rusty.

You try for the knob but receive no satisfying creack of it opening. 

"Maybe a key?" You spin around and search the counter surface with a desperation you haven't seen in yourself since the start of the outbreak.

Hands dusty, you continue until you've gone over the same patch ten times. With your desperation reaching new heights, you slump against the wall adjacent to the strange door that has just now magically poofed into existence.

"Stupid!" You kick the base of the counter, hard. "Stupid, stupid door!" You kick, kick again, and then kick some more, until you hear a soft click. Something opened. You turn to the door, thinking 'there's no way'. You pause.

The door had opened, just a crack, and for a moment you wonder if the stalagmites gained consciousness and if you've been tossed into some alternate reality where doors open on their own. Then you wonder if kicking the counter somehow did the trick, but that couldn't be possible.

"The hell—“

Your breath hitches in your throat. You know that voice. 

You stand in front of the door that is now fully open, and stare into the eyes of the man with the crossbow.

Slumped against the wall in the far right corner, the man appears to have been asleep just mere seconds ago. You take note of the very comfortable-looking blanket he's wrapped himself in.

At first, the only thing you could hear was the howling wind outside. But then the silence grew loudly in the gift shop, and you were tempted to cover your ears.

You and the man look at one another, his crossbow pointed at you, your screwdriver pointed at him. You weren't going to win this fight but there was no way in hell you were going to surrender.

You were also unreservedly certain that the man with the crossbow would shoot you down, marking the end of your life, bringing you to your sleep. But the man with the crossbow does no such thing. Instead, he drops his crossbow and grunts. Then he mutters something under his breath.

"What?" You ask, leaning in to hear him better.

"Thought you were somn' else." He repeats, raising his voice, the coarsness of his words echoing jarringly throughout the shop.

Since he put his weapon away, you decide to do the same and bring your screwdriver down at your side. You weren't planning on putting it away just yet, however.

"You too." You eye him cautiously before allowing yourself to relax a little.

"Go away and let me sleep." He grunts, rolling onto one side and yanking the blanket over his head.

You ogle the blanket and feel a mixed combination of feelings. On one hand, you were full of jealousy; every goosebump that popped up on your arms and legs yearned for that blanket. On the other, you weren't a heartless murderer who killed for what you wanted. Still, it took everything in you to not rip the blanket away for yourself.

So, instead of murdering him, you open your mouth. "Where'd you get the blanket?"

The man doesn't move from his spot and stays quiet, and you begin to think he's ignoring you on purpose.

You turn around and sigh, thinking you should just go back to the caverns and end it here. Your luck—if you had any to begin with—had run out, and you were ready for sleep again.

But then you hear the man stir. 

"There's another one." You hear him grunt.

You turn around and catch sight of his pointed finger. 

Hope surges through you, and you step inside of what you now believe is a janitor closet. Some shelves adorn the walls, a couple Windex sprays litter the floor, and a mop bucket sits in the corner opposite of the man whose name you still don't know. And you're not sure that you want to know it.

On the other side of the room, however, is a table. On top of that table is a trash bag.

When you reach it, you search through the bag and sure enough, your hands touch soft material, and you can't believe your luck has restored itself.

"Now get." He orders from behind, and you don't waste any second longer in the moldy room with the greased up, crossbow-slinging maverick.

The wind seem to pick up—if that was even a possibility—but you push on through, making sure to avoid the few rowdy Plagued teenagers milling near a silver Acura. 

You pass the shopping cart and make a silent promise to it that you'd come back when it was safe.

Once you reach the building and enter it, you make your way down to the caverns, the newest addition to your blanket family all bundled up in your arm.

But when you reach Giant's Hall, you stop in your tracks. The trash bag full of canned food had been moved. It was now in the center of the cave.

And hovering over it was an intruder. 

Chapter Text

There wasn't much light in the cave. When you discovered the place, a lot if not all of the flood lights had been long burnt out. And the ones that still managed to have some life left only provided a minimal amount of light, flickering on and off like a flashlight would.

A small lake clinging to the edges of the Hall illuminated the ceiling formations, the water pure, clear, still. When you had walked down into the Hall for the first time, you weren't sure what it was. You didn't even know to look for it; there was no sign or warning saying "small body of water right in front of you". But when a drop from the stalagmite above you landed into the lake, it had created the smallest of waves, and you were comforted by its existence. You knew the drops from the stalagmite couldn't have created the lake itself, but in the depths of your inner child's imagination—you didn't have to go far to find it—you liked pretending that it did. 

There wasn't much light but the light that was there on the ceiling thanks to the water below shone down on the person going through your belongings.

You didn't know what to do. Frozen to the rock beneath your feet, you watch them. Their maroon varsity jacket draping awkwardly over them, over their hands, as if it were too big for them. Their dark, shaggy and unkempt hair bouncing lightly from scouring the trash bags.

The air in the cave was usually refreshing. It made the very tip of your nose cold and numb to the touch. 

But suddenly, as if feeling your presence, the stranger turns around, and now the air is thick and stale, filling the Hall with an earthy mildew smell, stealing the breath from your lungs and thawing your frosted nose.

"Hello." You immediately regret saying anything at all. The person—man, now that you could see his face—hadn't even spotted you. Listlessly searching the Hall, he had been completely unaware of your existence. Until now. Because you just gave your position away with one single word.

He was rough and rugged, and not in the good way. In the I've-been-homeless-for-far-too-long way. The God-knows-how-long-it's-been-since-I've-eaten sort of way. He grunts and finds you in the dim of the room, his eyes locking on you.

"You can have some of my food," you blurt out again, receiving a raised eyebrow. 

Damnit, your voice echoes loudly in your head. You're going to get yourself killed!

He takes one step forward, and cocks his head at you. A small smile appears on his face.

You return the smile and feel the tension in your shoulders start to lessen. Or maybe he's friendly, and you've scored a friend.

The man walks into a strobe of light casted down from the ceiling and the tension returns, this time freezing you over entirely. 

Under the light, you find that the smile on his face is actually laced with venom; the curl of his thin lips only means danger, and your own smile disappears instantly, your self-preservation kicking in—perhaps later than it should have. 

When it came to the Plagued, you were familiar with their carnal drive for flesh; both human and animal. But your experience with human deceit was slim. 

And you were now thrown into a body of water with a ravenous animal unlike anything you've seen before, and it was like the lake had swallowed you up, removing you from your childlike imagination and drowning you with its betrayal.

Chapter Text

Something in you finally kicks in, turns on. It pushes you to start running, because the curl of this man's smile and the threatening steps he's taking toward you is everything but friendly. There's no time to think on whether or not you can talk him out of this; he's a foot closer now, his eyes grotesquely set on your body.

Turning around, you run up the stairs you'd just descended, going as fast as your feet can take you, your shoes barely touching the ground.

A sound goes off in the cave behind you. You were certain you had imagined it, but the sound strangely resembled the hissing static of a handheld transceiver, a walkie-talkie.

"It's not real, keep running!" You beg yourself to believe it, feeling your feet kick up behind you. 

The entrance comes into view, but the sight of the wooden makeshift door pushed aside worries you. You grit your teeth and run through the hole in the wall. You had put the door into place just moments ago.

One moment you're running towards the parking lot—the silver Acura and rowdy Plagued teenagers just up ahead—but then you're spinning in the air, nose-diving straight towards the pavement.

Your face connects with the concrete, your right cheek and temple getting the brunt of it. A collection of moans, yours included, intermingle in the immediate area.

This is fucking it, you think to yourself, guarding your heart with one hand and your cranium with the other. He caught me!

You scan his face briefly, certain his satisfaction would be written all over his face. He may be moaning from the fall, but his win had to have been prevelant, you thought.

Static from the walkie-talkie hisses again, and you exhale loudly, your delusion feeling like a warm hug from a distant cousin; had it been able to talk, it would have teased you relentlessly on your appalling naivety, but it had neither throat nor vocal cords to do such thing; its existence was a strange yet comforting wonder. You remove your hands from the important parts of your body. Maybe death isn't so bad.

A second pair of footsteps come running out the building, and your head pounds, the accomplice-partnership becoming obvious to you now. 

But the face belonging to the man whose body was entangled with yours doesn't match the intruder's. 

You whip up to the man hovering you, and then back down, both faces registering in your brain. 

"The hell's goin' on?" The man with the crossbow flared his nostrils, the hands that he'd been using to keep you low to the ground now retracting back to his sides.

"They stole from us, dude." The intruder finally spoke, his voice sounding older than you had imagined it to sound.

Standing up, the man with the crossbow eyes the two of you. The quick exchange between men allowed you to take a better look at the intruder; the letterman jacket had lead you to believe he was in high school, but it was so clear—even in the dark—that he was in his thirties, if not pushing forty.

"I didn't steal from you," you find your voice, the words coming out slow and foreign. As if they were never yours to begin with.

"You can close your damn--" 

"Shut up, Todd." The man with the crossbow interrupted, his jaw tensing. 

The intruder, Todd, stared devilishly, the glint of the knife in his hand nearly blinding you.

"I seen them around here. They’re harmless." The man grunts, his arm flying out in the air.

"You ain't seen the trash bag full of our canned goods, then." Todd crossed his arms, and the man with the crossbow took a step back, his eyes falling on you.

A beat passes before he speaks up again.

"This true? You have our stuff?"

You stare at both of them, frozen to the pavement. No, you think, fear gripping you. They don't actually mean the bags of food and water I found in the church, do they? 

"Main Street." You say softly, recalling the memory of walking up along the pavement, discovering the church for the first time.

”Speak up!” The tip of the arrow pushes into your temple, and you swallow your frustration.

When you repeat yourself, this time finding the courage to raise your volume, Todd scoffs loudly.

“See, Daryl? What did I tell you!"

The man above you refused to back down, his eyes full of rage. "Where are the bags?"

You inhale and swallow the dirt caught in your throat.

"Caverns." You exhale--defeated and confused.

The man removes his crossbow from your face and heads for the entrance. "Take em’ to the site."

Todd nods and then grabs your wrist, pulling you up into a standing position. You seethe, the pain from his grip shooting up your arm.

The static from Todd's walkie-talkie fills the air, marking your imprisonment and potential sleep.

Chapter Text

A subtle ticking sound awakens you. A clock!

Something shifts in your body. Something similar to joy but not quite as unadulterated; if this was an auditory illusion, and you were very certain that it was, you knew you couldn't possibly enjoy it. Not to the extent that you would if it were real. 

You swallow, and the saliva that had been slowly building in your mouth goes down difficultly. A sticky substance covers your hands, which are tied and bound behind your back. Your eyes aren't shielded or covered, but it doesn't help that there's not much to look at, thanks to the lack of light in the room.

Feeling around the floor with the tips of your fingers, your skin makes contact with cold, hard concrete. Before anxiety has the chance to deplete all of your energy, you force yourself to breathe in and out, slowly. 

It's dark, but it's also quiet. Where are the men that kidnapped me? The thought bounces off the walls in your head, only to create more that are similar. Why did they bring me here? What do they plan on doing with me? 
To me?

With your narrowed eyes, you strain and overexert yourself, but it's hopeless. There's nothing to observe. No man with a crossbow or intruder named Todd.

"Watch," you tell yourself, exhaling out your nose. "You'll get out."

"I don't think so, he locked the door good and tight."

Your head swivels to the young voice, your eyes bulging out of their sockets. Whoever it was that spoke had to have been above you, their voice coming from every direction.

"Who was that?" You ask, damning the dark and your eyes for not adjusting to it.

"A ghost!" The person chuckles. They sound like a child.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts. Maybe you could convince the child to open the door for you. "Are you really a ghost?"

A beat passes.

"Maybe."

You smile apprehensively. "Can ghosts open doors?" 

The child snorted. "Not locked ones."

The voice is getting closer. 

"Do you know how to unlock mine?" You push your fingers into the concrete and anxiously anticipate their response.

Another beat passes, and then a thud. Feet padding against the floor echoes all around you. 

A pause.

A door knob jiggles.

You push yourself up against a wall. The kid might help get you out, but who knows what you're up against.

The door knob stops moving, and for a moment, you think the child left you alone. But then something slides across the floor, and you can't see it. Can't tell how close or far away it is.

Scurrying feet tells you that the child ran off.

Another pause, a grunt, heavy breathing.

"Did you get it?"

You inhale, smelling something sickly sweet. "I'm about to."

You scoot awkwardly across the uncomfortable floor, towards the smell. Your knee hits something, and you think you've found the door. 

A blinding light fills the space, and you flinch, jumping back to the wall.

When you look up, you find yourself staring at a gaping hole in the ceiling, and the eyes of the young boy not older than ten stare back at you, a flashlight in one hand, and a fork in the other. 

"You're a ghost!" He exclaims, and then follows it with a belly laugh.

You flinch again, but not because of the boy—the man with the crossbow could be out there, making his way over here and you wouldn't know.

But then again, maybe you could.

"Are there any other ghosts here?" It was all you had, and you hoped it would work.

Surprisingly the boy nods, stabbing a fork into a plate of his own.

You finally take a moment to look around the room, and discover that it wasn't the door you ran into. It was what the child slid under the door for you. A plate of pancakes, covered in thick, sugary syrup.

However, just beside it, was another plate of pancakes. That one was definitely sitting out for a while, and may be the reason for your sticky hands. 

"Where are the other ghosts?" You ogle at the plate. It had been so long since you had anything sugary or full of carbs. You inch closer to it, your eyes bulging.

When you don't receive an immediate response, you look back up again at the hole in the wall. 

The child was gone.

"Hey!" You whisper-yell, the room still wearing a light glow from the flashlight pointing up at the ceiling.

But he doesn't return, doesn't pop his head out the hole to let you know he's still here.

A thud sounds off outside the door, and then the door knob jiggles again.

It flies open, but standing in front of you isn't the boy. 

A man with greying hair and ripped shorts pants wildly, his eyes redshot and zigzagging across the room. 

When his eyes land on you, you scoot back to the wall and accidentally sit on your hand. You yelp, but quickly quiet down, the weight of his leer hushing you almost immediately.

The sound of tiny feet running across the floor alerts both you and the man, and when the child comes into view behind the man, you notice the scared expression on the child's face.

"They’re not one of them!" The young boy shouts, his arms stretched out in warning.

"I'm sorry, kid, they've been bitten." The man turns back at you, his face tainted by apathy.

"But I checked!" 

"August!" The man shrieks, anger returning to him. 

The boy you now know as August stands defiantly, not backing down from the man.

"I mean it, I checked." He points at you, his sticky mouth turning up into a small and hopeful grin. "They’re just a ghost."

The man stares at the boy momentarily before turning around and walking towards you.

You close your eyes, accepting your sleep.

"Well, I'll be."

A sound louder than anything you've ever heard before erupts in the distance, and all three of you jump. 

"It's them!" The man exclaims, and you crawl into one of the corners in the room and catch a glimpse of the rest of the building out the open door. It looked like some kind of industrial building. Maybe a garage or warehouse.

"You know what to do," the man says to the boy, who nods and runs off.

When the man turns to you, he points a finger in your face. "You be quiet, or I'll cut off all your fingers and feed them to the biters!"

You nod, but consider the consequences if you got loose and screamed with every fiber of your being. 

"I know you have them, Dirk!" A familar voice carries throughout the building, and your breathing becomes irregular. 

"The man with the crossbow," you whisper quietly to yourself.

Once the man leaves the room, he closes the door, and you go to work at the rope tied around your hands, using the knife that August placed on top of the plate full of pancakes.

Chapter Text

The rope loosens and falls to the ground, and as you bring your hands out from behind your back, your grip on the knife tightens.

"Thank you, August," you whisper, knowing he can't hear you. While grateful for the gift, the pitch black of the room is still a gleaming reminder of your imprisonment. 

Now I just need to make my leave, you breathe in, locating the wall behind you and using it as support.

You're standing on solid ground again when you hear voices talking outside the door. As quiet as a whisper, you tiptoe towards the door, thinking you can catch snippets of the conversation before making your escape.

Pressing your ear flat up against the door, you listen.

"They will stay there until I find a purpose for them," someone says sternly, and you have a gut feeling they're talking about you. The older man, you figure.

"You know I don' have time for this, man." The other voice yells out in response. You cling to it immediately, recognizing him instantly.

"Hey!" Another familiar voice calls out, albeit as a whisper. And it's directed at you.

You turn to the sound, instantly spotting August above you, all the way up at the beams. 

He waves, his hand still gripping a syrupy fork. 

But then you notice he isn't waving--he's gesturing for you to climb up to the beam!

"How?" You whisper back to him, seeing no possible way to achieve that kind of feat. You'd have to have superpowers, and as desperate as your adrenaline was, you couldn't see yourself getting up to August quietly.

The young boy stuffs his face with a forkful of pancakes and, using his other hand, shines his flashlight on a chair in the room.

You hadn't noticed it before, or maybe you did but weren't capable of processing it the way you could now. 

You chew on your lip, sweat pouring down your back. You wanted to overthink it, wanted to weigh every possible end result and then deeply ponder their end results, but with your life on the line, you made your decision.

"I don't think the beam can hold us both." You tell him, wearing a worried look.

The boy mirrors your expression, and for a split second, you think he's going to scurry off and leave you on your own.

But the voices from outside come to a stop, an empty, uncomfortable silence taking precedence.

And then you were making your second decision.

Cautiously, you take hold of the chair that looks like it was taken straight from a hospital waiting room and place it directly underneath the hole in the ceiling.

August holds his hand out, and you take it desperately, an unexpected surge of fear taking root and shooting down your spine. It was as if the demon on your shoulder was whispering to you, screaming in your ear to hurry it up! That the man with the crossbow was seconds away from barging into the room and shooting you asleep.

You wrap your other arm around the beam and hoist yourself up, the board miraculously still intact. August shifts in front of you, his plate of half-eaten pancakes occupying one of his hands.

Awkwardly, you balance yourself on the beam, inching towards the crawlspace that was conveniently big enough for an eight-year-old. 

"I can't fit through that, August!" You tell the boy, who thinks really hard for all of three seconds before an a-ha expression appears on his face.

"The window!" He says a little too loudly, and points behind you.

When you turn, you see your escape plan manifesting before your eyes, and grin appreciatively at the young boy.

You're staring at the open window when the sound of the door knob jiggling sends you into a panic. The next thing you know, August is pushing you from behind and you go flying. But just before your fall, beside the window frame, you spot the small but very real analog clock on the wall, the hands ticking against each other subtly and filling you with adrenaline.

Chapter Text

August tugged at your shirt, his legs shorter than yours but faster than yours could ever wish to be. Gritting your teeth, you ran through barren trees, dead branches cutting into your exposed skin and snapping away all around you. Instinctively, you brought your forearm up to your mouth and sucked on the crimson droplets.

No blood, no Plagued, you told yourself. 

Half-expecting Dirk to be on your tail, you whipped around—another safety precaution you've had to rely on a lot in the New World—and saw nothing but prickly thorns and a blip of the building in the distance. No Dirk. 

"Where are we going!" The air escaped your lungs but you pushed on, refusing to quit. 

"A secret place!" His voice rang and echoed throughout the greenery.

"I trust you!" And you meant it.

The forest eventually cleared—as well as the droplets of blood on your arm—and you and the young boy stopped right at the tree line. Relief flooded you; you were out of harm's way. At least for now. One glance at the open field in front of you changes that however.

A group of ten or so flesh-hungry Sleepers milled about, maybe a half mile to your left. To your right, even closer to you, was another group four times that amount.

"Where's the secret place, August?" You whispered, not moving an inch.

"Past all the zombies." His voice cracked. He was scared. 

But so were you.

The scent didn’t kick in. Not immediately. But as soon as it did, it crept in like a winter’s chill and seeped into your skin like rotten milk on carpet. 

The disfigured, decomposed Sleeper that was once a person—a child—laid only a foot away from both your feet, its guts spilled over itself like a bloated invitation. Which was exactly what it was.

You pointed, and August seemed to have caught on almost too quickly. 

A part of you breaks at the thought—the cruel reality, really—of children stripping themselves of their innocence and taking on the brutality of man. Or was it simply survival? Was surviving brutal? Was it brutal to ensure that the blood in your body stayed there?

Ten seconds prior, you were dry. Save for the exceptional spot of sweat and semi-dried blood, but you were dry. 

Ten seconds prior your dignity was still mostly in-tact. 

But now you were layered with carnage, carcass—decay. A sickly, illegally sweet congealing that you tried to convince yourself was just the syrup from the pancakes that August had made you. 

Ten seconds ago seemed like millennia ago.

”Go.” You give but one breathless command—one the little boy follows wordlessly—step into place behind him, and pretend to Sleep.   

Chapter Text

The concoction of milk, maple syrup, crushed up Tylenol caplets, and raw chicken that you and your sibling made together at ages eight and ten. You left its remains behind the old reclining chair that your grandmother used to sleep in. Your mother was furious; you'd used her vintage Summer Chintz china, after all.
It didn't matter how many times she made you scrub, the sickly and putrid smell of milk and poultry never quite went away. 

It was that smell that filled you with nostalgia and loathing; the smell of death; childhood. Trudging through muck and memories, wishing silently to not get caught, you forced down the bile in your throat. 

And then you saw it. A poorly built shack—or was it just dilapidated?—off in the distance, nestled below a willow tree. For a tree to symbolise renewal and vitality, its existence in the New World made you want to laugh. But you didn't. You tucked it under your tongue to have for later, when it's safe.

August pointed a finger at the shack and looked back at you for approval. You gave him one nod of encouragement. Don't trip over a conveniently placed rock or stick, please, you begged. Not right before refuge.

Then refuge came. In the form of half a roof for protection from rain and wooden boards for walls to be unseen from Sleepers. 

It wasn't home, but you weren't about to complain. It meant safety for now, and that was more than you could hope for. 

"Down here!" August whispered, and you turned to watch him descend a trap door in the floor that you didn't notice when you entered the shack. Following in after him, you closed the hatch over your head and went deeper into the ground.

When your feet came into contact with concrete, you spun around in search for August. But what caught your eye first were the aisles and aisles of wine. Along the walls, which seemed to go on forever, fermentors and stills seemed to have been collecting dust for a while now.

You were in an underground distillery. A homemade one at that.

"What is this?" You asked the boy, already knowing the answer.

August plopped on the concrete floor just a foot away from you, resting his back on one of the storage shelves. 

"It's a place that stores alcohol." He said matter-of-factly. "I'm not allowed to have any."

You nodded. "But whose is it? Who owns it?"

"It's my pop's!" He ran an arm over his sweaty forehead and sighed contentedly. "There was thieves who kept stealing from us, from our old place." 

"I found the shack and told my pops. He let me ride on the tractor for a whole day!" 

You grinned. "So you made an underground distillery out of this shack." 

The boy nodded and sighed again.

"Is Dirk your pops?" You walked over to one of the shelves and picked up a mason jar full of unidentifiable liquid. You considered opening it right then and there. 

August shook his head, an empty and forlorn frown tugging on the corners of his mouth. You decide not to press him on that.

You were still examing the jar of liquid when August spoke again.

"He's my pops' pop." 

You turned to face him, examining his face this time. Still empty, but less dejected. "Your grandpa."

August nodded, a small smile appearing on his face again. "He gives me pancakes."

"I saw." You thought back to the stack from earlier, your stomach grumbling in response. 

"We can stay here if you want. It's safe here." August promised, and you thought about it.

"I hope it is," you told him, opening the seal to the jar and sniffing its contents.

You threw your head back in disgust. August began to laugh heartily. You froze in fear.

"It's okay!" August moved from his spot on the floor and stood up. When he was directly in front of you, he gave your forearm two solid pats of reassurance. "They can't hear us down here!"

“Trust me.” He lowered his head, the forlorn look returning to his face. “I already tried.”

You placed the jar back on the shelf, your brain working in overdrive. He's... tried to get the Sleepers attention?

Before you could ask him any questions, you noticed that he was fixated on something. 

When you found your place adjacent to him, you followed his gaze to the end of the distillery. Up against the back wall, a body was slumped over. And half of its head was blown off, it seemed. 

"August." The same fear that nearly froze you to the ground had returned, and you gripped August's shoulder out of instinct. 

"It's okay, he won't get you." Forlorn. "He's dead."

"Who is that, August." You took a step forward but the young boy grabbed your shirt, pulling you back.

His face showed remorse. Guilt; a sadness you hadn't seen on him before, despite not knowing him for that long. Not long at all. 

"That's pops." He said, finally. 

Dammit.

"I'm sorry." You told him. You weren't sure what else you could say to him. 

August stared at the body you now knew to be his father. 

"I tried to get grandpapa's attention." 

You gulped. August turned to face the ground.

"He couldn't hear me." 

You noticed now that a rifle hung limply from the man's open hand.

Oh, August! 

You placed a warm hand on the boy's shoulder. He doesn't push you away.

The two of you stay there for several minutes, not saying a word. 

The silence doesn't last. 

"I should probably get back." August frowned, not looking you in the eye.

You turn to face him. "Why?"

"Grandpapa's probably looking for me. Besides," he paced back towards the ladder, and it wasn't until now that you noticed he had a scar across the back of his neck. That must have been one deep gash before.

"I only left to take you here." He stood in front of the ladder, one foot resting on top of the first step. "And now you're safe!"

"Yes, but..." 

You didn't know how to finish your sentence. 

... stay with me?

... I'm lonely, and you remind me of myself?

... you don't have to live with ghosts?

Instead, you kept quiet.

"There's a shelf full of green beans and granola bars down here, in case you get hungry." He gestured toward the shelves behind you, but you didn't look back. 

"I don't think pops will be needing them any time soon," he quipped, and then began his ascendance up the ladder. Before completely disappearing, he stopped and looked back at you.

"Stay here for as long as you can. Maybe I'll see you someday." And then he was gone.

Standing in the almost empty distillery, you fixated on the ladder.

In the quiet of the room, you started to laugh.

Chapter Text

Tossing the last bit of granola into your mouth, you stick another bar into your back pocket and toss the wrapper away. There was no room for the jar of green beans, but that was alright; you had a stash of goods back at the cave.

Well, I had goods back at the cave, you thought. I wonder if they're still there?

You take one last look at August's father. You weren't about to stay all day in here. You had home to get back to. 

Waving goodbye, you'd hoped this would be the last time you'd have to see him.

Solemnly, you turn and head for the ladder. As soon as you set a foot atop the first step, you mouthed a silent prayer—to August, to August's father, and for there to be no Sleepers once you reach the top—and ascend.

At the top, you put your ear as close to the hatch as you can.

You hear nothing.

Once you've opened the hatch and fully ascended, you noticed something else doing the opposite; the sun had begun to dip.

In the distance, the silhouette of the Blue Ridge Mountains provide an odd sense of warmth, their jagged peaks outlined against the colorful sky, making you gawk at the beauty laid out in front of you.

But this also meant night was coming. And you didn't know how far away from home you actually were. You would have to find a main road or familiar landmark to determine your exact location.

My screwdriver. You realized in horror. I left it back at the building!

It must have fallen out of my hand when August pushed me out of the window.

Pressing your back to the wall of the shack, you peaked over to look out the window. Some of the Sleepers have dispersed, but there were still several littering about.

You bring your arm up to your nose and sniff. Do I still smell like Sleep?

Analyzing the perimeter, you see that going around would be safer, but it would take longer, and time was a limited resource. 

You walk out of the shack and back into the forest again, the Sleep that adorned you starting to dry. Had too much time passed for you to be no longer considered one of them anymore? 

Taking the risk, you began to head back to the building. To August. To Dirk. 

Who knows, you thought to yourself, maybe that one guy will still be there? The man with the bow. What was his name again?

Only half a mile left to go and the Sleepers minded their own business. They hadn't noticed you—yet.

Right...

Daryl, you remembered, stepping over a headless Sleeper and hoping you didn't seem out of character to the Plagued around you.

They moaned and groaned at one another. An unconventional way of communicating, you thought. 

He's helped me once before. You gritted your teeth, envisioning the arrow that had almost split your ear in two.

The treeline was in sight now, the prickly branches still likely coated with your blood.

Maybe he'll do it again.

Chapter Text

You were right.

The building was some sort of industrial warehouse. Standing directly beneath the window you were pushed out of just merely an hour ago, you examine the immediate perimeter.

A half-built shed sits just a couple yards to your left. I bet this was abandoned because the Sleepers came and ate everyone.

The wind picked up, and a distinct rustling sound perked up your ears.

In five seconds flat, you manage to chase after and grab the architectural drawing that could have flown away forever if you weren’t so fast.

This looks like the building I was in, you deducted, going back and forth from analyzing the drawing and the warehouse. 

As to how and why you were brought here, you didn’t know. Maybe you would find answers soon. You would be okay if you didn't, because all you really wanted was home.

As you searched the ground, you came to a frustrating conclusion. Your screwdriver wasn't here.

It’s inside, the truth came suddenly and unwarranted.

"Of course," you whispered to yourself. Why would I have nice things anyway, you thought.

Soft voices hushed in secrecy beyond the warehouse, and you wondered if one of them belonged to Daryl.

Just below the window you escaped from was another window. Approaching it, your steps were deliberate yet silent. You thanked the gods that the deserted perimeter offered you the privacy you needed.

You reached out, your exposed hand grasping the cold metal of the building, but the window seemed bolted, refusing to yield to your touch.

Frustrated, you continued your search. You weren't going without your knife. Maybe I'll find a way in by going around the building.

Sneaking around the corner, you moved with purpose, your gaze strictly set along the wall for another window.

Squelch.

You nearly gasped at the sound, your eyes trailing down to the half-dead Sleeper on the ground. And your shoe digging into its hollowed out chest.

It wasn't the only one, you realized, taking in the ghastly sight before you.

Stacked ontop of one another, a miniature mountain of Sleepers laid there groaning. Twenty or so of them maybe, but you wouldn't doubt it if there were thirty of them.
Not completely dead, not completely alive. Halfway to purgatory, if not already there.

They were placed here, you deducted. And I bet it was Dirk.

Slipping past the pile, you make sure not to disturb them. Oh, I hope you didn’t have to be involved in this, August.

With a steadying breath, you slipped through a partially open window, your senses attuned to the Plagued behind you. 

Finally inside, you held your breath. The dim light that filtered through the cracks in the boarded up windows casted eerie shapes across the warehouse floor.
But I'm inside.

Undeterred, you pressed forward.

"--and now you've gone and lost em'." 

Daryl. 

Pressing yourself up against the wall and next to the open door, you listened. He's still here?

"They'd've likely made a lousy worker, anyway."

Dirk.

"I mean, did you see the meat on their bones?" The old man scoffed.

The sound of shuffling shoes nearly vibrated the entire building.

"They're better off dead. They stole from my outpost."

You squinted in the dark of the room and silently pleaded with the man with the crossbow. I didn't know they were yours...

"I'll get August to help ya get back to the church. He's been inside too long. Needs to re-center himself in the real world again."

You shook your head slowly. If you only knew, Dirk...

"I don' need him."

More shuffling feet, and getting farther away at that. Daryl was leaving.

When you thought it safe, you peered out the door.

No Dirk, no Daryl. No August.

Quietly, you sneaked out of the room and took a right. The room Dirk locked me in has to be somewhere over here.

Cautiously, you made your way through the labyrinth of corridors. Each doorway you passed seemed to lead to another dead end, the darkness swallowing your hopes with each wrong turn.

As a way to locate the right door, you made a point to look at the knobs; each one seemed to be coated in a layer of dust, which meant they couldn't have lead to your room.

But then:

You fell upon a door. The wood was weathered and worn.

And without a speck of dust.

With a shaky breath, you turned it slowly, the door opening into pitch blackness. Was it this dark before?

Stepping inside, you wished for a flashlight, but as it stood, you had none. 

You figured you wouldn't have been able to find it by using your hands. Not if you wanted to cut them up. 

With your shoes, you tapped lightly around the room, a slight echo ringing against the four walls. 

Please don't be nearby, you begged desperately, hoping that Dirk was somewhere else in the building. Somewhere where the echo didn't reach.

"_?"

Whipping around, the outline of a familiar boy stood inside the door. You could barely make out the small of his smile.

"August." You breathed, willing your heart to settle back down in your chest.

"You're back?" He skipped over to you, his hair slicked back and wet, and you could now differentiate his features in the dark. He must have just came from a shower.

"I need my screwdriver, August. Can you help me find it?" You whirled around again and sped up your search, your shoes tapping faster across the linoleum.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, shuffling across the room, searching by way of the tap of your shoes and the occasional bend-over for the sake of being thorough.

"Stupid," the boy muttered. You stood up straighter and looked in the direction of his voice, waiting for him to continue.

"Well, brave, I guess." He sniffled, his back to you. "But still stupid."

Inhaling, you ran a hand over your other arm. It was getting cold and you could almost see your breath.

"I can't risk going back home without my screwdriver. But sure," you turned around again and found yourself near the window you had tried to get into initially. "It was stupid for me to come back. But also brave, you can admit." 

"It's getting darker." He told you, and you knew that it was. Only a matter of time now, you thought, staring out the window and seeing the last of the sun on the horizon.

Swoosh.

The sound of something sliding across the floor alerted you.

Turning towards the door, adrenaline coursed through you and goosebumps ran down your arms and legs. 

Just then, another outline of a body stepped into the door, and you froze to the ground. 

Please don't see me, please don't see me.

"August?" Dirk called out, peering in.

Reaching a hand across the wall, he flicked what you imagined to be a light switch.

But when darkness remained, relief singed at your fingertips. 

"Gotta get that light fixed." He shook his head in dissapointment. "Come on out, son, dinner's almost ready."

"I'm comin'," August responded, and the two of you watched as Dirk left the corridor, his shadow casting on the wall just outside the room and fading the farther away he got.

You let out a deep breath. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Stay the night." August said, materializing in front of you instantly. Like a ghost.

"You can be safe, if you stay here." He handed you the screwdriver, the carbon steel glinting and reflecting off of your eyes. 

Then the boy's eyes lit up. "And I can get you breakfast in the morning!"

You smiled, weighing your options. Twisting the screwdriver in your hand, you knew one thing for certain.

Your weapon does exactly what's implied—it can separate meat from bone.

"Okay," you said with newfound confidence, staring down at your screwdriver. If I need to, I can. I will.

"At sunup, I'll be ready to leave. Can you wake up that early?" You eyed him cautiously.

August grinned mischievously, as if you had just asked him the easiest question to ever exist. 

Though night had just begun to start its shift, August's dirty blond hair—ashy in the twilight glow—and grey eyes carved a dent into your heart. 

"Goodnight, _." He whispered, already moving away from you.

"And try not to wake grandpapa up, okay?" 

You took his order seriously and slid down the wall, your thumb pressing into the bolster of your knife. Trust me, I'm not about to let that happen.

"Goodnight, August." 

But the boy was already halfway down the corridor, his shadow disappearing with him into the almost-night. 

Chapter Text

The night was cold, and your bed partner did everything in their power to keep you from sleeping. Now that you were awake, you noticed you may have accidentally kicked it into the wall in your sleep.

Sitting up, you stretched your arms and stared at the dead rat next to you. At least it couldn't bother you anymore. And it wouldn't ever again, you thought in excitement. Because I'll be far away from here soon. 

The sun peaked through the window, and you forced yourself to stop the cough building in your throat. The dust here was no joke, but you'd be home soon, and that was motivation enough to wake up even more.

"_?" 

The door knob jiggled, and after a few seconds of awkward rustling, you stood up and made your way over.

Opening it, you stayed hidden behind the door, concealing yourself in case Dirk was somehow right behind it. 

But when you set your sights on the young boy carrying a large bowl of boiled eggs and what appeared to be breakfast sausage, you grinned something big, releasing the air in your lungs.

"Come in, come in!" You whispered, ushering him in and then closing the door quietly after he walked in. 

Turning around, you removed the cheap Walmart-like plastic dish from August's hands in one greedy swoop and went to work.

"You're hungry!" August giggled, licking his lips. You couldn't help but notice the sticky residue at the corners of his mouth. Pancakes, you figured.

August slid against the wall and kicked at the rat while you ate your meal. The silence was nice.

Then you stopped chewing.

August noticed your discomfort almost instantly, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "What?"

You swallowed, then immediately wondered if that was a smart thing to do. "What's in the sausage?"

"I don't know, I don't eat it." August continued to gawk at you, a sliver of a grin tugging at his mouth.

"Did you do something to this?" You hand the bowl back to him, eyeing the mystery meat with cautious reserve.

"No, I didn't!" You shh'd him, putting a finger up to your lips and staring him down. The sound carried up to the ceiling, and you feared he may have been too loud.

Sticking out his tongue, August grinned, seemingly enjoying the back-and-forth.

"You liked the eggs though." He examined the bowl, noting most of its contents had been depleted.

You moved toward the window, sliding in next to the boy, and looked out of it. The area outside seemed to be devoid of Sleepers.

"I think it's time." You felt around your back pocket for your screwdriver, and at the touch of the bulge it formed in your pants, you nodded your head approvingly and turned to face August.

"But..." the boy stared up at you, a small frown forming. "You just got here."

"And you know I have to leave. I'm sorry, August." You opened your arms wide for him to walk into. 

What you didn't expect was for him to crash into you completely, his sticky hands enveloping you into one big bear hug. 

"Why weren't you this sad when you left me yesterday, huh? Where did this frown come from?" You grinned again and buried your face into his hair. It smelled like Dove soap.

He pulled back, a look of guilt plastered all over his face. His eyes were the worst; he wouldn't dare look into yours.

"What's going on?" You threw your arms over one another and raised a concerned eyebrow at him.

"I kind of took your screwdriver." 

Your eyes widened in surprise. "August!"

It was your time to shh yourself. The sound nearly shook the beams above you.

"I thought that maybe if you came back looking for it, and I found it, you'd wanna stay here with me."

The boy's eyes were glued to the linoleum, his ears red hot. He was ashamed of himself.

"Oh, August..." You wanted to be angry. After all, you risked coming back to retrieve your only source of protection. 

With gritted teeth, you then realized that August protected you far more than anyone ever had since the New World started. 

"Don't die, okay?" He crashed into you once more, his voice muffled by your shirt. 

Gulping down despair and residual sausage, you nodded, resting your cheek on top of his head. "I'll try. Really."

When he let go, you did too, and using every little bit of strength you had, you smiled down at his dorky face. 

"Go make sure your grandpa isn't anywhere nearby," you ordered, and the air changed from wholesome to tense in a matter of seconds. It was go-time. "And then come back when it's safe to leave." 

August nodded his head quickly, and then ran out the room, the door remaining wide open in his dust. To be safe, you rode along the side of the walls and crouched in the shaded part behind the door. Just in the off chance it wasn't August who returned. 

After about ten seconds, the sound of running feet reappeared.

August popped his head into the room, and when he saw you hiding, he gave a sticky thumbs-up.

"We're good!" He whispered, taking heed and following your cautionary method.

The two of you skipped down the corridor, crouching when a shadow loomed from beyond the warehouse, and tip-toeing when Dirk made a loud remark at whatever he was working on.

Finally, back in the room you broke into the night before, you turned to say goodbye. 

"Stay safe. I hope you grow up and learn that not everyone you meet is a ghost." You stared into the young boy's face and begged the universe to keep him safe.

"Don't get kidnapped." He said sincerely, but you couldn't help but throw your head back in silent laughter.

You cupped his face and grinned. "Maybe someday."

"Maybe tomorrow?" He raised his eyebrows in anticipation. You couldn't break his heart but you felt like you needed to.

"I don't know." And that was the truth.

In one quick movement, you climbed out of the window, making sure not to step on the mountain of Sleepers. 

August stood dejectedly inside, his hand up and waving at you. You pulled your screwdriver out and waved back at him with it.

Then you were gone. Away from the warehouse, away from August. Maybe for good, you thought in misery.

It wasn't like you had planned to never see him again, but life in the New World was unpredictable. Someone lives one day, and then they're being picked off by crows the next.
Life in the New World was raw. In every form, it left a mark. On your skin, yes, but mostly your soul. It chipped away at your spirit little by little every day, ensuring you'd be left with nothing but the desire to sleep.
Assuring you'd be a snack for the crows.

On the street again, you walked.

"Guess I'm facing east," you uttered, the sun hot on your face. Tilting your head back to receive it, you came to a funny thought. When was the last time I was seconds away from getting skin cancer? 

You smiled, enjoying the spring weather and feeling strange for missing the smell of rot along the road. 

It didn't occur to you until roughly forty minutes had passed that you never got August's story. How did he end up in the warehouse with Dirk? 

More importantly: How do Daryl and Dirk know each other?

You pondered this until you saw a familiar outline of Luray—home—in the distance. The Ma & Pa stores, the Mimslyn Inn at the top of the hill, the dilapidated homes that would never be properly lived in ever again. 

Will the caverns still be my home? You thought fearfully, the grip on your screwdriver tightening.

"Hey, trash bags!" Someone called out from ahead.

You knew that voice.

And just as quickly as you recognized it, you took off running into the forest off the road.

The prickly branches of the dying trees tore at your skin, and for a moment you doubted you had ever left the shrubbery from back at the warehouse.

"I know you ain't tryin' to run away!" 

You rolled your eyes and kept running. Fuck. You. 

You ran fast, hard, your lungs killing you. If I can just find something big enough to hide behind...

A Sleeper materialized in front of you from out of a tree, and you were only seconds away from being lunch meat!

Whish!

The sound of your screwdriver plunging into the Sleeper's head forced you back into reality; the cruel, raw reality of the New World was this. Don't be crow food!

The tree, you noted! Duh.

Grabbing at the bark from the tree your Sleeper friend just appeared from, you swung yourself around it to hide.

Nearing footsteps had you holding your breath.

You peeked around slowly, expecting the man with the crossbow to come running up on you. 

The forest was quiet. The birds had all but left the area. That's because I scared them, you deduced, knowing that abrupt running and murder tended to frighten the wild life.

I should have seen him by now, you bit your lip. This concerned you even more.

A hand grabbed you by the back of your neck and before you knew it, you were being yanked away from the tree. Falling to the ground, you groan in pain. On your way down, you must have scratched yourself on another decaying branch.

Looking down at you in disgust was Daryl.

And the familiar tip of his arrow was pointed right at your forehead. Again.

"Feel's familiar, don't it?" He sneered, wiping his wet forehead with his dirtied arm.

Heaving, you stared up at him. 

The man kicked at your leg. A jolt of lighting went up it. "You think you can just steal from us and deal no consequences?"

"I didn't know it was yours!" You spat the words out, and the arrow dug into your cheek. 

"Get up." He commanded, and you pondered all the possible end results of staying on the ground. 

Ultimately, you found the strength and got up, but winced at the pain from the newfound cuts on your arm. 

"Let's finish what we started." He grabbed you by your bloodied arm and yanked on you again, this time back to the road. 

On the gravel, with the sun beating down on you again, Daryl waved at a handful of people walking towards you in the distance. 

"Look at you," you gritted your teeth, the temptation to free yourself strong, but the wisdom to cooperate even stronger. You knew your sleep would come if you tried anything. "The hero of your group." And so close to home...

The man scoffed, his grip on you tightening. Caked mud and dried blood stained every one of his fingers.

"I ain't no hero, trash bags." 

You rolled your eyes at the nickname and forced your tongue to keep still. 

The gap between you and the group of people started to lessen, and Daryl observed you suspiciously, an exhausted I-don’t-want-to-be-here look in his eyes.

"Just tryin' to make it through another day in hell."

Chapter Text

"I say we cut their head off."

"No, that'll take too long. We got that spear nearby? That should be fast and easy."

You were sat on your heels in the middle of the road, dirt flying up around you, faces of shredded dreams and sneers coated with vengeance cutting into you like a deep, deep knife. 

There were four of them, including Daryl, circling you as though you were the last gazelle to their starving pride. 

I'm fucked, you thought, anticipating a blow to your head or gash to your neck. 

"They look scared." The first voice said. A woman in her forties; a million freckles adorned her face, especially near her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. 

"'Course they are, they got caught." The second voice chimed in again. A man, younger than the lady; his eyes were as bright as the sun but steely as all hell. 

The rest of Daryl's group mumbled their suggestions, and while they shot off ideas—pissed off and determined to put you to sleep—Daryl continued eyeing you.

"Please, I didn't know!" You pleaded, crying out to the last person in the group, a kid who didn't look older than sixteen. August in half a decade, you decided, noting the blond hair. Though this kid had brown eyes and a pierced earlobe.

"I'll give all of it back, okay? Just let me go!"

The steely-eyed man approached you and laughed in your face, spit landing on your upper lip. "Let's take them back to base. Sunny will know what to do with them." 

Taking you by your shirt, he wrenched hard, bringing you up to your knees and piercing you with his glare. "Show them what we do to thieves." 

"Alright, enough!" Daryl stepped in and pushed the instigator away, the man shuffling back and almost falling on his tailbone. 

Staring down again at you in disgust, the man with the crossbow grabbed you by the collar and pulled you up into a standing position. 

"Let's take 'em back." Daryl finished tying your hands behind your back and started walking, gesturing for the others to follow suit. "But they're stickin' with me, understood?"

You turned to face the man with the crossbow, your shoulders dropping. "I'll give you everything back, Daryl--" 

"You shut your trap!" He spat, his eyes glued to the road ahead. "I don' wanna hear you say another damn thing, ya hear? 'Sides," he paused.

"We already took our shit back." 

Your jaw tensed. Then just let me go, you asshat!

"Wait til' Sunny sees you," the kid muttered under his breath, finding his spot directly behind you and tugging at your hair.

"Alright." Daryl said, leading you through a fortress of a base, tent-like homes on either side and a wrought-iron coop that contained goats of all sizes and colors off in one corner.

Children played with what looked like painted rocks around a large hickory tree, and their parents milled nearby, drinking out of clay mugs and kissing each others' cheeks. 

Taking a left at a fork, you watched as the people of this little sanctuary turned to look at you. 

The thief, you imagined them thinking. All hang the thief.

After another minute of walking, Daryl dropped you in front of a more advanced structure and rapped loudly on its door. It wasn't a tent, but not exactly as large as a home either. It reminded you of the shack that August took you to, just a day prior. Except this one seemed to have actual stability. 

Without saying a word, Daryl walked off in the direction you came from, the crossbow that had been secured to his back being the last thing you saw before he disappeared behind a tent.

The door creaked, and you whipped your head back to see a twenty-something woman standing in front of you. Deep lines ran across her forehead and cheeks, making her appear much older than she probably was.

"So you're the rat who stole our stuff." Her voice was gravelly, like sandpaper and dirty vent filters and thirty years worth of smoke damage. 

"Come on, come inside." While she didn't grab you by the collar like Daryl had, her impenetrable glare was enough; it told you that disobeying would result in fatal consequences, and you weren't about to find out what that could entail.

The shack—if you could even call it that—looked nicer inside.
A rectangular layout with a bed plush against the center of the wall at the end, a miniature kitchen on your immediate left made up of a homemade-looking table, two straw chairs, and several clay plates and mugs, and a used leather couch sitting diagonally to your right. 

The woman who you assumed was Sunny took the straw chair closest to the bed and gestured for you to take the other. When you did, she poured what looked and smelled like coffee into a mug and handed it to you.

"Is this poisoned?" You asked warily, eyeing the dark color suspiciously. 

The woman proceeded to lift the mug up to her mouth and gulped. When she slammed the now-empty mug down on the table, the rest of the dishes jiggled slightly, one of the mugs inching closer to the edge.

"Now you don't get any," she scoffed, leaning in and appearing half an inch away from you. 

"How did you find our supplies?" She began, as if this was an interrogation. Maybe because it was.

"At the church." You said truthfully, picking at loose skin around your thumb. "I was trying to find something to eat."

"You found somethin', alright." She grinned maliciously, her gaze dropping to your hands. "But you didn't think to ask for permission, now did you?"

"How was I supposed to know it was anyone's at all!" You jumped up in your seat, seething with anger. The woman remained calm and collected, the grin still lingering on her mouth.

"No one was around, okay? It was a mistake—I see that now..."
You trailed off and peeled the skin off your finger too far, a small pool of blood welling up.  

"Well if it was all a mistake, I guess we can let you go." Sunny removed herself from her chair and stomped over to the door, gesturing to it with her open hand.

You turned in your seat and stared up at her cautiously. You think I'm going to buy this?

When she realized you weren't budging, she crossed her arms and cocked her head at you. "What, don't wanna be free? It was no biggie, right? It's not like you ate half of our canned goods or anything!"

"What do you want me to do?" You cocked your head back at her. "I'll leave here forever, just don't kill me!"

The woman threw her head back in maniacal laughter, the sound sending daggers down your spine. 

"What I want is our food back, can you do that?" She raised a brow, and you noticed the red in her eyes. She must not have slept in days.

"I can do that." You told her, both disappointment and disgust filling your stomach. I know where food is.

"Oh, yeah?" Said Sunny, the shit-eating grin reappearing. "If you're telling the truth, then I'll let you spend the night here. Where's the food?" 

You gulped, this morning's breakfast coming up as bile in your throat and coating your tongue with stomach acid. Eating that sausage wasn't a good idea, you thought. But this was worse, you knew. Much worse.

"There's..." You started, feeling regret already settling in the pit of your belly.

"I came from a warehouse this morning. There's eggs and sausage and who knows what else." Fuck, August, I'm so, so fucking sorry.

Sunny's grin turned into a full-blown sneer. "Good. I'll have Daryl go with you in the morning, bright and early. Can't remember the last time my people had sausage!"

She walked out the shack and let the door swing shut behind her, and you hung your head in shame, the sausage churning in your stomach and begging to be expelled.

Chapter Text

It was only a matter of time before Sunny put you to work. 

You had an entire day until you and Daryl would make the trek back to the warehouse, but between now and then, there'd be no room for relaxation. Sunny made sure of that.

It took more than an hour to dispose of the rotting Sleeper bodies that had gotten themselves stuck to the entire exterior of the base, their limbs and faces trapped in the slits between the walls. It then took another hour and a half to scrape off the skin and congealed blood that had collected.

Now noon, in an area secluded, surrounded by fifteen pounds of mulch and a wheelbarrow and shovel at your feet, you thought about August.

"Bring me ten wheelbarrows worth of mulch," Sunny ordered, hovering over you like a crow waiting for a snack. 

You nodded and then heard the sound of her walking away. 

Picking up the shovel, you began to dig. 

How am I going to ensure you don't get hurt?

Gritting your teeth, you realize you're half-way done with one wheelbarrow. 

Maybe I could convince Daryl not to harm you.

You're rolling the wheelbarrow down the dirt road when you spot a small child poking her head out the side of the hickory tree you saw earlier. She's staring at you, her face full of apprehension and amused curiosity.

Maybe when we get close enough, I could make a bee-line to the warehouse first and alert you that danger is nearby. Maybe you'll be able to run far away.

Stopping right outside Sunny's shack, you knock at the door.

Maybe you'll hate me, and then I'll really never see you again.

Sunny swung the door wide open and took a single step outside. "Good," she analyzed the full wheelbarrow before momentarily piercing the air behind her shoulder with her thumb. "Now cover the perimeter."

Once you were done laying mulch down on one side of the shack, you took the wheelbarrow and returned to the road. On your back, you spotted the tree again, but the child was gone.

Another hour or so passed, and though you couldn't call the time, it had to have been mid-day now. 

One last wheelbarrow, and you were hiking it up the slight incline between the pile and the tree with what little strength you had left. 

"You Sunny's new slave?" A voice called out from behind. Suppressing a scoff, you sat the wheelbarrow down and turned to look at the person. Or newfound enemy, you feared.

The first thing you noticed about him was his prominent pale blue eyes. They were familiar. You knew him. He was with Daryl earlier on the road.

While all five-foot-nine of him was chalky and pallid, the near-black shade of his eyes created such a distinct contrast, they seemed to swallow the light around them. His wiry torso, all puffed out, almost made you laugh. I see now, you thought to yourself. Superior complex.

You considered responding, but then decided against it. You weren't about to give him the satisfaction of humiliating you. You were already caught. And so close to home...

Picking the wheelbarrow up again, you reached the top of the incline and see Sunny's shack in the near distance. Almost there, this is the last one.

"Sooner or later, you'll go too." He taunted, sounding closer than he was before.

You kept walking.

"And everyone knows that as soon as she's done bleedin' you dry, Daryl will be dead, too." 

You stopped.

"Leave me alone." You seethed, shooting him a withering glare. 

"You don't see it! She's gonna use up all your energy, make you do shit around camp—“ he gestured wildly at the wheelbarrow at your feet "—until you can't work anymore."

"Until you're no longer useful." He spat and crossed his arms, shaking his head pathetically at you. "She was never going to let you go."

You dashed for the shack, putting distance between you and him. "Motherfucker," you muttered, coming up to the shack and jerking the wheelbarrow on its side.

After raking the last of the mulch thoroughly, you leaned against the wheelbarrow, feeling spent.

A light thud of boots on the dirt road behind you alerted you, and you turned to see the young child from before. 

No longer hidden behind a tree, you could tell the girl was deathly shy. Covering the lower half of her face with her curled hands, she looked up at you, timidness blanketing her. 

"Oh. Hi." You waved, noting the familiar bright eyes and fair skin. "Is… everything okay?"

The girl nodded.

"That was my brother." Her voice was mature. Stammering due to nerves, of course, but there was a cunningness to it. She reminded you of August.

Looking off, you noticed the man milling around where you left him, as if waiting for someone. For his sister, maybe?

"I'm sorry for you." You whispered, biting the inside of your cheek in annoyance. 

"Huh?" She asked, taking a single step forward. 

You hadn't intended for her to hear that.

"Nothing."

When a moment passed, the girl dropped her hands, exposing a small cut on her chin. 

"He gets everybody mad." She looked over her shoulder, and if you weren't a good observer, you'd have missed her moving ever so closer to you, taking the tiniest steps imaginable.

"I don't doubt that," you responded, feeling pity for her. "What's your name?"

"Riley."

You smiled. "I'm _."

"Hi." She grinned, the timidness slowly fading away.

You nodded, feeling confident you'd made a new friend. And with another child, no doubt, you smirked. Go figure.

"Don't listen to him," she said unexpectedly, not missing a beat.

Eyeing her cautiously, you cock your head to the side. You open your mouth to respond, but she was faster.

"Ladrus likes to lie." 

Then she was off, turning around and running away from you. And moving closer to her brother.

"This looks good." Sunny remarked from behind, pulling you out of whatever just happened.

Whirling around, you tensed up, but nodded your head as if the encounter with Riley never took place.

Sunny began to walk past you, and obediently you turned to follow her.

When she stopped abruptly, causing you to nearly bump into her back, you raise an eyebrow. "Is everything okay?"

Without turning over to look at you, she sighed. "Scram, kid, you're not needed. Take a break. Go get some food." 

As you watched her walk off, you noticed Ladrus in the distance, his eyes firmly set on you. He shook his head again, taunting you like he did earlier—the same look of pity etched upon his face—before walking away and disappearing behind a tent.

Your stomach growled. You were hungry. But where could you get something to eat?

Without warning, you feel someone grab your arm, pulling you away from the shack.

Dragging you towards an unassuming hut beyond Sunny's shack, Daryl grunted, his grip on you tight and uncomfortable.

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I have legs and that I can use them?" You snarked, pulling away from him.

He stepped into place in front of you, his stature powering over you. You stood your ground, however, looking up at him and ready to spit in his face. 

"It's time to eat." He said begrudgingly before stomping off into the hut, trusting you to follow suit.

Annoyed, you entered the hut, and found Daryl sitting on a worn cot in the far right corner.

Weapons and tools hung on hooks by the door. A rusted machete, a dirtied hammer, various types of knives. A dim light flickered from a makeshift lantern, and a small fire crackled in the center.

To your left, a simple table bore a can of beans, dented and dusty, a handful of wilted vegetables, and the same clay mugs you saw earlier.

Your eyes twitched from familiarity; you recognized the can of beans as one of the canned goods from the trash bags at home.

The trash bags you stole.

"Sit." He commanded, an already open can of beans in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other.

You did as he said, but not before grabbing the soft eggplant off the table as well as one of the clay mugs full of water.

When you planted yourself in the empty spot beside him, you took a bite out of your food, trying your best to ignore its mushy texture and bitter taste.

Aside from the scraping of the spoon on the aluminum can and the soft sounds of your chewing, the two of you ate in gauche silence.

Then, abruptly, Daryl removed himself from the cot and flippantly tossed the can onto the ground. Heading for the door, he was seconds away from disappearing again.
Standing up, you call out to him.

"Hold on!" You dropped the eggplant, no longer interested in it.

"Don't I deserve some kind of explanation? Is there some end goal we're all working towards that I haven't been filled in on yet?"

With his back to you, Daryl breathed heavily in response.

Walking closer to him, your face grew hot from rage. "Some guy said Sunny doesn't plan on letting me go—is that true? Am I stuck here, thanks to you?"

And then he turned around.

"I don't have time to listen to you yap, so I suggest shutting that trap of yours before you get yourself killed. Or worse."

"What could be worse than that?" You crossed your arms and sized him up; the tense silence that blanketed the space filled you with adrenaline, but you were ready to fight him, if need be. 

But then he turned and walked out the door—like the coward he was, you thought—leaving a trail of dust in his absence and the door wide open.

Shaking your head, you watched him walk away, noting the slight limp to his gait. Then you noticed something else.

He wasn't wearing his crossbow.

Chapter Text

Sunny pushed an aged rucksack into your hands, and it took a second for you to understand why you were receiving it. The warehouse. Eggs and sausage.
August.

The rucksack reminded you of the eggplant you ate last night. Worn and useless.

Despite the situation you were in you mused with yourself. It felt inappropriate, misplaced. But you needed something, anything, to pull you away from the dark thoughts that brewed in your head.

With a suppressed yawn and a pit growing in your stomach, you tracked Sunny's every movement, your eyes trying to adjust from waking up.

Standing outside the tent, you looked in all directions. The base felt different at this hour. Calm, serene. Not like what was waiting for you outside, beyond the walls. Not even the families you made along the way since the Old World collapsed felt this tranquil.

While you perused the scenery, a thought occurred to you. Daryl was nowhere in sight.

"Figured you'd need this since you're getting me my grub back." The woman placed her hands on her hips and smirked condescendingly at you, positioning herself only a couple feet away from where you stood.

"Where's Daryl?" You asked her, finding the courage—ignoring the pit.

She made her way over to you, her strides slow but methodical, her braided hair falling off her shoulder as she walked.

Dirt kicked up in your face, and your hands flew up instinctively. Was that intentional?

Wiping away the specks, you fought the dirt that lodged itself in your throat and coughed.

"He'll be here." She grumbled, annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. You eyed her cautiously. Do I sense animosity?

Just then, the sound of someone nearing alerted you. 

The boots pounded against the earth, each impact a testament to his determination. 

Daryl looked upset.

No, you corrected yourself, noting the deep lines between his brows and the clenched fists at his sides. He looked pissed.

"How long am I gonna be here for, Sunny? What else do you need me to do!" Small pebbles and rocks crunched beneath the soles of his boots, and he stopped merely inches away from her face.

"I would lower that voice of yours if I were you." She said quietly, albeit a sternness tainted her words. Silent but volatile, it screamed back the fuck off.

"When I bring you your stupid food, you better give me what I want," Daryl nearly connected with the tip of her nose, his fingers drumming along the side of his pants.

Sunny interjected, her voice cutting through the fervor with a firm tone. "That was the deal."

The two of them played a game of stare-off, their furrowed eyebrows and sinister smirks dealing invisible damage, painting one hell of a picture for you. And you, in the midst of attempting to answer the obviously open-ended questions in your head, stayed still. You wouldn't dare try to interrupt their feud.

Without warning, Daryl whipped around and headed presumably toward the front of the base, severing the heightened stand off in an instant.

When he was out of both sight and earshot, Sunny spun on her heel and faced you directly. 

"Make sure he doesn't run off." She crossed her arms, but then immediately after doing so, her hand flew up to rub the sleep from her baggy eyes.

"You? You're just a little thing, desperate for home. I wouldn't bet on you revenge-killing my family or doing anything that would lose you your privileges—because you'd be stupid to do that, wouldn't you?" 

You nodded curtly at her, sliding the rucksack over your shoulder and grasping at its strap for comfort. You don't know me as well as you think you do, Sunny.

"Now him?" She snickered, twisting around and looking off in the distance. 

"He would massacre this place in a heartbeat." She faltered, fighting to keep her emotions at bay.

Turning back to you, Sunny regained composure. "You two aren't going by yourselves."

Raising your brow, you humored her. Staying silent, you let her continue.

"They're loyal and won't hesitate to shoot you both in the necks if you try anything funny, you got that?"

You nodded. And relaxing a little, she did too.

"Go. They'll meet you at the gate, okay?" She threw her arm in the air, gesturing for you to get a move on, so you did. Forcing your legs to move, you created distance between yourself and Sunny.

"Who's going with us?" You stopped abruptly, turning to look back at her. 

Then it returned.

Just when you thought a microscopic union based on trust and basic instructions was forming, that familiar sinister smile curled up at the corner of her mouth.

"You've met them before." She stated before walking away in the opposite direction, the rubber band in her hair snapping and falling to the ground. 

You felt the pit in your stomach from before grow in size. Maybe it had been growing this entire time and you were just now noticing it. Either way, your nerves had multiplied, and your chances of alerting August before shit hits the fan were slimming. 

Following the footprints that Daryl's boots left behind, you tightened your grip on the rucksack. Here's to hoping I don't have to use this.

As you neared the gate, you stopped in your tracks. 

Standing beside Daryl were two familiar faces. A man and a woman.

"The group he was with," you whispered to yourself, trying to piece the puzzle together.

One of them you knew by name—Ladrus. Riley's brother.

The other one, the woman who was in her forties—the same person who suggested cutting your head off at the side of the road yesterday—stood defiantly, a knife strapped to the side of her jeans.

Fuck, you thought, taking a solid singular step back. From meters away, Daryl spotted you, meeting your panicked gaze. His eyes darkened momentarily before he whipped back around to face the others.

This entire time you had believed he was part of the group, having equal dominion and bodily autonomy. That they were on his side. 

But they weren't. They never were.

Finding the courage, you braved the storm you knew was brewing ahead of you. One foot after another, you neared the gate, sensing the eyes of snakes on you, watching your every move. 

Daryl's a prisoner, you concluded, finding your spot behind him and accidentally locking eyes with the unnamed woman, a silent challenge passing between the two of you. Goosebumps coated your arms and fear froze you to the ground.

He's a prisoner just like me.

Chapter Text

As dawn broke, a subtle but perceptible change hung in the air. A change that took place every morning. A change you looked forward to ever since the start, ever since the beginning of the New World. For five minutes, give or take, the world felt like how it did before. Watching the sun peak just above the mountains, saying hello to this part of this broken world, you marveled at its rising light.

Having been pulled apart by its limbs, life as you knew it happened and then stopped—only for it to start up again in a way you'd never predicted. Routines like going to work to make rent and car payments was something you never thought you'd miss. While the threat of being homeless was once very much a fear, the possibility of dying to a Sleeper bite now took its place as number one.

So as the world awakened and became brighter, you knew not to trust it. Instead, as the ziptie cut into your wrists behind your back, you were ever more cognizant of the potential peril that lurked around every corner.

You pondered this as Carmin pressed the butt of her knife into your back, pushing you down US-340. 

She gave you her name at the gate, right before the four of you left the fortress. With a firm handshake, she had looked you dead in the eye and nearly spat it out. Carmin, she said with an eye-twitch, as if the thought of sharing her name was too much to bear. Maybe it was.

Now nearly halfway to the warehouse, you’d just hit the part on the route where the trees began to mingle with one another, willowing over the highway like a leaf-scattered blanket. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the last of the fortress before the shrubbery took precedence, blocking your view. 

"We'll know if you gypped us," the woman said, taking you out of your reverie. You felt her every word, the butt of the knife drumming against you like a rhythmic song. "So don't gyp us."

"I promise." You told her, biting the inside of your cheek. The thought had crossed your mind, however, the idea swirling around your head so many times, you considered telling Daryl. 

But what good would that do? You thought, beginning to shake your head. And how would I even tell him?

You envisioned all the possible scenarios that could unfurl if you did. All of them ending with me choking on my own blood and a gnarly gash across my neck, no doubt.

No, you'd decided, shaking the thought. You weren't going to trick them. As Sunny implied earlier, Daryl had too much to risk, and even though you couldn't possibly guess what that entailed, you carried a sliver of respect for him. Respect for doing whatever was necessary to reach his goals.

Even if he did agree to your plan, there was still the fortress. Still Sunny. You didn't doubt she'd come for you. For both of you.

Feeling your mouth sag, you continued walking down the highway, your shoes crunching on the gravel. What was he risking? What could he possibly want more than freedom? 

"So what kind of sausage are we talkin' about here?" Ladrus asked with a smirk, cutting your thoughts short and ambling on your left hand side.

You thought back to yesterday morning and what August had brought you—what you put into your mouth and regretfully swallowed—and your nostrils flared.

"The edible kind." And you left it that, hoping Carmin and Ladrus didn't catch onto your disgust, or your lie.

From beside you on your right—tied up just like you—Daryl stared on ahead, remaining emotionless and silent.

As you travelled through the Shenandoah Valley, you passed numerous farms and fields. Dead to the wildlife, partially-eaten crops layered on top of each other for miles.

And soon enough, you saw it.

Surrounded by open fields, dying shrubbery, and the smell of the Sleeping, the warehouse came into view. Its grey metal exterior walls, which were weathered to the point of near dilapidation, and asphalt shingles, only served as a reminder of what you needed to do. Shame filled your lungs, and you struggled to swallow it down.

"That it?" Ladrus gestured at the warehouse with his pistol, one you just now noticed he held.

Nodding your head, you gulped, picturing August inside. Was it lunchtime? Were they sitting around a table, talking about the weather or some trivial mess that could only be redundant in nature? Or had Dirk given August orders; sweeping the floors, checking on the perimeter—dear gods above, you worried, don't be outside, not right now—or maybe adding yet another Sleeping body to the pile just outside the window would be orders you expected Dirk to give.
The manual labor he probably planned for me to do.

"I said is that it!" Ladrus stepped in front of you abruptly and drew his mouth back in a snarl, the mouth of his pistol digging into your cheek. 

In half a heartbeat, Daryl materialized in front of you and found his place betwixt you and Ladrus, his back facing you.

Then, wordlessly, he turned around. With a pistol to his back, he ignored the threat of a bullet and focused on you. If you could describe his face, it would be anything but kind.

"You took us here?!" He exploded, rage flaming in his eyes. "This is the warehouse you were talkin' about?"

You tried to form a sentence, but ended up stuttering. "I don't--"

Daryl interrupted you, taking another step towards you. He was practically touching you. "You don't what? Don't gotta brain in that thick skull of yours, is that it?" 

"Alright, rein it in, Daryl." Carmin waved her knife at him. "Let's go inside."

Ladrus grabbed onto the man with the crossbow—which wasn't strapped to his back this time, coincidentally—and dragged him down the paved road. Daryl shook his head disapprovingly at you before being forced by Ladrus to look onwards.

"What's the best way in? Is there anyone inside?" Carmin asked you.

"There's a window on the side of the building," you stated, feeling the poison of the words as you uttered them. "There’s two of them. A man and a younger boy."

"Don't hurt them!" You begged as Carmin tugged on your shirt, taking you around the corner. 

When you stood in front of the mountain of Sleepers, you noticed the window was partially cracked open. Did you do that for me, August?

"This the one?" Ladrus gestured at the window, and you nodded pointedly.

One by one, Ladrus first and Carmin last, the four of you made it inside the warehouse, setting foot on solid concrete, the empty 12x10 room reminding you of your last morning here. You wanted to see me again...

"Show us the food." Ladrus waited for you to go first out the door, his pistol rolling back and forth in the palm of his hand. But I don't think you meant to see me like this.

With your heart in your throat, you walked down the familiar corridor, the even more familiar smell of the warehouse doing something funny to you. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

It felt like forever had passed before you reached what looked like a kitchen. Looks more like a kitchenette, you thought, the only fridge in the U-shaped room a miniature sized one, and there was neither a sink or microwave.

Next to the mini fridge, a counter occupied by grocery bags caught your eye. Maybe these have food inside?

"Take a look inside." You nodded at the bags, but Carmin eyed them suspiciously before turning to face you.

"You do it." She meanmugged. "I don't trust you."

Sighing, you turned around and bent over just slightly. Enough for her to remember the ziptie around your wrists and take them off.

As soon as they were off, you rummaged through the bags, feeling Carmin hovering over your shoulder.

"Don't tell me the sausage is in there." She muttered as you shuffled through the dusty contents, not finding anything of substance. 

"Just thought I'd give it a shot," you replied, growing anxious. What if I can't find anything? What if Dirk and August ate all the sausage they had?

"You do know where the food is, right?" She pushed, and you turned back around with all the confidence you could muster. 

Crossing your arms, you cocked your head to the side and raised your brows in amusement. "Of course."

With that, you breezed past her and walked in a random direction, not knowing if it would take you to where you needed to be. 

You hadn't seen Dirk or August yet. You were okay with that.

For now.

But if they showed up, who knew what kind of chaos would unfold? What kind of reunion would Dirk and Daryl have, now that you've shown up again?
Hopefully not the violent kind, you worried. But it wouldn't surprise me if that was the case.

You shook your head as the last interaction the two had together surfaced in your memory. They don't seem like friends, you deducted.

Mere minutes turned into half an hour, and it wasn't difficult to identify the annoyance brewing beneath Ladrus and Carmin, their lazer-like eyes following you as you entered, and then soon exited, a room. Your previous confidence was dimming, each ticking second another moment too late. You were out of time.

"You gypped us!" Carmin exclaimed as you padded out of the last room, re-appearing in the open space in the center of the building. 

Ladrus skipped over to you, his pistol up and aimed for your head. "I knew you'd be a fake."

You raised your arms, gritting your teeth. A plan to hightail it out of here morphed as quickly as it could inside your head, and you wondered just how fast your legs could move up against a knife and a handgun.

"Over here!" Daryl's terse voice cut through the tension like a razor-sharp knife, the sound reverberating off the walls beyond Ladrus and Carmin. 

As their bodies turned toward the sound, the breath hitched in your throat, getting lodged, stuck. Did he find it?

Ladrus whipped his head around and observed you, his eyes starting at your shoes and flying up until they landed on the middle of your face. 

Expecting him to say something to you, you stood in silence, staring back at him in feigned confidence once again. 

When he says nothing, Ladrus turns and runs toward the back of the warehouse, Carmin falling in right behind him. 

You follow suit.

After running past aisles of shelves full of dust, Ladrus stopped in front of you abruptly. Nearly crashing into him, you threw your hands up to brace for impact.

Ladrus stepped off to the side at the last second, sending you straight into Daryl, your hands shoving into his back.

Standing in front of a dust-free shelf, the four of you ogled at cases among cases of MREs. Spaghetti, chilli, cornbread, and more laid out before you, all in pristine condition. Too pristine, you thought, stepping in beside Daryl and picking up one of the cases.

Just as soon as you had it in your possession, a pair of hands come into view and snag it from you. Turning, you watched as Ladrus threw the case in the air and then caught it immediately after gravity did its job.

"Well these look familiar, don't they?" Ladrus flipped the case again, a sinister snarl curling on his mouth.

Carmin tsk'd from behind, the sound of her footsteps nearing you and terrifying you to your core.

"Looks like you were tellin' the truth." Carmin remarked, leaning against Ladrus.

Come to think of it, you'd never suspected them to be close. But at the sight of their sudden PDA, you wondered if your observations failed you. 

Ladrus stayed still, repeating his juggling, his eyes never leaving you.

"We got the damn food," Daryl added, cutting through the tension a second time today. "So let's go."

All in agreement, the four of you grabbed the rest of the cases, retraced your steps, and found yourselves back in the 12x10, the window open and ready for departure.

Outside, Carmin stopped you before you could make a move. Taking the cases from you, she added them to her own stack and then collected your hands behind your back, strapping another ziptie around your wrists, imprisoning you once again. 

"Just for good measure," she said, circling you until she wound up standing in front of you. A sinister smirk played on her cracked lips.

The four of you—Daryl and Ladrus at the front, you and Carmin in the back—began your trek back home, your shoes crunching down on the pebbles from beneath, the sound a simple solace.

And then the solace broke.

"_!" August's enthusiasm shot up into the air and clung to the clouds, simultaneously lifting your spirits and splintering your heart into several guilty pieces.

Several yards ahead, accompanied with Dirk, was August, a single case of MREs taking up all the space in his arms and three more cases in Dirk's. 

Ladrus came to a slow, his weapon raising and ready. 

Behind you, Carmin pushed the butt of her blade into your back, the familiar feeling bringing about a much more urgent and uneasy atmosphere this time. 

In front of you, Daryl twitched. Ladrus noticed.

"Ya know 'em?" The twenty-something-year-old pointed his pistol at the man without a crossbow, his finger itching against the trigger.

Remaining cool and steady, Daryl stared on ahead at Dirk and August, both of whom stood just as still. 

When Ladrus shoved the gun in Daryl's face, the next few moments blurred into one congealed mess. 

As soon as the mouth of the pistol made direct contact with his chin, Daryl pulled back at lightning speed and, just as quickly, unarmed Ladrus, peeling the handgun from his thin fingers!

At the sight of a gunless Ladrus, Carmin threw her knife up to your throat and held you still with the other hand.

"We'll give it all back!" Called out a severely distressed Dirk, setting the cases down on the dirt and then gesturing for August to do the same.

Give it all back? You stared in horror, the puzzle pieces you had once thought were complete now falling apart right before your eyes. 

Raising his newly found weapon, Daryl turned on Ladrus, the barrel digging into the space between the kid's beady eyes. 

And then:

As fast as the wind soared on by, a single gunshot rang piercingly, the sound rupturing your eardrums. 

And then:

Sudden uncontrollable panic fills you as the tip of Carmin's blade digs into your flesh. 

Your vision blurs, the light inside of you beginning to fade. Goodnight, you wished to yourself.

And then:

An unfamiliar voice yells from afar, their cry of revenge the last thing you hear before passing out.

Chapter Text

You weren't outside anymore, that was for certain. There was no crisp mountain breeze kissing your face, no sunlight warming your eyelids. More importantly, there was no smell of gunpowder.

As your eyes fluttered open, they closed again almost immediately. A harsh, bright, overhead light nearly blinded you.

When you tried opening them a second time, it took a moment to adjust. Then, you were met with an unfamiliar scene.

Sunlight filtered through curtains you didn't recognize, casting strange patterns on the walls. The room around you seemed to shift and sway, as if it couldn't quite decide on its shape. Blinking, you tried to clear the fog from your thoughts, but confusion wrapped around you like a heavy cloak.

It was a small hospital room. Not like a standard hospital room where you could look around it and know with 100% certainty that everything within it was sterile and board certified.

This room looked like something someone turned into a hospital room. Or, at least tried to. Torn IV bags, makeshift gauze pads made out of scraps of clothing, and sharpened knives—surgical instruments?—littered the table up against the other end of the wall. 

Dried blood stained the bed beside you, and you wondered how recently it was stained. Maybe someone was finally put to sleep.

"Oh, thank god!" A voice filled the room, startling you. You turned your head to the left and saw a young woman gaping down at you. How did I not notice her standing there before?

Dumbfounded, you gawked up at her from your pillow, the mattress squeaking slightly. "Where am I?”
"Where's August?"

"You're okay, everyone is okay--"

"Who is everyone?" You interrupt her, sitting upright in the bed and cringing almost immediately in pain. Your hand flies up to your ear, and the side of your forehead pulsates. Everything was sore. 

The woman nervously played with the ends of her graphic t-shirt, a familiar music artist displayed on the front. You hadn't listened to them in years. 

It seemed as though she was preparing herself to speak again, but as soon as she opened her mouth, the energy in the room shifted. Someone else had just walked in.

Her hair stopped at her shoulders; mousy brown and frizzed, it sat solidly below her collarbones. Slightly wet, like she had just come out of a shower. But her face was painted with dirt, her curled ends soaked with something. Blood?

"You're awake." The woman said matter-of-factly, walking past the stained bed and headed your way.

She stopped to your right, her eyes taking both shape and color under the overheard light. Hooded and dark green, they studied you. Picked you apart like you were a cadaver, as if you were to be tested and experimented on.

"Did you see a young boy? His name is August—is he okay?" You asked fervently, desperately. While not as intimidating as the other, the woman on your left casted a doubtful look your way. Her arms thrown together like a pretzel at her chest, she sniffed you out, her turned-up nose getting closer and closer to you. 

Another grueling moment passed, one in which both women eyed each other, supposedly having a silent conversation with one another.

Then the mousy-haired woman opened her mouth and spoke, but not to you.

"Get them cleaned up." She frowned, or maybe it was just how her mouth sat, the corners of her lips sloping downwards. "Then bring them to the Hall when you're done."

Taking one last look, the woman squinted uncertainly at you, calculating you. You were more than a cadaver, you had decided. You were the whole mortuary. 

After she exited the room, the lady to your left walked up to an organizer standing in the middle of the room. Pulling out one of its drawers, she searched it momentarily before pulling out a pair of scissors. Gripping them tightly in one hand, she turned around and walked towards you.

"What are you doing?" You sat up, preparing to make a beeline for the door in the chance she planned on hurting you. 

Stopping at the foot of the bed, she pointed the scissors at you and pursed her lips. "There’s shrapnel in your head.”

You're half-way up your head when the woman throws her own hands up in the air, her open palms reaching for you. “No, stop!”

Tsk-ing her way to the left side again, she shook her head disapprovingly. “That’s a great way of getting yourself even more injured. Can you even feel this right now?”

She turned, picked something up from a nearby table, and then swung back around. You found yourself gazing into a handheld mirror.

Bits and pieces of what looked to be gun particles and glass had found their home on the top of your scalp, as well as scattered across your forehead. 

"And you didn't think to get this out?" You grabbed the mirror, inspecting yourself worriedly. 

Removing it from you forcefully, the woman placed the mirror back down. "I was startin' to, believe me."

"You wouldn't stop movin' in your sleep. Then you were wakin' up." She shrugged and then grabbed a seat next to you, scissors in hand. "Now stay still."

You obeyed her albeit begrudgingly, wincing every thirty seconds or so when she pulled out a piece of glass that had been wedged in your head good. 

"Jaycie." She said, breaking the silence, but her focus was impenetrable as she dug into your scalp with a blade of the scissors.

Not wanting to interrupt her work, you allowed her the time to extract what she needed to. When she pulled back and dropped the shrapnel into a bowl, you seized the opportunity.

"_." You introduced yourself, to which she nodded curtly.

Without wasting another second, Jaycie hovered over you once more. The overhead light was harsh, but not quite as relentless as the scissors that dug into your scalp again.

Cleanliness wasn't common in the New World. Showers were a thing of the past, and anything that closely resembled one meant risking your life. But then, you risked your life anyway by existing.
Hopping into a pond was a suitable alternative to the real deal, and in some instances was efficiently refreshing, until you realized it only did so much. There was the murky water—puke-green some days, muddy-brown others—which at times had you leaving feeling dirtier than before. Then there were the unidentifiable diseases that likely contaminated it.  You weren’t sure if the likelihood of that being a reality was high, or if you were simply a hypochondriac; maybe this obsession surfaced as soon as the Sleepers did; maybe you were always this paranoid.
So when it rained, which didn’t happen often, you figured it couldn’t have been contaminated or manipulated by any means, and took advantage of it, allowing yourself to bathe and drink from it, collecting it in your calloused hands and sipping gratefully.

Now, standing in front of a thirty-gallon steel salvage drum of clear, untainted water, you wanted to cry tears of relief. For yourself, mainly, but for others too; you were certain you reeked.

An empty water bottle dangled in front of you. Jaycie beckoned for you to take it.  You removed it from her hand.
"After you clean yourself up, put these on."

She pointed at the folded pile on a rusted bench behind the drum. A long sleeved shirt and navy blue sweatpants, free of dirt, grease, blood. Actual clean clothes, you marveled, itching to get out of the ones you were currently in.

Nodding, you suppressed your joy as Jaycie turned the other way, walking away from you. She didn't get too far, however, finding a spot near the corner of the building you were behind. Probably so that, in the off chance you made a break for it, she could catch you just as fast. 

I could make a break for it, you thought in hesitant curiosity. I'm alone.

Taking the chance to look at your surroundings, you scoured the area that surrounded you. 

You were behind a staggeringly tall brick building. It was missing a lot of its structure and the brick was chipped all across, but it was still mostly in-tact.
A faint smell of charcoal and smoke lingered in the air and filled your nostrils.

Wooden logs stacked up against each other made for an efficient barrier, you noted, taking in the makeshift barricade that seemed to go on and on. You wondered just how big this base was.

You also came to the conclusion that this wasn't Sunny's.

There were no pale faced men glaring at you from across the way. No glinting knives digging into your throat.

Besides, Sunny's fortress wasn't as nearly well-built or protected as this one. You weren’t sure if this worried you or gave you peace of thought. 

Where is everyone? You wondered, thinking about the events you could have sworn occurred just moments ago. Then, by default, you thought about Ladrus and Carmin. Daryl. August.

Dipping the bottle into the drum, the scene unfurled before your eyes. There was the gunshot, the knife to my throat. You brought your hand up to your throat. Did I pass out from lack of blood?

It stung, but there was no gash. There wasn't even a bandage or gauze pad. Strange.

The bubbling sound of the bottle filling with water reminded you of the clean water's existence, how happy you were to be standing in front of it just mere minutes ago.

Before you cleaned yourself, you brought the bottle up to your lips and drank.

And drank and drank and drank.

"That water is for bathin' only."

You turned to face her, Jaycie, knowing it was her that spoke. She scowled, the frown sinking deep into her face like a crater. 

Short and bronze skinned, Jaycie had tattoos that ran down the length of her arms. Hollow cheeks and close set eyes that almost resembled the shade of the bricks on the building, she glared suspiciously at you.

Your eyes widened slightly. There was something else about her that you had missed earlier, completely. 

She had a unilateral cleft lip. A scar that began at her upper lip traveled up to one nostril, its lightning-like pattern causing you to zone out.

Catching yourself so as to not stare, you pulled away, dipping the bottle into the drum a second time.

"They're allowed to drink, Jaycie." Someone said, and as you looked up from the drum, another unfamiliar face rounded the corner opposite to Jaycie's and came into view in front of you.

He was middle aged with short brown hair and sported a full beard and mustache. With one foot after the other, he neared the other side of the drum.

Hiking up his sleeves, he nodded in your direction, his brows raised in civility.

"Name's Aaron. You're _, right?" He extended his hand, hoping that you would take it.

Hesitantly, you did, taking it into yours and giving it a gentle shake. He smiled politely, radiating a certain duality that told you he was reliable, but in the case of an emergency, you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.

"Don't pay Jaycie any mind, she does this with everyone." He smiled again, except this time with edge to his voice. You grinned at him.

"Now hold on a second here," said Jaycie, the sound of her footsteps coming closer from behind. You turned in such a way that you could look at them both.

With a raised hand, she shook her head at the man, her tone coming off as annoyed, but an amused smirk growing on her face. "I'm keeping this place safe!"

"If they're thirsty, they can drink." He shrugged and Jaycie rolled her eyes, but there was no tension in the air. 

"Oh!" Aaron startled and began walking backwards, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. "You need your privacy."

Receiving the memo in full, Jaycie, too, turned and made her trek back to her corner, leaving you to bathe in solitude.

Aaron and Jaycie, you thought, forcing yourself to memorize their names.

Aaron—kind and affable.
Jaycie—standoffish and intimidating.

And then there's the other woman, you pondered, picturing her standing at the bedside, peering down at you with her dark hooded eyes and deep-seated frown.

Aaron. Jaycie. Her.

As you cleaned yourself, you found yourself beginning to lose track of time, going deep in thought, deep in theory.

You had a strange gut feeling that from now on, you'd be seeing more of them.

"Watch your step." Jaycie directed you up the stairs to the building you were just bathing behind moments ago, alerting you to a suspiciously large crack in one of the steps in front of you.

Avoiding it, you followed the short woman until she stopped at the front door. She gave it two quick raps.

After several agonizing seconds, you decided nothing was going to happen, and that there was no one inside. That this was all some joke and you were being set up.

Jaycie ran a finger across the center of the door, and somehow it took you until now to notice the ash all over it. Now all over her finger.

Looking over your shoulder, you took a look at the base. More like compound, you stared in awe, noting the advanced technology. Solar panels, wind turbines, and makeshift irrigation systems paired with a greenhouse off to the northwest side. 

People of all ages milled nearby, existing happily. In their own world, they gardened. They harvested crops and watered recently planted ones. In their own world, they took walks together, hands searching for each other and interlocking at first contact. In their own, tiny, hand-crafted world, unlike you, they had nothing to fear.

The sound of the door opening pulled you out of your reverie, and turning back around, you stood face to face with Aaron. He smiled at you, as if you were a friend he’d invited you over for dinner and hadn’t seen in too long. As if you were one of them. 

“Come on in.” 

You entered and instantly choked on the stale air. The smell of smoke worsened. There was definitely a fire here, you deducted, following Aaron deeper inside. 

The sight before you resembled a town hall. Chairs, tables, bulletin boards.
But when you looked up, it was the lack of roof and ceiling that comforted you. It reminded you that the people of this perfect town couldn’t disguise reality. That the vines of decay didn’t stop at the wooden defense system. It wrapped itself around where they couldn’t reach, promising disappointment at every turn. Ensuring that every repair made was met with a deterioration of something else. 

Most of the chairs in this open space of a room were occupied. But it was who stood at the end of the room, situated in the middle of a row of people like she was the one in charge, that intrigued you. She was here.
This must be the Hall.

”Bring them here.” The woman said, and you felt Aaron tug lightly on your arm, pulling you closer to the center of the room—to the final circle of Hell.

It was tense as you stopped before the panel. Aaron then let go and joined the people in front of you.  
Faces young and old glared back at you as though you were livestock. As though you were something to be used. 

A clock ticked somewhere in the room.

”State your name, please. Loud enough for everyone to hear.” The woman crossed her arms and stared you down, waiting for your reply.

“_.”

Tick, went the clock. 

”Welcome!” Someone beside Aaron exclaimed, his aged face smiling down at you.

Before you could get a word in, more people on the panel, and in the audience, welcomed you. All their voices became one, their unanimous greeting coming as a shock to your system.

The woman with the deep-seated frown and dark hooded eyes gestured to the crowd, bringing her hands up into the air and silencing them instantly. 

When the Hall returned to its former atmosphere, a haze-like dream, the woman stepped forward. And on her face a ghost of a grin appeared.

“Welcome to Hilltop, _.” She said to you, her eyes becoming brighter. Or did she just step into a beam of sunlight?  
You believed that your eyes were playing tricks on you. It made the most sense after all.

But the tricks played tricks, and her grin grew wider. Her eyes were the prettiest shade of green you’d ever seen.

Taking another step closer to you, the moment froze. You couldn’t escape her gaze even if you wanted to.

She opened her mouth again.

”My name is Maggie.”

Chapter Text

When you were younger, existing in a much smaller body than you do now, there was an innocent hue to everything around you. Even people, those you knew and those you didn't, shone brighter than they do now. 

Summers filled with endless entertainment found in the little things and snacks long discontinued, life felt worth living. A jovial catalyst for adulthood, and all that that entailed; learning how to drive a car, going on your first date, and receiving your first paycheck to name a few; laid petals out for you, leading you to the rest of your life.

There was hope, at least, to hydrate where you walked and watch in anticipation to see what would grow. To sink your proverbial teeth and placate your hunger.

But when you were younger—when you inhabited a smaller body and harbored much bigger feelings—you couldn't have predicted the world you'd be existing in today.

You also never knew dehydration quite like this.

Sun-drenched summers had now turned into debilitating exhaustion, walking for hours down a hot road, only to find hotter roads that never end. How you had wished to stumble across a water bottle, even if it was nearly all the way empty. Even if the droplets inside were warm. Though you knew it wouldn't have even started to quench your long-term dehydration, it'd still be something to keep you at bay until you came across another two and a half sips.
If you were lucky.

"I asked you a question." The woman you knew as Maggie crossed her arms, the scowl on her face seemingly permanent, you deducted. 

Now it was time to remember what she had just asked you. 

"I'm sorry," you started, feeling embarrassed. "Can you repeat the question?"

The people in the pews gossiped quietly to one another, and you wondered if you’d made a mistake—if you were already in deep with this close-knit community that had saved your life. 

But the woman's tight-lipped and sour expression flipped, a sort of knowing grin taking its place. You weren't sure if that was brought on due to the reactive crowd or if she was silently abetting and planning your demise.
But then she spoke, thus silencing the people and commanding the stage.

"How many walkers have you killed?" She eyed you, as did the others, all unanimously waiting for your response.

You blinked. What kind of question was that?

"I couldn't even tell you." 

"Because the number is zero?"

Maggie took a step forward, and then another. In a matter of seconds, she had stopped directly in front of you. Tall and intimidating, she nearly towered over you. Sizing you up.

"No." Refusing to bend to her browbeating, you raised your chin and told the truth. "I don't think there's a number for it because there's been so many."

Then she grinned. Was that approval?

"How many people have you killed?"

Your jaw tensed, and your throat dried out, leaving you with a leathery sensation as you attempted to swallow your discomfort. 

As if noting your immediate reaction, her steely gaze intensified. Her eyes squinted, searching your face for the answer, practically coaxing it out of you.

"Yes." You answered truthfully again, your temples pulsating. Please don't push me on it, please don't, please don't...

Birds from above squeaked, reminding you of the gaping hole in the roof. You tried to focus on their chirps.

"Why?" Maggie asked the damn question. Of course.

But there something that came after her question, something that, if you weren't looking, you wouldn't have caught. The gulp was subtle, but to you it was telling. She was just as nervous at the question as you were.

"Betrayal." You responded simply, not wanting to say any more and begging for her not to ask.

When she didn't, you almost breathed a sigh of relief. But you didn't need her—or anyone else for that matter—to be curious about your past. You remained cool.

"Would you like to be a part of the Hilltop family, _?" Maggie asked you, her confidence returning.

This time it was you who gulped. They're asking me to join their group?

Feeling unsure as to how to respond, you chewed on your lip.

"You don't need to answer right away." Aaron moved into your peripheral, placing a warm and heavy hand on your shoulder, seemingly picking up on your hesitancy.

Aaron's comment seemed to have inspired others to speak up, and one by one, the congregation gave you their support. Maggie kept her stoic composure, her arms taut across her chest, the same suspicious glint in her eyes reminding you that there was a reason to be wary.

"I'll think it over." You looked her in the eye when you said this next part. "But if I could ask..."

"Is August okay?" You gulped again, your nerves willing to get the best of you.

Turning up her chin, Maggie eyed you again. "We have a young boy in one of our rooms, yes." 

A spark of hope filled you, but you made sure to keep your emotions at bay. August, are you really actually here?

"But I don't want you interactin' with him until we know for sure we can trust you." She walked past you, and you heard the sound of her boots getting farther away, the final swing of the door opening and then closing, marking her departure.

People began leaving their seats, going down the same path Maggie had, ultimately leaving you and Aaron alone.

"I wouldn't mind her too much." He started, filling the gap between your peripheral and the other side of the room. "She's been under a lot of pressure, and you being here has kind of shaken things up."

Looking up, you noted the birds had left the roof. 

Yes, you were alone with a man you'd only met minutes ago, but his kind eyes brought a sense of comfort. You felt safe. More than you did when you were surrounded by a curious congregation and interrogated by Maggie. 

"What happened?" You asked in desperation, licking your dry lips. Had they always been this dry?

"Back at the warehouse." You clarified, folding your arms.

Aaron paused, panning down to the ground and finding his words. "We've, uh, had someone from our group disappear on us."

"It's been a little hectic around here." His jaw tensed as he said it, and you wished for the birds to return.

You found the nearest chair and sat down, keeping quiet. Allowing him to continue.

Following in your footsteps, the amiable man shuffled his way into the next row over and placed himself down in the adjacent chair cautiously, as though it was made of barbed wire. 

After he collected his thoughts, he folded his hands in front of you and his face went dark. "We were out looking for him when we found you. That warehouse hasn't been used in years, and we'd thought it had been overrun by walkers, in fact."

"It's not."

"I can see that." He chuckled, but then quickly regained composure. 

"Maggie shot him." He said almost too quickly, and you wondered if he meant to say it at all.

"Who?" You leaned in closer.

Aaron rubbed his full beard, his jaw tensing even more. "Ladrus."

"So you know him?" You said more as a statement than a question, anxiety taking over your nervous system once again. They're all connected?

With a curt nod, Aaron pressed on. "Wish I didn't."

"Let's just say Ladrus is better dead now than he was alive. And the one that had her knife up to your throat? The same applies to her as well."

"So you know about Sunny?" You inhaled. She's going to have my neck when she finds me.

"Daryl informed us. We're keeping our wits about us, but we don't think she'll try anything." 

You cocked your head and eyed him curiously. "How do you know that?"

Are we talking about the same Sunny?

"Trust me," Aaron said, lifting himself up from his chair. "As soon as she finds out who she messed with, she'll back down."

"What about Daryl? Is he okay?" You inquired, standing up as well.

His head dipped in confirmation as he exited the row of chairs and entered the main aisle. "He's resting."

A lapse passed, but it was different from earlier with Maggie, where every second under the spotlight felt like a millennia. Now, the quiet in this room nestled comfortably like a deer sunbathing in the middle of a clearing.

"Am I being forced to stay here?" You asked him, worried for his answer. You gripped the side of your pants and prepared for the reality that you were going to be a prisoner under another dictatorship yet again. 

But when he smiled and shook his head, a foreign feeling of joy washed over you. 

"You're free to leave if you have no desire to be here." He began to walk down the aisle but stopped half-way. Turning around the man gestured at you. "Though Maggie might have some choice words if you do, but don't fret about that, okay? I'll take one for the team."

Then it was just you standing in the building. You had a quiet moment for yourself for once.

But your thoughts ran loudly in your head, the opposite of welcoming. It was fervent and repetitive, the only word—name—you could think of, rotating in speed and volume.
August, August, August...

Gulping it all down, you digested your thoughts. You sat on them, considering their consequences if you acted on them. 

You could leave this place. Leave Aaron, Daryl, Maggie. August. Leave it for someone else to worry about.

You could reclaim your home, protect it and find any way possible to keep it yours. 

You could find another home. Who's to say the caverns haven't been tainted by Sleepers by now? Or other people?

You gulped down another possibility. This option terrified you the most, because it risked everything. Your home, your freedom, your autonomy.

You could stay here.

Finally, with a decision made, you nodded to yourself. Walking down the aisle and nearing the exit, you grinned as you shakily reached for the door. Blanketing you in light the moment you stepped outside, the sun had greeted you twice today.

I won't betray you a second time, August, you thought, heading back to the hospital room in search of the young boy.

Your heart pumped rapidly inside your chest, reminding you that you were alive and so was he.

You'd never felt this good about staying before.

Chapter Text

Panting in front of the last door at the end of the hallway, you paused to catch your breath. 

You aren’t supposed to be here. At least that's what Jaycie, the nurse, informed you up at the front, your second appearance an unexpected sight.

"I already fixed you up nice and good." She'd said in an attempt to shoo you away. But once she slipped away into another room, she was gone long enough for you to stealthily walk on by. 

Away from prying eyes, you had begun your search for August. Unsure of the condition you'd find him in, you took the anxiety that was building in your chest and shoved it further down. 

Now was the chance. The doorknob was right there. August could be inside.

Swallowing the leftover guilt, you release the affliction from the past few days, physically shaking your body free from it.

I can't let him see what he's done to me. 

You opened the door, but not all the way. You couldn't bear it if you had and someone else was inside instead.

Utilizing what little vision you had, you peeked into the same sterile room—as sterile as it could be, anyway—that you'd grown accustomed to seeing the last ten minutes. 

Except it wasn't sterile. Not like the other rooms you'd peered in just moments ago.

The tabletops in this room were covered with gauzepads and syringes; some used, some waiting to be used. Bright liquid stained the great majority of the floor, and it took you all of two seconds to realize that it was blood.

Slightly dark, you noted. It couldn't have been recent.

You noticed all of this immediately—the medical supplies, the blood—only because no one had been occupying the bed. 

No sign of August, no sign of anyone anywhere in this room. Having searched the entire hospital, it dawned on you that this room could have been it. The last place he could be. 

You felt like breaking and crumbling into miniscule pieces.

So where is he, then?

"If you think that tryin' to find that little boy will do you any good, you're cruisin' for a bruisin'."

You furrowed your brows. There was no point in turning around, you already knew whose voice it belonged to.

"Daryl."

There was no point in turning around, but he did it for you.

You were being twisted around in a swift, one-eighty-degree turn, stopping abruptly in front of him. The hand on your shoulder was rough and strong. 

You noted his tensed jaw and bruised cheek first. 

From when Ladrus forced that pistol into your face, I bet.

"You've done enough,” he told you, not letting up on your shoulder, and not being quiet either. ”If I were you, I'd go back to that cave where you can’t bother nobody no more."

"Just leave." He released his grip on you and began to walk off. You rubbed the spot he’d touched, looking down and noting the mark.

"Wait, hold on. How is any of this my fault?" You threw one arm over the other and peered down the hallway briefly, making sure no one—Jaycie—was around to hear. "Don't forget it was you who got yourself kidnapped by Sunny, and then thrown into servitude."

"Which, thanks, by the way," you continued, "for adding me into the mix. That was real thoughtful of you." You huffed.

"You're welcome." He spat, contempt practically bleeding from his words, the sound of his heavy-footed stride reverberating off the walls. 

"Jaycie will hear you!" You whisper-yelled.

"So?" He threw his arms up into the air, and it didn't occur to you until now that he didn't need to be quiet.

He belongs here.

You caught up to him, slinking in directly behind him. "Help me find August."

That just came out of me, you praised. I just made a demand of him.

"No." Daryl responded curtly. You expected that much.

Daryl was nearing the entrance, where Jaycie most likely had returned to.

I need to convince him. Fast.

Gripping his shoulder, you felt the smirk crawl up on your lips. My turn.

Turning him around, you drank in his certifiable, delirious scowl. 

"Help me find him—"

"Or what, trash bags?" He snatched your wrist and hung it up to your nose, holding it there. "I don't have to do anything. Not for you."

"Yes, you do. You're morally required to help me because you dragged me into this mess, forcing me to go to that hellhole. Not only that," you paused to shake your head disappointingly at him. "But it lead to my friend getting hurt."

"And clearly you've never had a friend get hurt in front of you before." 

Regret buried itself in your throat as you watched his face go still. 

In an instant Daryl lead you down the hallway, his grip on you firm and unyielding.

You passed Jaycie at the front, noting her slack-jawed expression as you exited the hospital. 

After taking you around two corners and one right turn, Daryl came to a sudden stop in front of a corner where two walls met. 

At first, you weren't sure what the two of you were looking at. You didn't know why he took you here. 

"I had a friend." Daryl said almost too softly that you had to lean in to catch what he said.

With his eyes glued to the ground, he continued.

"All the way back to when this shitshow started." 

"We were part of a group. We'd lost people before, but we never stayed down for long. We got back up and kept fighting." Daryl's hands squeezed at his sides.

You kept quiet.

"But when we ran into The Saviors," he trailed off. There was a slight tremor to both his fists and voice. 

In one swift movement, the hardened man turned and faced you head on. 

His eyes, which fought to keep the tears at bay, bore into yours angrily. 

"This is Glenn." He said, his gaze not dropping but his hand flying down to the raised dirt beside him. 

You followed his fingers, the dirt-caked fingernails guiding you to the unmarked grave. 

"Got his skull caved in, right in front of me. In front of a kid.” Daryl maintained contact with you, his unwavering leer making you uncomfortable. "In front of his."

"Even when he was long dead, the blows didn't stop."

"I'm sorry—" you started, but Daryl wasn't finished.

"And about fifty miles out, we lost even more people to the hands of The Whisperers."

"I get it—"

"Heads on spikes, no mercy, no guilt from the ones who did it. Did you know they walked with them ankle-biters?" Daryl was now mere inches away from you, his hot breath singing the tip of your nose. "They'd scalp people, dead or alive, and steal their faces."

"They'd wear em' like badges and herd the dead like cattle." 

A breeze blew in-between you both, the tension melting albeit minimally. 

"I've lost too many damn people to have some raggedy-ass thief come and tell me I don't know hurt." Daryl dropped his eyes and his closed fists, bringing them down and letting them swing in whichever direction they pleased.

Mouth agape, you watched him leave, walking past you and knocking into your shoulder. Purposefully, you figured.

Rightfully, you decided. I'm a full-fledged, inconsiderate idiot.

Wind blew in again, lifting leaves that were resting on top of Glenn's grave and scattering them far, far away.

The fire roared greatly, the embers lighting up the dark patch of this side of the compound, your face warming instantly. Plates of actually identifiable food passed around, and people laughed. Real, genuine laughter; there was no worry to be had or fear to be utilized in the face of an attack. People woke up with hope and went to sleep with ease; everyone here looked forward to working under the beating sun and didn't have to flee to shade because their skin had scabbed two times over from it. 

It wasn't survival for them anymore. It was live-to-enjoy. It was wake-up-and-drink-apple-juice-and-have-dishes-to-wash-and-then-use-again. 

This was foreign to you. Because for so long, it was wake-up-and-don't-die.

Watching the people around the crackling fire, eating and laughing, you felt like an outsider. Maggie and Aaron had given you the option to stay. You weren't forced to, not like back at Sunny's. 

But people sat and ate and laughed. As if there weren't carnage outside these walls, waiting to entrap and ensnare any humanity you had left.

A plate of mashed potatoes and greens appeared in front of you.

"Thank you," you smiled tiredly, removing the plate from Aaron’s hand.

Sitting next to you, the handsome man dug into his own plate quietly. 

"Getting acquainted?" He asked before shoveling a forkful of peas into his mouth.

You shrugged, carving patterns into the potatoes. The fire grew angry, sending several embers your way.

"Oh, ouch!" Aaron pat your knee, but the heat didn't bother you. Still, you smiled in thanks. 

On the opposite side of the burning fire, you watched as Daryl sauntered up next to someone.

The two fire-lit figures began to talk, their silent words flying out their mouths, and their hands gesturing wildly. 

"He's not a bad guy." Aaron said quietly, and you felt embarrassed that he caught you staring. 

You took a bite of your dinner, swallowing it down quickly. You’re not even sure you tasted it. “If it weren't for him, I'd be home. Safe." 

Aaron coughed. "Well, yes, but you did take the supplies."

Growing hot, you set your plate down and removed yourself from the log.

"Hey!" He yelled out for you from behind. You kept on walking. But looking over your shoulder—whether out of trained instinct or cautious curiosity—you caught Daryl glaring at you. 

Jumping in front of you, Aaron held his hands up, beckoning for you to stop. "I''m sorry."

"I'm not trying to shift blame here." 

"I get it, Aaron," you told him, swatting a hand at him and walking around him. "I know you didn't mean it like that."

Once you located the beaten path that connected to the large building with windows, you made your way over to it. "I just wish I wasn't here."

"So you're leaving." He caught up to you, stepping in place directly behind you.

"I don't know."

A thought hit you, and you stopped, Aaron almost walking into your back.

"Do you know where August is?" You asked, turning around to face him. If Daryl won't help me, maybe Aaron will.

A hesitant, cautionary look fell over his face. A look that said: "I want to tell you, but I can't."

"Please, Aaron." You begged, closing the gap between you two. "August is my only friend. He helped me when he didn't need to."

Please, please, please. 

Aaron sighed, his head dropping. "_, we're keeping him safe until we know for sure he's completely healed."

"So he's hurt." Worried, you placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.

Aaron paused, as if calculating his next words. 

"Yes."

The fear you had earlier, from running down the hallway in the hospital and prying open doors to empty rooms, returned. The neverending cycle of meeting someone, bonding with them, only to lose them, followed you like a predator.

And the pinnacle of ambush predators were Puff Adders.

You learned this when you were in junior high, your thirty-year-old neighbor and herpetologist offering fun facts any time you crossed paths, which almost always meant on the way home from school.

"Stealth is essential for Bitis arietans," Scott Baird told you one day by the mailbox, school getting out just twenty minutes prior. "The African viper species locates its food and conceals itself from other potential predators."

"While they have always been difficult to spot, they turn out to be virtually impossible to detect by scent."

Remembering this now, you turned back around and continued walking. 

"But he's doing better than when he first arrived." Aaron proceeded, and you knew he was trying. 

Trying to quell the wavepool of bad thoughts that persisted. 

"I'm tired." You said, needing to be away from Aaron. From people in general.

"Before you go to bed, I have something you might like to see." Groaning, you faced the man and waited.

Instead of removing a bullet from his pocket, Aaron gestured for you to follow him.

Walking toward the hospital, he disappeared in the shadows. Greatly piqued, you started after him.

When you reached the familiar doors, you turned left and right, looking for any sign of the middle-aged man.

Nothing.

Then, somewhere beside the building:

"Over here!"

After asking him to repeat himself, you followed the sound of his silvery voice.

Turning the corner, you found yourself almost falling into a small hole in the ground. 

Stabilizing yourself, you turned to a kneeled Aaron, his smiling face concerning.

"Are you about to bury me in that?" You asked, receiving a great bark of laughter in return. 

"No," he breathed through his heaving. "Look."

So you did.

Kneeling beside him, you crouched low to the soil, reveling first in its freshness and allowing it to stain your fingertips. 

"He dropped this when we were rushing him into one of the rooms." Aaron nodded at the hospital.

Peering over the hole, the glossy sheen of the wrapper almost blinded you, the moon smiling down on it. 

In an instant, you plucked it from the dirt and took in every inch of it, twisting it over several times to make sure it was real. 

"I snatched it up before anyone could see it and hid it here," he continued, chuckling lightly at your reaction. "Guess it means something to you."

You leaned against the building, its cold surface tickling your arm. A tear escaped you, and you laughed at how crazy it was to cry over a damn granola bar wrapper. 

"He kept it." You shook your head in disbelief.

"He had it this entire time." After I left the distillery, he must have came back.

"Thank you." Gulping down your tears, you smiled at Aaron, the moon's light illuminating his features and revealing his just-as-wide grin. 

Once you pocketed the wrapper, you gazed up at the stars.

Tonight is so clear, you savored in the silence. There are no clouds out and the moon is shining so bright.

"At twelve years old," Aaron started, but you kept your eyes trained on the constellations.

"I fell in love with medicine for the first time."

"Behind my mother's couch, I'd watch the screen with her in secret, peeking over the velvet upholstery and thinking I was so cool." He tittered, and you smiled at the memory as if it were your own.

"With my eyes glued to the television, I watched in awe as the doctor-turned-hero acted quickly on their feet and under pressure, coming face to face with ruptured spleens and bullet holes but saving the day in the end."

"Achieving the impossible."

"What I didn't know," he added, and you forced yourself back down to earth, giving him all your attention. "Was that my mother knew all along."

"Really?" You gawked, suppressing a laugh.

"Oh, yeah." He chuckled, adjusting his spot beside you, crossing his legs and leaning on them. "Apparently, my socks always peeked out the corner of the couch."

"Jesus Christ."

"She wouldn't tell me that she knew until several years later, when I was in high school and old enough to watch the same show with her." 

"I think of her now, tickling my feet at every commercial, making sure I was awake. I wasn't."

You smiled, your brain struggling to locate memories of your own mother. 

"I never missed an episode, though." Aaron trailed, his vision blurrying.

"Well." He lifted himself up from the ground and stretched out his wrist for you to take. Once the two of you were upright, Aaron shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and beamed at you.

"I'll let you go for now." He started to walk past you but stopped himself. "Sleep good, _."

Twisting around, you caught a tear making its slow descent down his cheek. It was gone when you did a double-take.

"If for whatever reason August needed to rely on his friendship with you in order to make it, there's no doubt in my mind he'll be okay." 

With that, Aaron left you again, the last bit of his shadow departing into the night.

Your breathing came to a comfortable slow, the events of today melting away.

Across the compoud, people continued to eat and laugh, drinking in their light-hearted conversations and surface-level gossip. As the fire danced, you searched for his face.

A twig cracked somewhere nearby.

Swallowing your apprehension, your eyes flitted everywhere.

It flitted until it landed on him.

A couple yards away from the campfire, Daryl stood underneath a tree. Like you, away from everyone else, he nestled beneath the branches.

If it were any darker, you would have missed it.

Painted by the glow of the adjacent fire, his face was visible. The dirt caked between the lines on his forehead, the scowl that you now believed to be permanent, and the impenetrable, skin-deep battle scars that he may never speak about.

His face was visible.

And his eyes were trained on you.

Chapter Text

"Wake up." 

Daryl's gruff voice pulled you out of your slumber.

Not like it was hard to do; heavy sleep was something of the past, anyway.

Upright and alert, you feared the worst.

Sunny invaded the compound.  Sleepers found their way inside.

But by the silence outside the window—a suitable exit you preferred to sleep next to—you were confused.

For caution's sake, you bolted out of your blanket until you were standing, lunging for the window.

Gripping the sill, you hung out of it, feeling the midnight draft on your face. 

Everything was still. No destruction, Sunny, or Sleepers.

"We're safe." Daryl said from behind you, his footsteps drawing closer. 

You let out a sigh. 

Whirling around, feeling dizzy, you waited for him to explain himself.

How long was I asleep for?

Your brows furrowed together at his prolonged silence, worry building in your chest.

Something in his jaw finally ticked, however, and a nervous energy radiated from him.

"August's missing."

What?

"The hell are you talking about?" You raised your voice, immediately receiving a stern look from him.

"Shh." He held a finger up to his mouth, hushing you. "He's not in the dungeon." 

"Dungeon?!" You blurted, reeling back until you crashed into the wall. 

Daryl cursed under his breath, promptly grabbing your wrist and pulling you out of the room.

After the both of you reached the bottom of the winding stairs, Daryl cut behind them, leading you down a narrow hallway, and then a left turn.

Standing beside him in front of a landing, Daryl points to a door at the end of the stairs.

Acting quickly, you advanced down until you reached the bottom, looking over your shoulder and spotting Daryl not far behind.

Tugging at the knob, you entered what looked to be a gift shop.

Shelves and cases of dust-ridden trinkets and souvenirs were plastered across the walls. Posters and bulletins littered the ashy countertops, raving about the old museum and its history.

But beyond the shop, past coat hangers and piles of books, you could make out another small hallway, a door looming at the end of it. Unlike the others, it was made up of boards and screws sticking out from every which direction. 

And it was wide open. 

"There." He gestured clumsily with his pointed finger, before taking off and nearing the door.

Following him, you got close enough to look over his shoulder and into what appeared to be a prison cell.

With rage and disgust building, you pushed him aside and ran, head spinning at the dastardly sight.

No windows, no ventilation, no softness and no mercy.

Every inch of this small box was taken out of a horror movie, each of the four walls jutting out into the center of the room like rusted swords. The concrete ground was stained with urine, and you almost missed a fresh puddle near the far right corner.

"He was just here," the words stumbled out of your mouth shakily. 

"Why was he here?" You threw your body around, your bare feet burning as they dragged. 

Daryl was still, his face bearing no emotion and his eyes translating no thoughts. 

Crashing into him, you beat down on him, your closed fists making contact with his shoulders, his chest.

When he'd had enough, Daryl took hold of your wrists and pulled you up, preventing you from attacking him any longer. 

"I didn't do this!" He snarled at you, then proceeded to push you out and away.

You allowed your body to fall back onto the ground, August's pool of urine just inches away from your bloodied hands.

After a moment of tense silence, you gaped up at him. 

Answers, motherfucker.

"How did you find out?"

"Couldn't sleep." His jaw shifted. 

"Did you see someone take him?"

"I was here the entire time."

"That's not what I asked!"

You lifted yourself up, standing a mere foot away from him.

"Why was he in here, Daryl?" You repeated yourself, the smell of the room getting to your head.

You fought the urge to dig your nails into his neck.

"Daryl?" Someone called out from the gift shop, their shapeless body lingering towards the back, near the stairs.

Twisting around, Daryl responded to the unknown person. "I'll be right out."

Returning his gaze, he gritted his teeth, a look of veiled remorse painting his face. 

Without uttering another word, Daryl flew out the room, closing the door behind him and locking it.

"Daryl." You stared at the lack of him, stared at where he once stood. 

Shaking your head, you laughed once. 

Bringing your hands up to the door, you banged on it.

Thwack, thwack, thwack.

"Daryl!" You cried out, your lips quivering. They knew before you did.

"Why was he in here, Daryl?" You cried some more, crumbling until your knees scraped against the concrete floor. 

With one final swing, your fist connected to the door. It budged not a millimeter.

I was manipulated. 

Angry, hot tears descended your cheeks. The shock your body attempted to process came out in the form of being still.

So still.

I walked into my own misfortune.

Again.

Chapter Text

Light poured in through the awning, signaling the break of day. 

The glass from the window had broken, its shards laid out on the floor, having been there since before you arrived.

Before Daryl manipulated and lured you here, four nights ago.

You'd been receiving two meals a day, a bowl of unsweetened granola for breakfast and a plate of mysterious goulash for supper—likely scraps from leftovers, mixed with tasteless broth.
Water was scarce, as they didn't want you filling the bucket they'd given you too quickly. More water meant quicker fill-up, which meant more trips down to the dungeon to dump out the waste. Doing so would mean opening the door and risking you escaping. 

Dehydrated, scraped up by the jutting walls, and miserable, you'd spent the past several days planning your retribution. 

Once out, you would leave Hilltop and find August. He couldn't be far—you assumed he'd have gone in search of the warehouse.

You would find him and forget Daryl, Maggie, and Hilltop forever.

I'm sorry Aaron. You found yourself frowning at the thought of leaving your newfound friend. You were kind to me, and I'll remember that for as long as I'm alive.

Peering up, you gritted your teeth as the light crept into the cell; escape was so close but so far out of reach.

You inhaled and picked up the stone again, bringing it down on the loose piece of brick wall in front of you and basking in the destruction that surrounded you. 

Grinning, you brought the stone down again and again, watching in satisfaction as the hole became bigger. 

It was dark when you finished. The hole was large enough to fit through, but over the course of today's work, you'd grown concerned for two reasons.

No one had stopped in today to give you food. 

Which segued into the next possible issue:

Anyone could have caught on to your escape plan, heard you destroying the wall, and decided to wait for you on the other side. 

If someone had heard anything, they'd be here by now, you figured. They'd crash your escape party and move you somewhere else most likely.

But away you went, however, lowering yourself to the detritus and squeezing through the opening.

You were dripping sweat not even ten seconds in; you hadn't considered what would be waiting for you once you crawled through. Because once you were through the hole, you discovered another wall.

An impenetrable one made up of dirt. 

Broken, you let yourself plop against the barrier, not yet wanting to admit defeat but needing a solitary moment to process your roadblock. 

Exhaling, your thoughts ran wild as you attempted to brainstorm. I could dig, but I would need to be careful—I could suffocate and involuntarily bury myself alive.

You groaned. Groaned at your inability to think, at the limited amount of oxygen. It was starting to get difficult to breathe. 

"Hey!" Someone shrieked from behind. "They escaped!"

Adrenaline striked you like lightning, the intensity of your fear bolting through your fingertips and down to the soles of your feet. 

You wriggled, but realized in horror that there was no room to turn around. You were defenseless against an attack, and your heart didn't let you forget it. Lub dub lub dub lub dub.

But instead of hands gripping your ankles and pulling you back into the cell, you heard footsteps retreating.

"Go around, go around! They've dug a hole in the wall!" 

And then it was quiet.

Instantly, it was clear to you. Your opportunity to escape was here!

Hands against the soil, you pushed into the wall of dirt, feeling your body reverse out of the hole. When you were far enough away, you took your fingers and shimmied yourself until your feet hit solid concrete.

Writhing in excruciating pain, you bit down on your tongue. Don't give your position away, damn it!

But in seconds, you were out!

Spinning around, you saw your freedom. The door, all the way open, and the gift shop beyond it. 

Not taking any chances, you stealthily slipped out the room, clinging to the wall and keeping an eye on the door leading back up to the main floor. 

Once it was clear, you beelined it, skipping across debris until the doorknob was mere inches away.

Then you were flying up the stairs, holding your breath through the hallways, and slinking below the shadows. 

Escaping felt like running against a ticking clock. One that had five seconds left, and a bomb waiting for you once it struck zero. Sweat leaked through your clothes and adhered to your crevices, your body sticky from your own trepidation. 

But you couldn't do anything about it until you were safe.

Avoiding the front entrance, you padded aimlessly toward the back of the building.

There, along the side wall, a door unlike the others stood out to you. 

Practically tripping over yourself, you lunged for it. Hand on the lever, your heart was stuck in your throat.

In a crack, the door opened, the particles of dust sprinkling across the top of your head proving how long it'd been since it was last touched.

You couldn't relax now, however. 

There was a slight incline; a collection of steps leading up to Hilltop, and green grass adorning either side, shielding you from the beating sun.

Like before, you pressed yourself up against one of the sides, preparing to be caught but ensuring furtiveness first.

Then you reached the top.

You took a step back, your heel catching the brick corner of the building. 

Instead of reacting, you stood in awe, your confusion caught in the center of your throat.

Not a soul accompanied you outside. Barren, the ground was still, and the wind carried no sound or voice. Eerie.

You decided it was such as you circled the entire museum, finding no body heat beside your own. 

”_?”

Adrenaline coursed through you again, and you were ready to book it.

But when you saw Aaron nearing, carrying a plate of actual food, all your nerves disintegrated and departed from your limbs, leaving you in a jelly-like disposition.

"Aaron?" Your voice cracked. It had been a long time since you used your vocal chords.

Releasing a wheezed cry, you barreled toward him, landing at his feet and wrapping your arms around his legs. 

In an instant, he lifted you from the ground and took in the state of you.

"Were you in the dungeon just now?" He asked, sounding genuinely confused and conflicted. Did Daryl not tell him where I was?

Nodding, you bit your lip, your eyes travelling to the plate of meat and steamed vegetables. The heavenly smell wafted up to your nostrils, and you licked your lips fervently.

"Here," Aaron brought the plate closer to you. "This is for you."

"Let's find a place to sit." He guided you past the museum and down in a corner of the compound, settling himself down in a pebbly patch and waiting patiently for you to do the same.

Bum to the ground, you began to inhale the food on your plate, sucking meat off bones and shoveling peas and carrots, not spending a single second chewing them. 

And Aaron never once interrupted.

Allowing you to finish your meal, his face took on one of solemned grief. 

"How long?" He inquired once you took your last bite.

"Four days."

Hitting the ground with his closed fist, Aaron showed the first sign of aggression you'd seen since you arrived at Hilltop.

"We had..." Aaron paused, closing his eyes and collecting his thoughts. "Suspicions."

"Suspicions? About what?" You raised your brow.

"About your connection to Sunny, August, and Dirk."

When you remained silent, searching his face for more context, he scratched the back of his neck and offered a sympathetic smile. "About you deceiving us and being part of Sunny's group." 

Hot rage shot through your body. "Her group kidnapped me!"

Raising his arms, Aaron nodded reassuringly. "Yes, okay. Lower your voice unless you want everyone rounding the corner."

You squinted at him. "Maggie got me thrown into that cell, didn't she?"

"I'm not someone who has the answers. If she did, she may have done it to protect her family."

"I thought she said I was part of that family?"

"I didn't give consent to having you locked up!" 

You dropped the plate and turned your head until you located the gate at the opposite end. 

You blinked. The gate was unguarded.

"Where is everyone?" You returned your gaze to Aaron, suddenly feeling the effects of your fatigue.

He pointed toward the gate. "Outside. It's Freedom Day."

"Freedom Day?" Sneer. "Freedom from what?"

"Not what." He answered bluntly, pain flitting across his face.

You surveyed him, watching as the anguish settled between the lines on his forehead and crow's feet. He'd aged just now, the weight of the horror which plagued him taking its toll on him severely.

"I was coming from the celebration just now to give you that," he nodded at your empty plate. "It's been a long day."

"Someone was looking for me." You tell him truthfully. "I don't know who, but they walked in on me escaping."

Aaron nodded, his mouth pursing. "You shouldn't have stayed down there that long."

"You should have been asked questions and then released." He shook his head, that faraway look still staining his face. 

"Daryl did this to me." It was your turn to shake your head, the rage returning. 

Picking yourself up off the ground, you nearly sunk back down to the ground, exhaustion taking over. 

"Thank you, Aaron." You exhaled, your temples pounding. "For the food, for everything."

"But I need to leave." 

Aaron's jaw tensed. "I see."

"It's not your fault. It never was." Turning on your heel, you had the gate in sight, August fresh on your mind. "I need to go home."

Walking briskly,  you somehow found the strength to move.

"Let me accompany you." Said Aaron from behind. And in moments, he joined you, placing a parental hand over your arm and squeezing it hard.

Sauntering through the gate, it was clear to you that the entertainment had halted the moment you crossed the walls.

The two of you passed the people of Hilltop, their plates heaping and their drinks fermented and flowing. Children continued their play, seemingly ignorant and oblivious to the adult matters that permeated the apprehensive air.

"Up ahead." Aaron whispered in your ear. Nodding, you thanked him for the warning.

Amongst a group of unknown faces, Maggie watched as you ambled closer. Feeling the burn from her gawking, you ignored her.

You're almost free, you're almost free, you told yourself.

"I didn't allow you to let them out." She said curtly, her face souring.

At once, Aaron stepped in front of you protectively, one of his hands extending out toward Maggie defensively.

"They have escaped, doing so all by themself." Aaron admitted, gaining frowns by some of the people nearby. "Not out of revenge, but justified anger at being kept against their will."

Stepping forward, Maggie leaned in close. "You have no authority here, Aaron."

"With all the respect I have in my heart for you, Maggie, this person has done you no harm. If anything," he paused, his face tightening. "You have given safety only to rip it away not a moment after."

"They want to leave, which is an option you gave them. It's time to honor that." 

Turning so he could face you, Aaron nodded, gesturing to the hills of Virginia with his stretched out arm. In the distance, a scene you'd missed greatly expanded as far as your eyes could see. With one foot in front of the other, you began your journey to home.

Passing Maggie, you refused to give her the satisfaction of meeting her gaze, pretending she didn't exist and dropping your head back as the moon kissed your face.

Chapter Text

You were free.

It hadn't set in just yet, of course. Good things never do.

But, you were free.

After meeting Sunny—being brought to her by Daryl—and being forced into work, only to betray Augusts' trust the very next day.
After narrowly escaping the confrontation and being rescued by Maggie Greene, not knowing that following an intense discussion in their church-turned-conference-room you'd be sent right back to entrapment—also executed by Daryl.

While the smell of mortality hung thick in the southern heat, and the high temperatures showed no sign of cooling, they were a welcome discomfort to your heavy soul.

You breathed in deep, but felt a twinge of guilt. You might have been free, but August's whereabouts were still unknown.

You shook your head, almost in disappointment. I'm allowed just one moment to relish in this.

Don't ruin this for yourself, you reminded, pushing down the negativity.

Basking in the privilege of the silence, you came to the realization that your moment of peace would come to an end. This New World was unforgiving, and it ravaged any sense of hope you had. It wore you down to the quick, exposing all the ways in which a person could suffer. 

But you were free.

And now, your objective was to locate August.

The idea played out beautifully in your head: You would find him and bring him back to the caverns. After showing him the wooden boards you'd used as a makeshift door, which have helped in keeping out unwanted guests (most of them), you would introduce him to your home—a reflection of all the hard work, sweat, and determination that went into assembling it. 

Giddy, you thought about taking him down to the two bodies of water, Dream Lake and Silver Sea, that lie within the caverns.
You wondered if he had ever seen water so reflective.

Without a doubt in your mind, you knew you'd give him a tour of Luray and all of its touristy locations. 

There would be no red carpet or glasses of champagne—or apple juice—at the ready. No central air conditioning or even a working window unit, but in this sea of carnage, it would be worth it, maybe. 

Worth the kidnappings, slavery, exploitation. Just someone to fight the loneliness with; there'd be safety in knowing you'd have each other’s back.

"—but it's best if they don't see us coming." A voice muttered, sounding way too close for comfort.

Slinking behind a tree, you commanded yourself to be still. 

Shoes against gravel, too many pairs to count. One word, or rather one name, flashed in your mind's eye repeatedly.

Sunny.

Your hands couldn't keep still, vibrating as they hovered over the bark. Closing your eyes, you assumed chameleon position, desperately wanting to take the form of the tree.

"What will you do once you find Daryl?" Someone asked.

A pause.

"I don't think there needs to be any explanation." Another voice responded. You recognized it immediately, of course, to be hers. 

Inching over the bark, you spotted her and fifteen other people several feet down the road, standing right where you just were. 

All headed toward Hilltop.

"Oh no," you whispered to yourself. "What do I do?"

The choice came easily for you.

You were going to continue walking. Back to the warehouse, back to August.

An altercation was impending, you now knew. Sunny and her strongest hunchmen would no doubt wreak havoc on Maggie and the others. You knew it, as hard as it was to admit:

Sunny was looking for you and Daryl, and judging by the conversation you overheard, the innocent people at Hilltop were most likely going to pay for it.

But I'm free now, the words echoed. And I can't—no, won't—put myself in danger like that again.

As for Daryl, you didn't know where he was. Maybe that was for the best.

Crucifying your guilt, you made sure it was all clear before leaving the sanctuary of your tree. Going inwards into the dense wood, you knabbed a sharp rock off the ground and held it close to your chest. 

Sleepers may have claimed the area, but you would try your luck fighting them off instead of risking the open road where any of Sunny's men, or Sunny herself, could spot you.

"Please be there, August." You manifested as hard as you could, the déjà vu feeling magnetizing more and more as you took each step, but in a different way. 

Last time you were headed for the warehouse, you were wishing for the opposite. 

Squeezing the rock, you felt drops of blood descending the palm of your hand. "Please, please, please."

Nine Sleepers and an emaciated raccoon later, your rock had seen better days. Nightfall had begun, which worried you. But your confidence held out: you were close now, recognizing familiar bends and dips in the scenery. 

Just a little longer.

Crossing an open field, you didn't realize until the halfway point that the field was the same one you and August had walked through! The abandoned shack sat lonesome in the corner on your right, memories re-surfacing.

A spike of adrenaline and energy zapped you awake as you got closer. "August, I'm coming!"

Then you were there, pushing a branch out of your way, the warehouse coming into view.

It looked desolate, as if no one was inside. More-so than the last time you were here. 

Putting on a brave face, you rounded the side of the building, walking the exact path you've always taken. 

Tugging at the window and hearing it crack, you entered, hoping no one, or thing, heard you.

Side-stepping to a wall, you crept until you reached the open door. Scanning the room, you spotted a dirtied shoe in a corner.

You picked it up.

Tossing it into the hallway beyond, you waited. Waited for the telltale signs of a roaming Sleeper, or the even less predictable testimony of vigilance:

Someone caught off guard.

Five seconds turned into ten, and by that point, you were certain the hallway was safe to traverse.

Slipping into the darkness, you cursed under your breath. Your eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the lack of light yet, though you could still make out the objects closest to you.

A chair on its side was located on your left, piles of trash littered the entirety of the floor, and a child's toy was as far down the hallway as you could make out. You didn't see the shoe anywhere.

Making your way through the hall, you maneuvered past the chair and stepped over the piles of trash, the child's toy your goal.

Once you reached it, you picked it up. 

An old, red, metal Tonka truck.

You smiled. Looks like something August would play with.

"Maybe you aren't here after all." You stared down at it bitterly.

You continued down the hallway searching for the room you first met August in.

Creak.

You froze.

Something rustled somewhere in the warehouse. 

Holding your breath, you turned on your heel and peered over into the center of the building. Across the room, standing between the shelves you and Daryl stole MREs from, was an isolated Sleeper.

You sighed in relief. "It's just one."

Then, you froze again.

A soft moan echoed somewhere beyond the hallway ahead of you.

Your eyes finally settled.

Jolting back, you gripped your rock as a swarm of Sleepers rounded the corner.

One, two, three, six, nine.

You couldn't stop counting the number of languid bodies, all shuffling in unison...

And heading your way!

You tried to run, but fear wrapped itself around both your thighs, slithering down to your ankles and sinking deep into your bones, causing you to falter.

Begging for safety, the survivor inside of you drove you to acceleration, and your feet finally responded.

Running, you dashed down the hallway.

Just when you thought you had everything under control, your foot caught the edge of the chair, and your grip on the rock released, your weapon falling to the concrete with a dull thud.

"No!" You cried, but zipped past and leapt over the piles of trash anyway, the Tonka truck still clutched under your arm.

Locating the window, you released a cry. It was closed.

Tugging at it, and failing to lift it up, you cried even louder. The sound of shuffling Sleepers were nearing.

In a moment of desperation, your fist connected with the glass pane, but all that broke were your knuckles as the window didn't budge and your blood chilled in your veins.

Panic set in now. Sleepers were seeping into the room, their flesh-hungry maws gaping at the sight of you.

I can't go to sleep, not now!

Spotting a plank, you blew out a grateful breath of air and snagged it off the dust-ridden floor. Bringing it down on its head, you watched as dark liquid splattered, covering you in a layer of congealed gore. 

You repeated this until the board splintered and broke in half. Racing to another corner in an attempt at evading the rest of them, you felt your limbs go numb.

The Sleepers huddled together, leaving no room for you to skip past them, unless you wanted teeth in your neck.

You proceeded to dive for their legs in a last minute attempt.

They fell on top of you, but you slithered quickly on the cold concrete, feeling them squirm on your legs. Shoving, your feet connected with leathered skin, particles of brain matter and blood sticking to the soles of your feet.

Managing to escape, you lifted yourself off the ground and made a beeline for the next room over. More Sleepers appeared out of the woodwork, groaning in hunger as they spotted you. 

Reaching the door, you crashed into it, regretting it immediately as you watched yourself fall in slow motion, the door tearing off of its hinges.

Dust shrouded you, flying into your mouth and ears. As you coughed it up, you swiped at your eyes and crawled to the window just feet away. 

You tried tugging on it, but the same, harrowing result smacked you in the face. Why are all the windows shut!

They were in the room now, filling it rapidly.

Hope draining, you jumped further into the room, only finding within it dust and more dust.

"No!" You wept, feeling hot tears of anger spring. Maybe sleep wouldn't be the worst thing. 

You prepared for it, closing your eyes and squeezing your fists tightly at your sides. 

The rock! 

You jolted, your feet flying upwards and knocking into the jaw of a Sleeper. 

"Move!" Pushing through the slew of rotting bodies, you execute the same escape plan from before and shake your head at both your stupidity and inability to just die.

You slammed Sleepers into walls, feeling their nails scratch your skin in the process.

Then, by August's room, you spotted the rock!

Feeling your feet kick up behind you, you dove for the rock, managing to grasp it before another horde shuffled into view, barrelling down the hallway in front of you.

There's too many!

Getting up for the umpteenth time, you sprinted down the way you came, using your rock to bash into heads and shove Sleepers off of you. 

Finally, you reached the first room, skipping across the way and slamming your rock into the pane. It crashed, sending glass shards everywhere!

In quick succession, you flew through the broken window, watching as both arms slipped through the opening.

Landing solidly on your stomach, you felt the breath in your lungs leave you.

But you were free.

Wasting no time, you sprinted away from the warehouse, not even turning around to see what could potentially be following you.

The stars were twinkling, almost dancing in the night sky. As you advanced down a dirt road, the fireflies had appeared, surrounding you in bright, yellow light.

You spent the past hour looking over your body, ensuring there weren't any bite marks or fatal scratches.

Despite the fact that you were fine, thirty look-overs didn't feel like enough.

Blood was painted across your torso, but you knew it wasn't yours. 

It almost gave you peace of mind. Maybe I can blend in with the ambience now.

After another ten minutes of walking, you thought you were getting closer to Luray.

When twenty more minutes seemed to have passed, you weren't so sure.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. The dirt road transitioned to a chalky-like soil, and small pieces of rock imbedded themselves in-between your toes.

Your feet were sore. You needed socks and shoes—badly.

A toad croaked in the far off distance, and you sighed, nearing another hill.

I wonder what’s happening at Hilltop right now. 

As you pondered the what-ifs, a small sound alerted you.

It was low, faint, and unrecognizable.

Tensing, you assumed a Sleeper was milling nearby, but there was no accompanying groan or smell of death.

There it is again!

You swiveled your head around, hearing it behind you now.

A yard and a half away, you could barely make out the shape of a deserted truck. Sneaking around it, you ducked behind the exposed engine and held your breath.

While there was no Sleeper in the vicinity, the stench of burnt oil in the air was strong. 

Someone just drove this car, you decided, looking up over the engine. They may still be nearby.

While you saw nothing out of the ordinary, you didn't ease up just yet. Couldn't.

In the next moment, you heard running feet against the gravel.

Raising the rock in the air, you were seconds away from slamming it down on their head when you caught sight of him.

"August!" You dropped the rock, immediately being crashed into by the ten-year-old. 

His hair smelled like asphalt, and the back of his neck was hotter than the engine you were standing behind.

But you enveloped him in a tight hug, hearing him cry out in both relief and pain. 

"I was about to—ugh—hit you over the head!" You exhaled all the pent up anxiety that'd been brewing, and allowed yourself to melt into him.

"Thanks,” he said from underneath your chin.

"For what?"

"For not hitting me." He looked up at you with wet eyes. 

Forcing him back into another hug, you shook your head. "Daryl told me you went missing, is that true?" 

"I left." August let go, and you were already wishing he would come back. "They put me all the way up at the tippy top of the building."

Your jaw tensed. "Those motherfuckers."

"We were so close," you continued. "And we didn't even know it." 

"They must have thought I helped you get away." Crossing your arms, you looked over the hill and saw a familiar Welcome sign half a mile down the road.

"Here," you handed him the Tonka truck, seeing his face light up.

You smiled, albeit it was small and lackluster. You were exhausted, and if you had to bet, you were certain August was in need of a good night's sleep as well.

"Did you go back to the warehouse?" You gestured for him to follow you, and began hiking up the hill.

"Yeah." 

"And? Did you see Dirk?"

"No."

You had a bad feeling in your gut, something you couldn't just ignore. You pressed him even further.

"Are you being honest with me?" You whirled around, noting his guilt-ridden face. 

August shrugged his shoulders, not quite looking you in the eye. "I guess."

Kneeling, you met him exactly where he was and frowned. "Did something happen to you?"

At once, tears began to well up. Dragging the back of his hand across his face, August proceeded to cry.

"Hey, hey." You scooted closer to him, trying your best to comfort him. "You're safe now."

"It's not that," August started, sniffling. 

You let him continue, staying quiet.

He scratched the side of his head and released a long winded sigh.

"Pops' dead."

Your heart sank at the admission, feeling it sink even further as you watched him try to contain his emotions.

"Oh bud." 

August turned around, and you followed his gaze to the warehouse, way off in the distance. 

"Before they took us, I watched them kill him." 

"He tried to run away, but they—"

Sniff.

"They pulled their gun out and—"

You pulled him into your chest, not letting him say another word. "I'm so sorry, August."

You repeated this to him over and over, during the peak of his tantrum where he spluttered and hiccuped, and even when he started to calm, going back down to a sniffle again. 

"Do you know where his body is?" There was no way of traipsing around that question.

August shook his head 'no'.

"I went looking for him," he said to you. "But his body isn't there. Not anymore."

Nodding your head, you stood up and cupped the side of his head lovingly. "I'm gonna take you to my home this time, okay?" 

August let out a yawn and bobbed his head up and down, piquing up a little at your suggestion.

"Let's just hope it's still in one piece." You muttered softly to yourself, the anticipation gnawing at you.

Chapter Text

The parking lot was empty save for the buggy that'd miraculously survived this entire time, and the body of the young boy you were forced to put to sleep a while ago. You remembered that night clearly, shivering in the cave and desperately seeking warmth. Trekking across the parking lot, you were reminded of finding Daryl in the gift shop. He’d been alert, despite having just been awakened, the threat of his crossbow being emphasized to you that everyone in the apocalypse was on edge.

That couldn't have been a week ago, and yet it was. 

From beside you, August yawned, and you felt his eyes bore into the side of your skull. 

"What does your home look like again?"

"It's literally right there." You pointed to the canopy up ahead with the emboldened lettering. CAVERNS ENTRANCE AND TICKETS, it advertised, a melancholic feeling humming in the pit of your stomach. "But before we settle down for the night, I need to survey the area."

"In case of monsters?" August asked, to which you nodded.

"And ghosts," you told him, feeling uneasy. "Follow me."

He did exactly that, never being more than three steps away as you scouted the perimeter.

Aside from the trivial uptick of Sleepers, there was no evidence of humans plaguing the surrounding area.

But now it was time to venture inside.

Approaching the makeshift door, you gestured to the boards up against the hole at the front of the building. 

August slinked in behind you, a nervous whimpering coming from him.

"You don't have anything to be afraid of." You tried to quell his fears, but he shook his head at you.

"You said it yourself," August responded, eying the boards suspiciously. "You were scared it wouldn't be in one piece!"

Chuckling, you smiled down at him. "That's supposed to be there, August."

"I put those there." You stepped out of the way and gestured to the boards. "It's a door!"

His brows furrowed animatedly, jumping up in both confusion and bewilderment. "But doors have knobs!"

Shaking your head, you inserted your fingers in-between the slits and gripped the wood. After pushing it off to the side, you spread an arm out to showcase the hole. 

"See?" You smirked, relishing in the child's puzzled expression. "Now let's go, I miss my bed."

Staying quiet, August followed you further into the building, gaping as he took in the near destruction of the ticket counters and the long flight of stairs descending down to the caverns.

When you reached the bottom, you released a long exhale, the drop in temperature feeling better than it ever had before. Despite it being summer now, you were grateful that the cave remained a steady sixty degrees all year long.

"I'm cold!" August complained, quickly wrapping his arms around his body. You laughed.

Reaching the top of the familiar ramp, you threw a finger up to your lips, gesturing for August to be quiet.

You weren't certain what would be waiting for you at the bottom, but you leaned into the hope that you and August were the only ones down here. 

Hands on the rail, you ambled downwards. Heart in your throat, you managed to get a peak of Giant's Hall emerging from the multitude of stalactites.

It was dark, you realized. The vast majority of the overhead lights had went out since you were gone. 

With August directly behind you and grasping at your shirt, you reached the bottom of the ramp and took in the large room. What you could see of it, anyway.

The canned food was, undoubtedly, gone. Remnants of the plastic bags they were held in littered the place, making them look like beetles and roaches all scattered across the floor.

The blankets you'd used as a bed were missing, too, of course.

"Damnit, Daryl." Exhaustion proceeded to take over, filling you with vapid contempt. 

"Stay right there," you commanded, leaving August to round a short corner.

On the other side of the rock formation, you sighed in relief. A flashlight you'd left behind was still here, hidden behind an UNDER CONSTRUCTION sign.

"We need to get a new bed." You groaned, bending down to collect the pieces of trash.

"No, we don't!" August replied from further into the room, poking at one of the stalagmites. "I sleep on the floor all the time."

"Well," you shuffled toward another pile of rubbish. "I'd still like to find something comfy. Like blankets. Or a pillow."

By the time you were done, you tossed the collected trash into a nearby bin.

When you turned around, August was no longer in Giant's Hall.

"Hey, I don't like you running off without me seeing you!" Crossing your arms, you were hit with a sudden realization.

August was turning you into a parent, and you weren't sure how to feel about it.

When you didn't receive a response, you grew frustrated. "I'm not kidding."

"You can get lost very easily in here, and I'd rather not have to play hide and seek when we should really be looking for another bed."

Turning a corner, you spotted him leaning over a railing in the next room, his face one of pure shock as he admired the murky water below.

You rushed to his side, anxiety sweats forming at the edges of your forehead. "Please don't fall in, I just got you back."

Copying him, you leaned over the railing, noting the sticky residue it left on your fingers. But it wasn't the water he was admiring, you realized.

A variety of dollar bills blanketed the surface of the miniature body of water below, and a seemingly endless amount of pennies and quarters rested at the bottom.

"Never seen those before?" You joked, smirking at the kid, tempted to ruffle his hair but deciding against it last minute. You weren't about to further embody the parent stereotype.

When August looked up at you with wonder-filled eyes, you pursed your lips.

"You haven't?" Your eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded solemnly. "Pops said they hurt people."

"Said it hurt him all the time," he finished. Hoisting himself over the railing, August managed to jolt far enough down to the water to retrieve one of the bills.

Finding solid ground again, he lifted a corner of his shirt up into the air and dried the twenty dollar bill with it.

"Before all this," you started, gesturing to the cave. To the New World. "We used money—" you nodded at the bill "—to pay for things."

"Cars, houses, apartments. Food." You smiled down at him, watching his brows raise higher and higher up his forehead.

"So then," August frowned. "How does money hurt us?"

Releasing a soft sigh, you approached your next sentence with a tentative flutter in your throat.

"Greed, August. A lot of money can breed a lot of evil. Those who have it all sometimes create more bad than good."

"And sometimes," you gulped. "Those who have the least need it the most." 

August sat with that, staring into the water motionless. You wanted to peek inside his head and see what he was thinking.

"Oh, I know!" The boy exclaimed loudly, and you threw a finger up to your mouth instinctively. August ignored you.

"They just need to make more money!" The young boy nodded enthusiastically, as if he'd just solved the problem.

For once, you laughed. Then you shook your head at him, jealous of his benign ignorance. "That would make things easier, huh?" 

“_.”

”Yes, August?”

”Who were those people?”

”Which ones?” That's right—August never got to meet the people of Hilltop. What with all the chaos that ensued, and him getting thrown into the attic, he wasn't given anything but isolation.

You grinned. Out of all the people there, he'd like Aaron the most.

August scratched the side of his head, not quite looking you in the eye. And then he said it.

“The people standing next to the gift shop outside.”

Your blood froze in your veins, and a bolt of electricity shot down your spine.

Kneeling, you gripped his shoulders tightly. “Who are you talking about? Why didn't you say anything!?”

August started talking, but you couldn’t hear him. You tuned him out, turning fearfully over both shoulders, your eyes landing on every possible access point.

You were seemingly safe, the room vacant and not a sound echoing off the walls.

But you knew that could change in an instant.

”Okay, listen to me.” You nodded down at his ghost-white face. “What did they look like?”

August turned his gaze to the floor, thinking. 

“There was a girl—” 

“A girl or a woman? Please, August!” You pleaded with him.

A sound very much familiar to a creak from up above alerted you, and both of your heads snapped upwards to the ceiling.

”A woman!” Big droplets fell down his cheeks. “She waved at you, so I thought you knew her.”

”She waved?” The blood drained from your face, the urge to hide becoming stronger and clearer to you. 

“It’s time to go.” You said bluntly, taking August’s hand into yours and heading in the opposite direction. 

You could have sworn there was a back exit somewhere in the caverns. A section of the caves you hadn’t carefully explored yet. 

It made sense that you hadn’t, of course, what with it being closed off due to fallen stalactites and debris.

But we can’t risk escaping through the main entrance. 

As the two of you stealthed through the maze of the cave, more creaks sounded off from above, and August whimpered from beside you. 

“I need you to be strong,” you told him, squeezing his hand three times. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

After turning a sharp corner, the exit was in sight!

"Thank god," you inhaled, reaching for the push bar.

It took a second to register that you weren't outside.

In fact, the door didn't even open.

"What?" You said incredulously, pressing into the push bar a second time and yielding a similar result.

"It's locked?" Your heart dropped, feeling the weight of the world fall on top of you.

"How are we going to get out?" Said a panicked August, his grip on you tightening.

You went over a new plan in your head numerous times. This would be risky, but if Sunny was upstairs, you would do just about anything to get away. 

Get August away from her.

"This is what we're going to do," you started, crouching down to him. "I think I know who's upstairs. And I think they know we're down here."

August peered into you tearily, the rosy pink of his cheeks killing you to see. Don't cry, dammit, or I will, too!

"We need to take the ramp back upstairs." You gulped, the doubt creeping in. What if you couldn't escape unscathed?

"We'll kill those ghosts!" August exclaimed, appearing suddenly brave.

"We'll see," is all you responded with, snaking through the hallways and reaching the ramp with cautionary hope.

Silently, the two of you made the heartrate-dropping trek up the ramp, not knowing if the next step you take will be your last.

Once you reached the top, you flicked your flashlight off but held it close to you. Scurrying past the janitor room, you approached the hallway that would lead you back to the lobby. 

Putting a finger up to your closed mouth, you tried your best to reassure August. It was now or never, and he was going to need all the courage he could feasibly muster.

The time it took for you to sneak through the hallway couldn't have been more than ten seconds, but you swore it felt like a millennia. 

With August directly behind you, you held your breath as you tip-toed past the Wet Floor signs and scattered memorabilia.

You freeze.

A stranger was hunched over a pile of debris, rummaging through it like it was life or death.

August seemed to have noticed them, grabbing your hand and squeezing it three times, and hard.

You couldn't look at him—couldn't give him the reassurance you knew he needed. Instead, you walked backwards.

Back into a solid chest that was much too high for it to be August's. 

Just then, a hand was clamped over your mouth, and from beside you, you felt August wriggle in panic.

Being dragged back into the hallway, you managed to bite down on the person's fingers, hearing them grunt in response.

They released you in the process, and taking advantage of your immediate freedom, you grabbed at August—not caring what limb you were currently latched onto—and sprinted for the hole in the wall.

Confused voices sounded off behind you, but you pressed on, gaining speed and ultimately throwing August up into the air and over your shoulder. 

"We're almost there!" You told him as you neared the end of the parking lot, the voices now sounding far away.

Rounding the corner of the Garden Maze, you set August down on the floor and hid behind the tall hedge. 

Taking this moment to catch up on breathing, you willed yourself to be as quiet as possible. 

Peeking furtively over the hedge, and noticing the empty parking lot staring back, relief poured into you. 

You weren’t about to let your guard down yet, however; at least your safety was guaranteed for now.

”I think we’re in the clear,” you say softly, clutching at your chest. Your heart still beat wildly despite being motionless.

But when you turned back around, you found yourself staring into the eyes of Daryl, his hand firmly in place over August’s mouth. 

“Fuck.” You held out your arms defensively. “He’s a kid, Daryl, please—let him go.”

You couldn’t help but notice the red marks on his fingers.

Daryl’s curled lip screamed hostility. In you, his tight grip on your friend created a need for vengeance. “I’m sorry I bit you, I thought—“

“Thought I was Sunny?” Daryl said coldly. August cried silently, his tears cupping at Daryl’s hand.

You gulped. “Yes.”

The sound of nearing footsteps made you flinch, and you felt your jaw unhinge in a panic. Daryl crouched low to the ground and pushed August into his chest.

”Search the maze, they’ve gotta be in there somewhere.” Said a familiar voice, and Daryl threw his head back over his shoulder, his eye contact with you unwavering.

He wants me to follow him.

Adrenaline rushed back into your body, and you felt your limbs ache to move again.

With a curt nod, you watched as he clung to the hedge wall, inching closer to the halfway point.

Directly behind him, you followed him back onto the main road until you reached an unlit farm.

Releasing his arms, Daryl let go of August, who promptly ran into your stomach and held tightly onto your shirt, immediately wetting it with his tears.

Running your hand over his head, you proceeded to soothe him. “We made it.”

”Like hell you did,” Daryl said. “You coulda gotten yourself killed back there.”

Daryl looked down at August and pointed at him. “Damn near got him murked too.” 

“Thanks.” You snapped at him, shooting him daggers. Who the fuck pissed in his Toasted Oats? 

“Whatever.” He waved you off, turning toward the farm and disappearing into the dark.

“Was that Sunny?” You asked, somehow already knowing the answer.

Silence greeted you in response, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance.  

Then his voice returned. “Yeah.”

Gritting your teeth, you exhaled out of your nose and gestured for August to follow you.

Stepping in place behind him, Daryl came to an abrupt stop and turned to face you, staring at you in disbelief.

”We’re joining you,” you replied. “Just for the night.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “You didn’t find this farm, get your own.”

He turned and brought a flashlight up to a window, peering into it curiously. 

Familiar looking grooves and metallic rivets poked out of his back pocket, and angry, hot blood rushed to your neck.

”You took my knife.” You seethed. “You make me believe you’re on my side, and then you lock me in a prison cell.”

In one fell swoop, Daryl managed to get the front door open, quickly pulling out his—your—knife and keeping it steady in the air beside his head. His crossbow rested gently against his back.

He must feel guilty, you thought. Maybe that’s why he’s not saying anything and letting us follow him.

Positioning yourself in front of August, the two of you stepped into place behind Daryl as he slipped inside.

Something was rotting somewhere in the house, you suspected. A sickly sweet stench clung to the heavy, uncirculated air. You wondered how long it’d been since someone—or something—was alive in here.

Getting carried away with your thoughts, you realized you lost sight of Daryl. You were plunged into complete and total darkness.

Squeezing August’s hand, you whipped your head around, not expecting Daryl to attack, but not doubting he’d pull a fast one on you. 

After bumping into dusty furniture and random objects on the floor, you spotted moving light in an isolated room up ahead and gravitated towards it.

“Claimed.” Daryl said as you walked into what you suspected was the primary room.

He hopped on top of the twin-sized mattress, adjusting himself until he was comfortable. Then he tossed something at the edge of the bed.

His flashlight, which he had set down on the nightstand beside him, highlighted your knife teetering on the edge of the mattress and pointing directly at you.

Picking it up, you squeezed the handle.

You thought about saying something, but ultimately decided against it, spinning on your heel and exiting the way you entered. 

“We’ll find a room, get some rest, and then tomorrow we’ll—“

You didn’t know how to finish your sentence. 

“Get my truck?” August looked up at you.

”Damn!” You exclaimed, running a hand over your face. “We left it back at the cave.”

After climbing some stairs, you reached the landing and walked into the first room you spotted. 

A small, albeit cozy room with a queen-sized bed and a ransacked dresser. 

You ushered August in and closed the door behind him, going for the lock and feeling your shoulders fall as you noticed the knob didn’t have one.

Getting an idea, you stood behind the dresser and pushed it until it was up against the door. 

“We’ll go back for your truck in the morning, okay?” You fell onto the bed, stuffing your knife underneath the flat pillow. Will it even be safe to return to the caverns?

You weren't sure if going back was the wise choice. Maybe you wouldn't need to decide now.

Sinking into the mattress, you took note of your legs and how they felt like jelly. This rest was well deserved. 

Your thoughts landed on Daryl, the realization setting like concrete that he lay directly below you.

What was he back on the road for? It felt almost like a coincidence, his re-appearance at the caverns. 

You sniffed. “What the—“

Jumping up, you threw the pillow over your head and heard it fall onto the floor with a soft thud. 

“That smelled like piss!”

From beside you, August cackled.

”Can it,” you instructed, but found yourself grinning. 

There were no nightstands, so you kept your knife at your side and laid back down. The area the pillow had been laying on still smelled faintly of urine, but at this point, fatigue overtook your ability to care.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything." August said, catching you off guard.

You rolled over to face him. "I forgive you."

"You don't hate me?"

"I don't hate you, August."

"Okay."

You worried about him, the things he's witnessed, what he's been through. An apocalypse was no world for a child to grow up in. 

“We got a new bed.” August said with a yawn. 

You smiled. “You’re right.”

“We did.”

Chapter Text

"But there's stuff in here!" August said, face deep in one of the drawers. 

The warmth of the sun lit up the small of the room, and though your sleep was short, it was enough.

Wiping rusted blood off your knife, you shot him a look. "Fine, but if there's a zombie spider in there, you're on your own."

August chuckled mockingly. "Spiders don't scare me."

"Zombie spiders are different." You ran your newly cleaned knife through your belt loop and walked over to the dresser, noting the dried blood coating one of the corners. 

"See!" You pointed at the innermost space of the drawer August was searching through. "There's one right over there!"

August looked up at you, unamused. "You didn't get me."

"I think I got you."

The sound of a door closing downstairs alerted you. 

Looking up at you, August's lip began to quiver. "Is that Sunny?"

You shook your head, brows knitting together in thought. "I think that was Daryl leaving." 

"Which means we have the house to ourselves." August grinned.

Detecting no activity outside, you relaxed slightly. The curtain resting in front of your cheek smelled faintly of mold, and you took a step back, pinching your nose.

"Looks safe," you said. For now.

August, who stood right behind you, tugged on your shirt. "I'm hungry."

God, me too. You remembered the meal Aaron had given you yesterday. It was hearty, chock full of protein and nutrients and fiber.

"Wanna bet there's something in the pantry?" You maneuvered hungrily over to the kitchen, stepping over trash along the way.

The countertops were littered with a layer of dust and crumbs of old food, but it was the smell that you noticed first. 

A crimson trail leading to the closed pantry door painted the floor, and you held your arm out, preventing August from getting any closer.

"Something might be in there," you told him, pulling out your knife and approaching the pantry.

Following the trail, the smell intensified, forcing you to shield your nose with the palm of your hand.

Holding your breath, you stretched your hand until it found the lever, pulling and raising your knife above your head. 

The door flew open, and expecting a Sleeper, you jumped back!

A fox was slumped against a torn apart cereal box, its stomach cut open, its guts splayed out and covering him like a blanket.

The breath escaped you as you stepped back. 

"Just a fox." You told August, knowing his curiosity wouldn't be satiated until he saw it for himself. He didn't need to see this, however.

"_."

"I know you want to look but trust me, it's not pretty."

"He's back."

Turning on your heel, you caught Daryl's shoulders as he shoved past you.

Crouching down to the fox, he inspected the grotesque sight, spinning the animal around. 

Standing back up, he grazed your shoulder a second time. "Breakfast."

"You're eating that?" You frowned in disgust, feeling the bile rise in your throat.

He exited the house through the back door, and the distinct smell of a fire wafted into the kitchen.

"Stay right there," you commanded August, watching the boy's face fall as you passed him.

Following the smoke, you were lead to the backyard where Daryl sat next to a roaring fire, the fox roasting above it.

"Do you think that's wise?" You asked him, eyeing the fire, tempted to warm up next to it. "What if Sunny's still at the caverns? She could see the smoke."

"She's not there." 

"How do you know?"

"'Cause." 

Standing up, he dusted off his hands and turned to face you.

Dark, seedy eyes penetrated your own. 

"I went back," his eyes flitted away from yours. "They're long gone."

You were only slightly relieved. But they could be anywhere, waiting for us to come out.

"Is the fox claimed?" You scoffed, nearing the fire. Sparks flew up and landed on your arm.

Silence permeated the air, and you wondered if there was anything edible inside for August. 

As if on cue, you felt the kid's presence behind you, his hot breath tickling the hair on your arms.

Drawing closer to the fire, he stared at the roasting fox, its skinned body twisting around the top of the flame. 

"Want some?" Daryl asked, peering closely at him. August stared back cautiously, not saying a word.

Gesturing to the fox, the meat turning a golden brown, Daryl nodded. "It's not too bad once it's cooked."

"I've had fox before." August puffed his chest out ever so slightly, and you felt your mouth curling up into a grin.

Daryl was smiling too, but if you hadn't been paying attention you would have missed it. 

"Oh yeah?" Daryl twisted the fox some more.

August nodded confidently. "And raccoon, gerbil, and even a cat."

You made a face.

"But it was really gamey." 

Daryl nodded, his smile small but there. "You remind me of a kid back at my camp." 

August didn't say anything in response and instead stared on at the roasted fox, which looked about done.

Pulling up a chair with one of its front legs missing, Daryl presented it to August who gladly accepted.

From across the fire, you nodded appreciatively at Daryl. "Thanks."

You plopped yourself right next to August, the grass cool to the touch. When was the last time you felt like a child? 

When Daryl decided it was done, he cut the fox down and began peeling off pieces of the meat. You hadn't tried fox before, and though the protein might have been what you needed, nausea bubbled up from within your stomach. 

So when Daryl offered you a portion, you shook your head. Shrugging, he retracted and tossed it into his mouth, chewing with his mouth wide open.

"I can do that too!" August said with a boisterous laugh, and you threw a finger up to your mouth.

Proceeding to chomp annoyingly, August giggled quietly while peering shyly up at Daryl, sinking into himself as he enjoyed his food.

When breakfast was over, August hopped out of the chair and ran inside to wash off. From across the fire, you analyzed Daryl.

He spat out bone, glaring back at you.

"Why did you do it?" You blew air in through your teeth, rubbing your arm as though it were cold. As though you weren't sat in front of raging flames.

Gnawing on another bone, Daryl dropped his gaze, and you weren't sure if it was from guilt or concentration. You didn't know him well enough to predict his emotional responses.

He cleaned his portion clean, dropping the remains into the fire. "I don't need to explain myself."

You felt yourself grow hot, and it wasn't due to the fire. "You don't think I'm owed an explanation?"

"If you had questions you should have just asked me, not lock me away for days."

Daryl eyed you suspiciously before gazing into the fire. "I was following Maggie's orders."

Standing up, you felt your jaw tick. "So she's just another Sunny."

At that, Daryl raised with fervor, impalpable anger twitching between his dirtied brows. "You don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Really? Because from this new information, both of them kept me as a hostage. At least Sunny didn't conceal her intentions."

"You don't know what Sunny—"

"_?" August's soft and timid voice sounded off from by the door, interrupting Daryl and silencing him. He then re-directed his gaze onto Daryl, appearing small. "Is he a ghost?"

Suddenly, you knew just what he meant by the word 'ghost'. You understood intrinsically what he was implying. August had been saying it to you all this time, and it didn't mean what you initially thought it did.

It didn't mean people. Or those who simply weren't Plagued. 

It meant betrayer. A traitor, danger, a threat.

Forcing a brave face for August, you swallowed the words you would have said if the child wasn't present. 

"I may have stolen food, but I did it not knowing the consequences. It wasn't malicious or done selfishly, I was hungry, and thought they were unclaimed." 

Daryl breathed heavily, unaware that beyond him and past the kitchen, a Sleeper was slowly descending the stairs.

Gesturing to August, you made no attempt at scaring the boy. With a 'come here' flick of your finger, you brought August over and in front of you, ensuring he wouldn't turn around.

"But you," you gulped, feeling the effects of both your anger and fear. You would inflict guilt and then flee for the umpteenth time, and Daryl would have to face the consequences. "You knew what you were doing when you manipulated me and left me to die."

"Thank you for feeding him." You cupped August's blotchy cheek, feeling it grow a little in your hand as he smiled up at you.

Then, facing Daryl: "It was more than you've ever done for me." 

With that, you took a hold of August's hand and ran off, watching the Sleeper step out onto the grass in your peripheral.

Chapter Text

Daryl was right.

Sunny was long gone.

You didn't intend to go back, but as soon as your feet found the road again, you were making your way to the caverns. August was happy about this, of course; he would soon be reunited with his truck.

But as you approached the parking lot, you noted that the sidewalk leading up to the main building was smeared with shit. 

You thought it was cow dung at first, but that would mean cows were nearby, and you were certain they were not. 

"I mean it, August," you told the boy, his arm slung around yours. "We're getting your truck and then we're leaving."

"It's not safe anymore." He muttered sadly.

"Yes." You frowned. "Not anymore." 

The hole in the wall was as you left it, your makeshift door laid in broken pieces in front of it.

"What does Sunny want?"

You chewed on your lip, picturing her leery grin. "Payback."

"For what?"

"Not now, August, let me try to get us downstairs in one piece, okay? No one seems to be here, but I don't know if I can trust Daryl."

With nothing to say in response, August pretended his hands were airplanes, flying them over your torso and making circles in the air. 

When you reached the top of the ramp, you ordered August to stay, and you meant it this time.

The way down reminded you of last night and the horror tightly gripping your throat at August's admission. You were angry at him, but still grateful he told you. You weren't sure if you'd have made it out alive if he hadn't. 

Down at the bottom, you looked up to see August standing firmly where you left him, obeying your order. You smiled at him, giving him a thumbs up. He returned it with an even more enthusiastic one.

The cavern was empty, feeling much emptier than before, and you wondered if Sunny had made her way down here, looking for you. 

Of course she had, you thought to yourself, feeling stupid. She'd likely scoured the Hall clean.

Searching deeper into the cave, you grew more and more doubtful that August's truck was down here.

"Where did you drop it? The parking lot?" You thought out loud, turning a corner and glossing over the entirety of the room's floor, seeing nothing but rock formations. 

You were about to give up when you rounded another corner, standing directly in front of the back exit. A piece of torn-off paper rested against the push bar, a small rock holding it down.

Dread seeped in, and you wondered just how recent this note was placed.

Desperate for answers, you removed the rock and unraveled the folded paper, your eyes scanning over three words.

𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦.

You swallowed your nerves, letting the words settle. 

A thought occurs, and you press into the push bar, inhaling sharply as the door opens. 

The hot sun beat down on you as you stepped outside, and resting on its side in front of your feet was August's truck.

You gritted your teeth, swooping it up and stepping back into the caverns.

Making it back to the ramp, you held the toy out for August, watching his face light up in delight. 

"Let's go." You told him, taking his hand in yours and exiting the building, but not without looking over your shoulder. Just in case.

The road was no longer safe, you deduced. Being out in the open meant having a target on your back, which meant not only was your safety on the line but August's as well.

Sticking to the shadows, you braved the wooded section of the valley, knowing there'd be a higher chance of running into Sleepers but choosing that risk over being caught by Sunny. 

You knew she'd do to you way worse than any Sleeper could. 

Though the sun was still shining through the trees, you knew you had roughly an hour or so left until sundown. It was time to start looking for shelter.

"So, what did you do?"

"Huh?"

"To Sunny. Remember?" August sniffled and ran his forearm across his nose. "Payback, or something."

You groaned. 

It was easy to avoid the question back at the cave when you had more pressing issues at the forefront. You didn't have that excuse to fall back on now.

"I did something bad."

"Did you kill someone?"

You faced him and prepared to reassure him. But when sole curiosity peered up at you, a sort of uneasiness settled in your stomach. 

"I didn't kill someone, no." You stated the truth, hoping August would believe you. "But I did steal."

"I thought I could take it. I took it, not knowing it belonged to someone else." 

August thought long and hard, his mouth squirming left to right. "And that's why Daryl locked you away?" 

You exhaled, but thought of Maggie. "Yes."

After a beat, a mischievous sparkle appeared in his eye.

"Who's Maggie?" He asked, as if reading your mind.

You were beginning to feel irritated, knowing August was only curious. However, there was a part of you that held a pill of resentment over the way Maggie treated you, as if you were a villain wielding cruel intent. Because the truth was this:

You weren't Sunny. You didn't inflict fear or utilize your superiority complex over others to get what you wanted. 

It wasn't clear earlier, but now it seemed obvious. If Maggie was as cruel as Sunny, why did everyone flock to her? 

In her presence, they looked up to her as a symbol of protection, someone they trusted. It didn't make sense to you, seeing the people of Hilltop want to be near her. At the very least, Aaron respected her, despite their disagreement toward the end of your stay.

You didn't trust Maggie. Not now that you'd discovered Daryl acted on her orders. You couldn't. 

Perhaps there was a reason why Hilltop's people loved their leader, and Sunny's compound feared theirs.

"It's getting dark," August said, removing you from your musings. "I'm getting hungry again."

He was correct. The shadows had become longer, and a seed of anxiety sprouted from within your chest—it was time to seriously start looking for shelter for the night. 

"If it comes down to it," you started, scanning the woods for resources. "We may need to build a home."

"Home?" He asked, seemingly surprised. "How would we do that?"

"Well, not like the one we just left. A simple one made up of logs. Leaves, too, if we're lucky."

Taking a moment to process what you just said, August sniffled again and plucked at his fingers. 

"Like that?" He spoke, pointing diagonally.

Deeper into the woods, you followed his finger to a small cabin. It almost resembled the shack you two stayed in, all those nights ago. 

"Yes!" You exclaimed, doing your best at processing the suspiciously stable, coincidentally-placed home just yards away.

Approaching it, you noticed it wasn't as perfect as you thought, the window panes broken into and the shingles on top of the roof bearing multiple cracks. This somehow quelled your anxiety a little—you weren't going insane, at least, imagining things or being manipulated by deceivingly-crafted mirages.

The door was partly ripped off its hinges, but you didn't let that discourage you. You've gotten creative before.

"Stay outside, I'm going in to check for monsters." To that, August nodded and stayed put.

You were greeted by a pleasant lack of smell as you stepped inside. No rotting fox corpses, I hope, you thought.

Being careful and traipsing over holes in the floor, grateful that they were small but still hesitant to continue further into the cabin, you prepared yourself, just in case.

The kitchen, which comprised of a mini fridge, two completely different countertops side by side, and a sink that could collapse on itself any second now, clung to one wall opposite of you. It had been rummaged through countless times before, the cupboards a similar state to the front door. 

The living room bore a heavily lived-in, singular sectional, its television counterpart a rectangular piece of cardboard leaning up against a burnt firewood log. Scribbles adorned the cardboard, and you could make out familiar, humanistic elements. 

Someone lived here. Or, at least they tried to, you deduced. Maybe some time after the New World started, when everything went to shit. 

You walked past the foyer, eager to check out the bedroom across from you, its door half-way open. 

"Can I come in now?" You heard August from outside.

"Not yet," you told him, waiting for the telltale sound of a Sleeper stirring nearby.

Nothing.

There were no hallways. Everything was out in the open and next to each other, except for the room at the end of the cabin, beyond the kitchen and living room. Approaching the door, you held your knife out and gently tapped the tip of it on the wall beside you.

Trusting the silence that came with it, you entered it, albeit cautiously.

It was strange. Almost everything inside—bed, desk, and bookcase full to the brim—were seemingly untouched, not a layer of dust to be seen.

Like someone had been here recently.

With your gut swarming with suspicion, you turned out of the room and headed for the entrance.

On your way out, your eyes rested on a crossbow that sat on one of the kitchen countertops. That wasn't there before.

Picking up speed, you jumped across the holes and pushed open the door. Crumbling beneath you, it snapped off of its hinges, taking you down with it!

The collapse nearly took out a lung, but that wasn't a present concern. 

Staring up at a wide-eyed August, you winced, feeling the effects of your fall. That fucking hurt!

"Left me to die back there." A familiar voice whistled behind you, garnering a groan from you.

Being lifted up into the air, you shook your head as you met Daryl’s hardened gaze.

"Guess that makes us even." You scoffed, taking note of the scratches on the side of his neck.

When your eyes traveled to his shoulders, and then to his back, you realized he was wearing his crossbow. He was in the house? How did I not notice?

"This your place?" You asked, receiving a curt nod from him.

"We'll get out of your hair then." Gesturing to August, you heard the kid walk in behind you.

That interaction was awkward and humbling at the very least. You needed somewhere to sleep for the night, just like you needed it last night when Daryl saved you from Sunny. Now, it was getting dark, and you dreaded having to scrounge up resources to make a half-assed shelter. You’d already wasted time by searching the cabin. Daryl's cabin. 
This was going to be a long night.

Besides, after leaving him back at the farmhouse to fight off the Sleeper alone, there was admittedly some guilt on your end. But not enough to feel sorry for him, of course. He did kidnap you. Twice.

"Do you think we'll have enough time to build a home?" August asked, squeezing your hand three times. 

"I don't know." And that was your honest answer.

You were a couple yards away when you heard your name being called out.

Coming to a full stop, you turned and looked back at Daryl who had his arms stretched out and waving for you to stop.

"You won't be findin' anything out there." He said as you approached him, pointing in the direction you were headed. August looked up at you with a worried frown.

Face full of guilt, Daryl nodded back at the cabin. "You can stay for the night."

"But don't sic any more of those Walkers on me. Alright?" 

You wouldn't necessarily call what appeared on his face a smile. Not even a grin. But the tension was reduced slightly, and you could feel it in the air.

He felt bad for what he'd done, and this was him making up for it.

Looking down at the kid, you gave him a curt nod. "Go on, then."

As August ran inside, passing Daryl like a hurricane and almost spinning the poor man into a full rotation, you smiled. "Thank you. Again."

"Bedroom's claimed, I take it?" You quipped, passing Daryl and stepping over the broken door in front of you. 

"Naw," he said in response, following you inside and bending down to pick up the door. "You take it."

"You sure?" 

"Yep."

Watching intently, you stepped back as he lifted the door up again and situated it in front of the frame.

"I don't think that'll work," you said, fighting back a laugh. 

"If it falls, we'll know something's inside." He crossed his arms briefly before skipping past you and collapsing onto the couch. "I'm a light sleeper anyway."

You pursed your lips but said nothing else on the matter. It was his cabin, after all. 

The door was already wide open when you neared it, and when you poked your head inside, it took everything to keep from making a noise or remark. 

Head to the pillow, back to the wall, August was asleep, a soft snore filling the room. 

You looked over your shoulder and saw Daryl still laying down on the couch, his chest rising and falling slowly. Bet he's close to peaceful slumber, too.

If not already asleep.

The sound of your stomach rumbling almost alarmed you, its angry protest for something of substance reminding you that it had been a while since you last ate anything.

Padding over to the kitchen, you opened all the drawers and cupboards, finding nothing but old wrappers and cobwebs. It wasn't until you were standing in front of the mini fridge that you felt yourself deflate. Surely there'd be nothing to eat in there.

But your curiosity overtook your resignation, and bending down, you pulled at the door. In the next moment your jaw dropped, because staring back at you were several fun-sized packages of trail mix and dried fruit.

Hastily, you grabbed two bags and tore into them instantly, throwing the contents into your mouth and chewing happily.

"Don't eat all of that." Daryl said to you while you were mid-swallow, and you dry-heaved from beside the fridge, the food getting lodged in your throat.

You were now choking, bent over and attempting to breathe, but no cigar.

As if sensing the panic, Daryl leapt from the couch and situated himself behind you, taking your waist in his hands and thrusting inwards then upwards, pulling in on your diaphragm.

Terror flooded your body when, despite his help, the food didn't budge. You shook your head, hot tears falling down your cheeks as you saw white and your head pounded in agony.

Then Daryl was spinning you around and shoving his fingers down your throat. 

Hitting your gag reflex, he pulled back as you lurched forward, dehydrated banana and almonds shooting up and out of you.

Staring at your quick-lived meal on the floor, you gulped down the oxygen that proceeded to fill your lungs again. 

"Thank you." You wheezed, balancing yourself on the adjacent countertop. Daryl nodded curtly, staring you down as though you would keel over a second time.

"You good?" He asked once you had settled, and released his breath when you nodded reassuredly back at him.

Shaking your head, you laughed something morose and full of sorrow. "That was my first bite!"

"Well, you'll have to finish what you got, cuz' I ain't letting you have any more." He copied you, shaking his own head and looking more perturbed than you.

You threw the rest of the trail mix into your mouth and chewed thoroughly, promptly swallowing it and earning a raised brow from Daryl. 

"You scared me." You admitted, gesturing with the now empty package. "That's how I started choking."

Returning to the couch, Daryl scoffed and collapsed on it for the second time tonight. "Try not doin’ that."

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the bedroom. 

"Goodnight," you told him, standing at the door frame.

Seconds later, you heard his hoarse 'goodnight' in response. 

Entering the room, you closed the door behind you and sat on the edge of the bed, hearing it squeak from beneath you. 

Smiling at the Tonka truck on top of the desk, you exhaled and laid down, preparing for rest.

You forced yourself to unwind, letting the events of the day wash over you once and only once. Tomorrow would be new, and so would be your choices. Another day down, both you and August having survived up until now. It was something to be proud of.

Your eyes had been closed for a while now, your body resting into the small, albeit comfortable bed. 

But a twig snapping outside jolted you out of your thoughts. 

Sitting up straight, you strained in case it happened again, waiting for the telltale groan of a Sleeper milling about nearby.

When that didn't come, you tip-toed out of bed and reached the door, opening it swiftly.

Standing on the other side, a frightened Daryl threw a finger up to his mouth. 

Ducking and clinging to the walls, the two of you inched closer to the front door.

When you crouched in front of it, it was then that you could hear it. The distinct sound of whispering caught your attention, and Daryl motioned for you to stay where you were.

Reaching for his crossbow, he equipped it and peeked over a sizable crack in the door. 

Then, you heard her:

"Check the back."

It was Sunny. You knew her voice—knew that taut and monotonous pitch. She was here, just as she claimed she would be in the event of betrayal. 

Fear gripped you, and at once you tugged at Daryl's sleeve. Whipping his head over his shoulder, he sent daggers your way.

'August!' you mouthed, dread curling its way up your stomach and into your throat. Daryl nodded curtly, moving back to the room.

You followed him, simultaneously hearing footsteps outside the cabin, more and more pairs of them becoming apparent to you. 

Something sounded off behind you, and freezing to the floor, you felt a bead of sweat—or was it a tear?—rolling down your cheek.

"Yeah, I thought so." Sunny's grating voice seemed to echo and bounce off the walls, forcing you to turn around and stare back at her looming body. 

She snickered, the sinister sound making its way to your ears. You were certain they had started to bleed.

"You wanna knowing something?" Sunny cracked her neck as she waltzed closer to you, an odd sound trailing her. Then you saw it.

A scythe glided across the floorboards beside her, and you gulped as you took in the size of it. The sharpness of it.

"I'm not surprised that you ran off." She stopped in front of you, the scythe flying and landing just inches away from your nose. "That was bound to happen."

Turning sharply, Sunny faced Daryl and you could have sworn you saw her eye twitch.

"But Daryl," she added, shaking her head in disappointment. Daryl flinched ever so slightly from behind you. This is not good. This is not fucking good!

A whoosh sound flew by your ears, and in the next second, chaos broke out in front of you.

The scythe whirled past you, aiming for Daryl but missing him by half an inch. Rolling over, he shot at her, but missed as well, the arrow flying past her shoulder and landing on the wall beyond her.

Impulsively, you lunged forward, grappling at her ankles and forcing her down. 

In one quick movement, tips of guns were thrusted into your temples, and you released your grip on Sunny, throwing your hands up into the air, signaling your submission.

But the sound of multiple arrows shooting into the air had you collapsing to the floor, your face connecting with cold grass. You'd fallen through one of the holes!

You cried out, feeling your body shudder as you felt someone slump over on top of you, their full weight pressing into your back.

But after a brief moment, the sound of screaming and whirring arrows cut off abruptly, agonizing silence settling in its wake.

Pushing the body off of you, and ensuring it wasn't Daryl, you lifted yourself up, only to peel back as you were met by someone's bloodied face, an arrow sticking out of their agape mouth.

"You okay?"

You turned to see Daryl hovering over you, his hand stretched out for you to take.

Once you were back on hardwood flooring, you took a breathless moment to take in your surroundings.

Bodies piled up on top of each other, arrows piercing them all. Daryl's arrows.

And laying beneath Daryl was Sunny, her fury-ridden scowl piercing him. 

She was still alive!

You couldn't believe it. Why would he spare her?

"Just fucking do it," she whispered. A thought occurred to you, and you scanned the area. Her scythe was nowhere in sight, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

Whoosh.

The arrow traveled no distance as it flew from the clip and into her skull. 

You heard yourself release a breath, the presence of threat no longer staking its claim on you. 

But as you looked up to smile at Daryl, the frown on his face was evident, and confusion nestled between your brows.

"_?" August's soft voice carried out from within the bedroom, and you nearly choked on your fear again. 

"August!" You cried out, getting up from the floor and racing toward the sound of his voice. "Are you okay?"

The child crashed into you, his tears wetting your shirt, his wails loud and deafening.

Looking over your shoulder, Daryl lingered in front of Sunny's lifeless body, towering over her corpse and staying eerily still.

You frowned. This moment should be celebrated, the woman's dead!

"Shh, we're safe now." You comforted the boy. He continued to cry.

"We're okay," you told him.
Are we?

Daryl moved. An inch, but he moved, turning in your direction but not quite facing you head-on.

"We need to go." His voice came out hoarse. 

No, you thought, panicked. He sounds scared.

He mumbled something over and over to himself, and as you scooped August into your arms, stepping over the bloodied bodies and following Daryl outside, you strained to hear him.

Dread filled you as you made out what he was saying.

"I shouldn't have done that, I shouldn't have done that."

Chapter Text

The rhythmic beats of your shoes on the asphalt were making you sleepy. Trekking for hours on end was not something new to you, and yet all you craved in this moment was reprieve. 

For only a single indifferent instant, you wished you were back in the dungeon, surrounded by jutting walls. Walls that protected you. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, but the selfish desire to dream—just for a second—of relative safety tainted your thoughts.

Daryl still hadn't given any reason for his reaction earlier. 

"Where are we going now?" August said, finally waking up and stirring from Daryl's shoulder.

You met the boy's gaze as Daryl walked on in front of you, leading you through familiar woods.

"Did you sleep okay?" You inquired, noticing the bags under August's eyes. 

He nodded but laid his head back down again on Daryl's shoulder. 

You swallowed, not forgetting his question. "We're going back to Hilltop."

As if not tired anymore, the boy jolted from his position, finding your eyes in the dark. "What, no!"

"Quiet." Daryl muttered, craning his head briefly. 

"We have to, August," you told the young boy, but sharing his disapproval. "We need to go warn the others."

"Why?" 

You created a hole in the back of Daryl's neck as he walked in front of you, the tip of the sun slowly rising from the horizon in the distance. "That's a good question."

"Alright," Daryl spat, spinning around and waving a finger way too close to your face. "I've had it with you and your questions."

"Not in front of the kid." You challenged him, refusing to give in to his scare tactics and staring back at him directly.

You two shared a silent stare-off, with Daryl's eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, and August's nervous frown peaking from behind Daryl's neck. 

"If you thought Sunny was bad," Daryl started, shaking his head. "I feel sorry for you."

"So there's someone higher up the chain?" You said more as a statement than a question, searching the man's face for clues but turning up empty.

Without responding, Daryl turned and continued walking down the path. Although blurry, Hilltop could be seen from miles away.

"Who does Sunny report to? What do they want?"

No response.

"I feel sorry for you, because my questions are endless these days." 

August squirmed until Daryl set him down. Running to you, August found his place at your side, grabbing onto you for comfort. Squeezing his hand, you weren't sure who needed the gesture more.

"I don't have anything to go off of, Daryl—nothing. Maybe I'll shut up once I have some real answers."

"Starting with this," you shuffled until you matched his speed and August moved in behind you. "What are we doing when we get to Hilltop?"

"When I get to Hilltop, I'm warning the others and then leaving for good." Daryl grunted, the fatigue noticeable in his voice. 

From behind your back, you squeezed August's hand a second time. "What about us?"

The man with the crossbow hesitated, which only made you more irritated. Then his response came, ice-cold disdain lacing three words:

"I don't care." 

Your jaw ticked.

"Okay." You shed the bitter feelings as best as you can and focus on a plan. Yours and August's. 

"Well, do you know of any good hiding spot, somewhere we could set up camp? An old bunker, maybe."

When Daryl didn't respond to you, the sound of dry leaves scurrying across the asphalt placated you in the moment.

They scurried all the way until hitting a single child's shoe on the other side of the road, crimson red staining the heel. 

"There's the Commonwealth." Daryl says after a while, tearing your attention away from the bloodied shoe. 

"What's that?" 

"Large community, lots of people. Safe."

You mulled this over briefly. "How far away is it?"

Daryl sniffled. "Bit of a walk." 

"Okay, how long is a bit of a walk?" You rolled your eyes. August squeezed your hand.

"It'll take you a couple days."

Damn, you thought angrily. I don't know if we have the energy for that.

"It's either that, Hilltop, or..." Daryl trailed off, leaving your imagination to run rampant. "There's Alexandria."

"Near D.C.?"

"Yep."

"What's there?"

Daryl paused again. You turned to face him and couldn't tell if he was happy or sad—maybe a complicated mixture of both, somehow.

"Another community." He nodded at the gates up ahead. "Like this one."

You nodded. "We'll go there, then."

It wasn't much of a plan, and Daryl still hadn't provided any relief in the way of answers, but you were anxious and coveting for a change in scenery. Something tangible you could hold onto, sink into.

Something August could be hopeful for.

"Look who's back!" a voice called out from beyone the opening gates. Picking up speed, Daryl neared a welcoming woman whose face you couldn't recognize. 

"I'm not stayin' long," Daryl stated at her. Turning to face you both, the woman smiled warmly before enveloping Daryl into a hug. When they pulled apart, he gestured to you nonchalantly. "This is _."

Holding out her hand, the woman with electrifying blue eyes locked onto you, a sort of intensity emanating from her.

"Hi _, welcome to Hilltop!" Her smile reached her eyes, a playful radiance putting you at ease somehow. "I'm Carol."

After exchanging pleasantries, Daryl explained the reason for his return, his voice dropping several decibels. In fear of others overhearing the conversation, you assumed. Or maybe he didn't want you listening in.

Either way, standing beside the two, you couldn't help but catch the words that stuck out to you.

"...she's dead..."

"...had it coming..."

And, finally:

"...coming for us."

"_?" August tugged at you, gaining your attention. "What are they talking about?"

From behind Daryl, the woman you now knew as Carol had been listening silently, her brows furrowed in concern.

"I don't know." You answered truthfully, keeping your gaze on the two in front of you.

Carol's eyes flitted upwards, meeting your gaze, the concern still written between her eyes.

Then they were motioning you over, leaving your thoughts to spread like wildfire, crazed and uncontainable. 

In hushed voices, Daryl and Carol proceeded to lay out an explanation.

"So I was right." You stood indignantly before them, eyes blinking rapidly. "There's someone higher up."

Running a hand over his face, Daryl grunted. Out of stress, fatigue, or some combination of both, you thought.

"It's not that we can't handle this," Carol started, stoic apathy washing over her face. "It's that we've done this too many times now."

"What do you mean?" You crossed your arms, feeling August lean into you. 

Silence elapsed for just a moment before Daryl spoke up, looking at Carol. "You can answer their questions, I need to get back on the road." 

Then he was off, walking further into the compound and disappearing around the corner.

Facing you, Carol smiled sympathetically. "Don't take it to heart, he's got a lot riding on his shoulders."

"Where does he need to be?" You felt yourself relax in her presence. Or perhaps the ease came due to Daryl no longer standing in the way of answers.  

Sighing, the woman crossed her arms and looked over her shoulder. "He's looking for someone who went missing a while back."

"Have you been cleared already?" Carol asked abruptly, taking you by surprise. 

"Cleared?"

"Have you been asked the three questions?"

"Oh," you half-nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Since Maggie isn't out here guns blazing, I'm going to guess that you passed." She said with a laugh, but you didn't feel compelled to laugh.

"Let's take this inside," Carol winked, wrapping an arm around your frame and starting for the entrance. 

"Wait!" You freed yourself, watching the woman's face transition to one of confusion.

"Daryl said I could go to Alexandria. I would just much rather go there now than have to deal with all of this. Please." 

Carol paused, letting your words sink in. "Well, sure. We'll need to go there anyway, now that Sunny is dead."

"We?" You eyed her suspiciously.

Carol nodded curtly, pulling out a walkie-talkie. "The others will have to know." 

Feeling dejected, you turned to face August who was already looking up at you. "Hey, bud."

"I'm tired." He responded, and you were feeling the effects of this long-lasting fatigue just as much. 

"Me too." You ruffled the top of his head. "Either way, we're getting out of here, okay?"

The boy nodded and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. 

"We'll be there before noon." Carol practically sang into the walkie-talkie before sliding it into her back pocket. 

You wondered how she was capable of maintaining positivity during a time like this. 

Turning back around, Carol smiled again. "Come with me, I'll need your help."

Though unsure of what she meant by help, you grabbed August's hand anyway, and the two of you followed the woman into Hilltop, a familiar sight. Walking past the campfire you remember eating real food at just nights ago, you approached a large oak tree. Beyond that, a wagon attached to two horses stood there waiting for you.

Relief flooded you as you realized you wouldn't need to walk another step. 

Guiding you up, Carol waited until you and August were sat before walking off. You were about to ask where she was going when she threw her head over her shoulder and smiled for the umpteenth time. 

"Stay there!" She yelled and continued barreling down the pathway, saying nothing more. 

August giggled from beside you, the horses neighed, rocking the wagon just slightly, and you froze in disbelief.

You were about to ride off to somewhere you hadn't been before with someone you met only minutes ago.

Chapter Text

Warmth swam over your eyelids like a rhythmic dance, waking you but only slightly. Comfort settled beneath your achy bones and all you wanted to do was fall back to sleep. But your eyes had other plans, opening to the now black night and faint, blinking white lights that were the stars, peering down at you from beside the moon. 

The melodic song of the horses' hooves digging into the ground almost lulled you back to sweet dreaming, but something tickled the back of your throat. 

An abrupt cough escaped you, and gripping the base of your throat, you heaved as pleghm bolted up your throat and out your mouth. 

It was out and you were breathing much easier again, but something still lingered inside you. 

With August asleep next to you and the pressure of his head making a dent in your forearm, you became more familiar with your surroundings.

"We'll get to Alexandria by noon." 

—is what Carol had said into her walkie-talkie earlier.

You could have sworn that August's head was getting heavier by the millisecond.

Wait.

Sudden movement in nearby bushes startled you.

Noon? It's way past that now.

Turning your head, you stared at the empty spot next to August where Carol was occupying.

She was gone.

She was gone, you realized, and your new reality sank deeper than the Mariana Trench. 

Carol was gone, and judging by the darkness of the night, there was no telling where you were.

Inhaling slowly, you doubted this was real. Maybe I'm still dreaming.

"_?" August whispered, coming out of his sleep. 

"Hey." Adrenaline pinched at your nerves.

As if sensing your discomfort, the boy peeled himself back and took turns looking up at you and then back down at the empty spot beside him. "Where's the lady?"

"I don't know." You told him the truth, but quickly regretted it, watching August's face turn white.

"Stay calm," you told him before bending down to the wagon floor and inspecting it. You made contact with something solid.

Bringing it up to your face, the blood-splattered walkie-talkie glinted from the bright moonlight, and adrenaline shot down your spine. 

Just then, a loud, resounding snap filled the forest.

Off the horses went, tearing through bushes and tree branches, forcing you and August back against your seats!

"What was that!" shrieked August, struggling to find stability, bouncing up and down.

"Stay calm!" You heard yourself say to him again.

When you had the reins in your grip, you steered them sideways, right into an open clearing. You spotted a few Sleepers in the distance, but didn't fret; they were too far away for any more panicking to ensue.

After bringing the horses to an abrupt stop, you swiveled towards August. "Are you okay?"

The boy nodded but you knew he was frazzled. Taking him in for a hug, you tried scanning the field for any signs of life but felt yourself lose hope after several minutes. You couldn't see or hear Carol anywhere.

Just then, a shockwave of triumph hit you, and you remembered the walkie-talkie!

"Where did it go?" 

You fell to the floor of the wagon again, searching wildly, only to come up having found loose nails and splinters embedded into your fingers. 

"Hey!" a distant shout rang out from the trees. Too dark to see anything, and through instinct alone, you ducked back down to the floor, taking August with you.

Squirming, he gawked up at you, wearing a dumbfounded frown. "What—"

You brought a finger up to your mouth, silencing him. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

But when steady footsteps and a familiar, albeit hoarse, voice drew closer, you shot straight up and peered cautiously into the eyes of a bloodied Carol.

"You're alive!" you managed to squeak out, the fear of it all taking your vocal chords captive. 

Carol's finger flew up to her mouth, motioning for you to be quiet. Hopping back into the wagon, she gripped the reins and took off in the opposite direction, back to where you'd wakened. 

When she found the road again, Carol gave you a forced smile. "I'm alive? If anything, I'm surprised you're alive!"

"What happened back there?" You questioned her, feeling August sink into you again. 

From in front of the wagon, one of the horses grunted. You wondered if it was injured.

Carol leaned in her seat, scanning both sides of the pavement and peering as hard as she could into the bramble. You noted her lack of response.

But she didn't forget. "We weren't as quick as we thought," she said wearily.

"What do you mean? What's happened?"

"The group of people Daryl killed? The community they came from must've gotten wind."

You inhaled through your nose, the cold of the night burning the inside of your nostrils.

"They must be heading to Alexandria as we speak." She gritted her teeth as much as she avoided eye contact, and dread filled the space inside the wagon. "Where's my walkie-talkie?"

You dropped to the floor in search of it. You were hoping to see it there but felt your stomach cave in on itself when an empty floor stared back at you.

"I have it!" August chirped, showcasing the walkie-talkie in his hands. 

"Thanks kid," Carol smiled down at him warmly, retrieving the device and bringing it swiftly up to her mouth.

It beeped to life in her hand, the sound of static tickling your ears, and she spoke into the device.

"Gabriel, are you there?" 

A beat passed, but nothing came through the speaker.

"Gabriel, I repeat, are you there? We have company on the road and they're headed to you."

August looked up at you, the twitches between his eyebrows signaling immense fear. Attempting to console him, you offered a sympathetic smile, but couldn't quite ease the tension in your chest yourself. Whatever they've gotten themselves into, I don't want any part of it. We've been through enough.

Audio crunch pierced through the pressure in the wagon, and you could almost make out the distinct pop in your ears along with an unfamiliar voice from the speaker.

"Carol? They're all dead!"

You turned to Carol so fast, it felt like your neck had cracked in several spots.

"Who! Who is dead?"

"The group that Mother sent this time!"

Your brows furrowed in confusion. Who's Mother?

Cursing under her breath, Carol lowered the walkie-talkie and sat frozen for a moment.

Then, she brought it back up to her face again. "We're close—hang tight." 

When she handed the device off to August, she sat in silence until you decided to break the tension. 

"Are we safe?"

Carol nodded almost too quickly at that for you to trust her. "They're all dead, the men I saw back in the woods. But why?"

The horses galloped a little longer, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, until Carol stopped them at another gate similar to the one back at Hilltop.

"Let's go," she instructed, and you listened, taking a hold of August's little hand and guiding him beside you. 

Once the gate opened, the sight beyond it shocked you.

Not even a few yards away, a staggering amount of bodies laid on the floor. Five, ten, fifteen...

There were at least twenty deceased bodies in front of you, many of them clumped together in piles. You noted no blood or noticeable wounds or cuts. 

"Oh good," a man with a priestly collar said, ambling toward Carol with concern written all over his face. "You made it!"

"What happened?" Carol crossed into the mess of bodies, stepping over pale hands and empty faces. She began inspecting them, feeling for pulses and opening each mouth but finding nothing of significance.

Standing at the edge of the bodies, the man you'd just pieced together as Gabriel shook his head. 

"We let them in as normal, waited for them to deliver Mother's message, and then watched as they all collapsed to the ground." Gabriel shook his head again, a sadness dripping from his eyes.

"Mass suicide," Carol deduced, returning to the spot directly next to you.

"You know what to do, so do it fast before they turn," she instructed the people milling nearby before requesting the walkie-talkie from August.

When he handed it over, she took it gently while trying her best to smile at him. 

"Maggie, this is Carol." The woman then found a quiet corner and spoke privately into the walkie-talkie.

Inching closer, you could just make out the next words.

"I think it's time we pay a visit to this Mother."

Chapter Text

"How do you know it's mass suicide?" 

Lacing your fingers through August's, you trudged over to the woman and felt her unsteady gaze fall on you. You persisted, stealing every bit of her attention for yourself.

Carol spent the better half of a minute thinking, and despite your forceful approach, her eyes refused to meet yours.

A single finger prodded her bottom lip, the tip of her nail scratching away at it a little too hard. "She's become predictable." 

As if you knew what she meant. As if the context was in any way provided. 

You wanted her to continue and explain what she'd meant, but Carol kept all her secrets to herself.

You had a feeling she had a lot of them tucked away within herself.

Brushing past you, she headed toward a home half standing. While you followed her with your eyes, you felt tiny fingers tug at your hand. You ignored it.

This is getting out of control, you thought miserably, resting in the curiosity that bubbled inside you. You attempted to swallow it down and keep it at bay, desperately needing to go home but feeling unsure of where home was and what it even symbolized now. Respite? Recovery? Freedom?

After everything that's happened thus far, you doubted you could have any of that now in the New World.

"What is it, August?" You asked, your gaze still fixated on the cracked door that Carol walked through just seconds prior.

"Can we go home?" 

You scoffed, feeling an instant wave of regret hit you when August flinched, but you knew your reaction wasn't aimed at him.

Just as you breathed in, a small breeze blew past you and the hair on your neck stood up.

"We'll see."

Taking his hand in yours, you pulled him with you to the decrepit building, noting the ashen-stained brick and maroon splotches across the windows as you neared the front door.

Something not good happened here.

You could have knocked or waited to be let in, but instead, you took in the sunshine-yellow door and reached for the knob, turning it and finding it unlocked.

"Where are we--"

"Shh," you interrupted, pulling him deeper into the house, not knowing where you were going but letting your intuition guide you.

"I'll be at my hide-out," you heard Carol say in a room nearby. "Alexandria can handle themselves, but I'm taking _ and the kid with me."

Your head whipped in the direction opposite of where you were heading, and after a moment of investigating, you pressed your ear up against the nearest closed door. 

Silence.

But then:

"Okay, be safe." 

Maggie.

"What's happening?" August's anxiety-stricken voice cut through the tension briefly.

You shot him a look, noting the disappointed look on his face but ignoring it, straining to hear anything else from either of the women.

Instead, the sound of nearing footsteps alerted you a little too late, and the door flew open.

You expected her to be surprised or at the very least unnerved at your eavesdropping, but the eagerness in her gaze appeared as though she was expecting you.

"Do you know how to take care of a kid?" Carol asked abruptly, the weight of her hand pressing down on the doorknob. 

The abrasive question nearly gave you whiplash. "What?"

"Does he know how to use a gun? Can you use one? Do you know how to quiet your steps when walkers are close by?" Carol shot question after question at you, and you took a step back in defense. "Can he keep his head on his shoulders?" 

"What would you know about taking care of one?" You fired back at her, first noting the flinch and then the rage across her face.

You fucking idiot, the voice inside you screamed. What if she's a mother?

The expression that washed over—no, tainted—her face made you gulp in regret.

As if sensing your mistake, August let go from your grip and stepped aside, leaving you to think about what you'd just done. 

Leaving nothing but eerie silence in her wake, Carol passed you, her movements slow and calculated.

You thought it best not to run after her. Not yet.

"Is she mad at you?" You heard August ask from beside you.

"Yes."

"Will she forgive you?"

You exhaled out your nose, annoyed. "I don't know, but that's the least of our worries right now, okay?"

He nodded solemnly.

"You mentioned wanting to go home." Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to grapple with the options before you—the choice seemed obvious to you now. "Maybe it's still there."

The boy looked up at you in confusion, hope twinkling in his naive-stricken eyes. "It is?"

You took hold of his hand, confidence returning.

"Let's go back to the cave."

Chapter Text

August clung tightly as you tore through the thick bramble. Abandoning post wasn't foreign—you'd left places that no longer served you countless times before—but this time, it felt almost wrong. Like witnessing a stranger spill something in front of you while you were already late to something; the sympathy was there but you were too occupied with your own life to stop and help.

Only this was a community of seemingly innocent people you were leaving behind. A group of survivors that now have a pile of Plagued bodies at their front door, and you knew whatever shit situation they'd found themselves in had the potential of getting worse.

"Is this safe?" August questioned, his nails digging into your knuckles.

"Probably not," you responded in truth, ducking below a branch before it could hit you in the face.

"Is this smart?"

"Who's to know?"

"Will it make us happy?"

Well, _, will it? The voice in your head repeated sarcastically, and you pictured it taking the shape of Carol of all people. A hand propped on one hip and the other snaked around her walkie-talkie.

You shook off the imaginary disapproval and continued.

"I hope so." You sniffled, stepping over the remains of a small animal, its stomach hollowed out, licked clean.

You were certain no one saw you leave Alexandria, but just to be sure, you looked over your shoulder for the umpteenth time.

When a beat passed, and you were certain nobody was following you, the urge to throw caution to the wind and just gun it felt overwhelming.

Except a familiar voice cut through the trees, stopping you in your tracks entirely.

"You always gonna get in my way?" Daryl emerged from the tree beside you, not a lick of sarcasm detected. 

You mumbled a half-assed apology and guided August past the man, not wanting to waste what little daylight you still had.

But mostly because a mere moment with him left you feeling drained and eager for anything else.

"It burned to the ground."

You stopped a second time, twisting around and facing Daryl head-on. "What did?"

No, no, no, no. Please don't say it.

He didn't utter another word, but there was something in his silence that had you dropping to your knees. There was something in his eyes that told you everything you needed to know; despite being detached, they still carried empathy for a loss you weren't prepared to be addressed.

But it was August who spoke up for him, stepping closer to you, his calloused hands wrapping around your frozen arm.

"Our home," he muttered, calm maturity emanating from him. If you weren't in the middle of heightened heartbreak, you would've praised him for his keen sense of awareness.

You felt yourself drop to the ground, though you couldn't feel the impact of colliding with it. Senses numbed, your world shattered around you and you closed your eyes to avoid the shrapnel.

"It was her, wasn't it? Sunny?" Rage simmered dangerously in your chest. "She fucking did this!"

You felt rough hands on you then, and you assumed they belonged to August. But as you raised your gaze, it was Daryl who stared back at you. Squeezing your shoulders, lifting you back up into a standing position, he remained silent. Meeting his eyes, you noted the compassion in his eyes fading and apathy slowly creeping in to take its place.

"Don't matter now," he spoke, his voice gruff; gritty, reminding you of sandpaper. "She's dead, and we've got bigger problems to deal with."

"You know," you replied, struggling to find it within yourself to contain your anger. "That's all I'm hearing, but no one seems to want to fill me in on what these problems are."

Daryl steadied himself against a tree, his shoulder digging into the bark. He breathed out his nose, and it almost reminded you of smoke drifting spectrally from the barrel of a gun. "Someone by the name of Mother has been botherin' us. Sent a horde of walkers our way one night a couple months ago."

You straightened, listening to him intently. There had to have been a reason for that, so what the hell did you do?

Daryl's eyes steeled suspiciously over yours. "We ain't do jack shit."

Fuck, you voiced inwardly this time. I said that out loud!

"Go on." You pressed, ignoring the embarrassed knot in your stomach and focusing on your need for more from him.

He rubbed his dirt-crusted face, appearing exhausted in more ways than just physical. "But then another horde was let in, and this time it wasn't walkers."

You crossed your arms, growing impatient. "What was it?"

"Rats."

"Rats?" You nearly spat out the word.

Daryl nodded, fatigue knitting together boldly across his forehead. "Too many of 'em to be a coincidence."

"Next thing we know," he paused, sniffling and running his forearm across his face. "We were ambushed by Sunny, talkin' all this mess about some Mother and how our reunion was fated."

"Who even is she?" You sighed in exasperation.

"She hasn't shown her goddamn face once, so how the hell are we supposed to know?" 

Shaking your head, you took August's hand in yours and watched as Daryl's brows curled together in confusion. 

"We don't want any part of this," you told him, feeling August squirm beneath you. "Don't follow us."

Turning back, you continued your trek through the quiet wood, not knowing now where you were headed but feeling confident you would find your home soon. Somehow, somewhere, it was waiting for you to build it again.

Finding a slow river, you walked alongside it, hoping it would lead to something better. Something permanent.

After a moment, you caught the sound of careful footsteps following in behind you.