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Chapter Text

Mikhail woke up groggy and disoriented. His mind felt like it was swimming through molasses, and his body was heavy, unresponsive. It was like that scene in a movie where a bomb goes off nearby—everything spinning, sounds muffled, and senses dulled. But the worst part was the weakness. He felt like he could barely move.

As he blinked and tried to focus, he realized he wasn't in his bed. This wasn't his room. He was lying in a hospital bed, in a hospital room he didn't recognize. He opened his mouth to call out, but his throat was parched, dry as sandpaper. Even swallowing was a struggle. His vision blurred, and before he could make sense of anything, his eyes slipped shut, dragging him back into unconsciousness.

---

This happened a few more times. He’d wake up briefly, sometimes catching glimpses of people in the room, but he never stayed awake long enough to understand what was happening. Each time, exhaustion pulled him under again.

The last time Mikhail woke up was different. This time, the heaviness was gone. It felt like waking up after a long, uncomfortable sleep, where your body is stiff but your mind is clear. He opened his eyes and looked around, taking in the details of the room.

There they were again—the strangers. Two of them, sitting across the room. The woman was middle-aged with dirty blonde hair, wearing a warm-looking yellow sweatshirt and blue jeans. She was curled in on herself, looking worried. The man beside her, not much older, also had dirty blonde hair and blue jeans. He wore a grey shirt and was holding the woman close.

The woman noticed him awake and gasped. She jumped up and rushed to his side.

“Oh, my baby girl, I’m so glad you’re awake again! I missed you so much! God, you don’t know how worried I’ve been! Look, Uncle Tyler came to see you too! And over there,” she pointed to the bedside table covered with cards and flowers, “all those are from the family! We’ve all been so worried, Len!”

She wrapped Mikhail in a tight hug, tears soaking into his hospital gown. His mind spun. He didn’t know this woman. She was towering over him, and she had a southern accent—a far cry from his life in Washington, where he’d always been wary of southern folks for their often conservative views. And…she called him "Len"? Baby girl?

Mikhail tried to speak, but his mouth was still dry. He swallowed hard and managed to croak out, “W-wha?”

“Here, Len, let’s get you a drink before you try talking,” The man—Uncle Tyler, apparently—said as he brought a water bottle to Mikhail's lips.

Mikhail sipped the water, his thoughts racing. They were calling him "Len." They thought he was a girl. His voice—it was higher, softer than it should be. What the hell was going on?

Gathering his strength, he asked, “Who’s Len?” His voice came out shaky and raspy, but it was unmistakably different—lighter, almost unfamiliar.

The woman and Uncle Tyler stared at him in confusion, the room thick with a silence that only deepened his growing panic.

---

To say things got hectic would be an understatement. The lady who was apparently his mother and ‘Uncle Tyler’ quickly fetched nurses and doctors. They performed brain scans and tests, but Mikhail zoned out, overwhelmed by the revelation that he was not supposed to be Mikhail. He was supposed to be Lennie Black, a 15-year-old girl from Atlanta, Georgia, who had been in a car accident with her step-dad and had been in a coma for two weeks. Her step-dad had died upon impact.

Understandably, Mikhail was preoccupied with how he had ended up in this girl's body, running through every possible scenario in his mind. He was a 22-year-old adult, now freaking out over the life ahead of him. How could this happen? After about a week, the only explanation the doctors could offer was amnesia combined with a vivid coma-induced dream. His ‘mother’ was devastated that her precious Len didn’t remember anything and had been grieving the entire time. She just wanted her baby girl back.

Mikhail, now known as Orion, was taken home after it was confirmed there was no brain damage. Aunts and uncles visited, all wanting to see for themselves that he had no memory. Thankfully, it was summer, so school wasn’t an immediate concern.

The following weeks were hard on everyone. Orion and his ‘mother’ went to therapy together to try to get along better. Orion was grieving his old life and struggling to understand this new reality. It had been 2024 when he was Mikhail, but now it was 2005. Jessica, as she allowed Orion to call her, was grieving her husband and trying to connect with the new person inhabiting her child’s body.

Orion was dealing with severe dysphoria. He had been trans previously as well and had been on testosterone as Mikhail, and now he was in a different, more feminine body. The dysmorphia and dysphoria were damaging for both of them. Orion’s panic attacks overwhelmed him, and Jessica, unfamiliar with these outbursts, often made things worse despite her best efforts.

The fights were frequent. Orion insisted he was a boy, while Jessica saw only Len and thought she was a girl. Their therapist, who had a transgender girlfriend, eventually helped Jessica understand, leading to fewer arguments once she started using he/him pronouns.

Orion was grateful for this change. In his previous life as Mikhail, his parents were xenophobic, and he had only found support after moving in with his grandmother at 18. Now, he had a mother figure who, although initially struggling, was starting to support him.

Life in the townhouse continued. Orion learned more about his new family: two aunts, two uncles, five cousins, and one pair of grandparents. Learning their names was confusing, especially the cousins. Aunt Cassandra and Uncle Tyler had two sets of twins: Brandon and Braden, who were 6 years old, and Roxane and Rachel, who were 3 years old. They didn’t pay much attention to Orion, who cooed at their little kid talk.

His other aunt and uncle, Victoria and Thatch, had a baby named Addison Mitchell. They lived in New York, so he only saw Aunt Victoria and Addison once. Uncle Thatch was overseas in the army, so Orion didn’t meet him for the first year.

---

Then came another shock: this body started puberty, at 11. Orion was not happy. Jessica apologized for not mentioning their family's tendency for early menstruation. Orion wanted to scream; he had started his period at 10 as Mikhail and hoped this body would delay puberty until at least 13. It was super unfair. Getting puberty blockers in 2005 was a challenge. They had to reference Cohen Kettenis’ article on the lack of ill side effects from puberty blockers. After six long months, Orion finally got them, but by then, his breasts had developed to a C cup. The dysphoria was intense. Sweatshirts became his constant attire, and finding good binder substitutes was a necessity. Orion cursed the absence of GC2B binders from his past life, as he had to make do with homemade solutions.

---

A week or so after getting out of the hospital, Jessica—still known as 'Mother' at the time—had to return to work. Apparently, Len’s step-dad had worked from home doing some kind of government work, while Jessica went to work as a lawyer. Orion figured she must have been good at it, considering they lived in a nice townhouse. But all of that was to say that Orion was given a babysitter.

The babysitter was an 18-year-old named Mary-Jane Palmer. She was okay overall, but Orion had a few issues with her. The main one was that she treated him like a child. Just because he had no memories of this family didn’t mean he didn’t know how to take care of himself. He decided he needed to prove his maturity by discussing a complex topic. However, not knowing the current sociopolitical climate made politics a tricky subject. His other interests—worldbuilding, evolution, astrophysics—were either too niche or too dependent on scientific knowledge he wasn’t sure was up-to-date in this timeline.

After discarding idea after idea, Orion finally settled on a plan: he would ask Mary-Jane to take him to the library and prove his maturity by choosing complex books, while also getting a better sense of the world as it was now.

And so that became their routine. Over time, Mary-Jane began treating him less like a child as she saw him regularly reading books like “Quarks, Leptons, and the Big Bang”, “The Search for Life on Other Planets”, “The Queen’s Gambit”, “Jurassic Park”, “To Kill a Mockingbird”, “The Hobbit”, “The Lord of the Rings”, and “Good Omens”. All these were well above the average reading level for a 15-year-old, yet somehow, they didn’t raise any questions. Still, Mary-Jane started giving him more leeway, seeing that he could handle more complex material. Despite this progress, Orion missed his manga collection and Fanfiction.

---

Two months passed in this manner. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were spent at the library with Mary-Jane; Tuesdays and Thursdays were reading days at the townhouse, except for Tuesday mornings, which were reserved for therapy with Jessica. Weekends were spent with Jessica. Orion developed a nice routine, one that helped him adjust to his new life. That is, until school started in August.

School was a hellscape Orion was not looking forward to. He had nightmares about it. School hadn’t been fun as Mikhail, and he was sure it wouldn’t be fun as Orion. The only silver lining was that he had been pulled out of private school to attend public school, where they could accommodate his learning needs based on his amnesia. He hoped this meant he might be able to skip grades or even graduate high school altogether.

When the day came for the assessment, Orion was confident he’d aced it, considering it was based on 9th-grade material. But when the results came back, he was told he’d be joining the 10th grade with kids his age. Orion was furious. He had been so sure he could prove he was ready for 11th grade. Feeling betrayed, he shut himself off from everyone for a few days. He skipped library trips, only left his room for food and bathroom breaks, and stewed in his anger until Jessica finally put her foot down.

At the time, Orion was still simmering with frustration, and their conversation quickly escalated into an argument. Orion insisted that he was 22 and should be allowed to graduate from high school. Jessica, still unconvinced that he was actually a "he" and thinking the idea of him being a 22-year-old man was just a delusion from the coma, snapped. She called him “Lennie,” used “her” instead of “him,” and accused him of being childish for thinking that his "stupid little dream" was real. She demanded he start acting like "herself."

Orion retreated into himself, the anger giving way to despair and dread. Jessica had deadnamed him, called him a girl. She didn’t believe him. All this time, she had only been pretending to support him. Those thoughts swirled in his head as he silently cried into his pillow.

The house fell silent. Jessica, ashamed of what she had said, didn’t know how to make things right.

Orion stopped talking. He started to wonder if this was, in fact, the real world and Mikhail’s life had been the dream. It had seemed real to him. He thought he could usually tell when a dream was fake once he woke up—the way they skipped around, how logic sometimes faltered, how information would just appear from nowhere. But Mikhail’s life had felt solid, grounded. Maybe this was the dream. But no—everything here felt too consistent, too coherent. His thoughts spiraled, and he felt more confused than ever.

This went on for a week, with a very confused Mary-Jane in the middle, until Jessica finally apologized.

“Orion,” she said one evening, standing in his doorway. He looked up from his book, expression blank. He had seen her pause there for a moment before she spoke.

“I wanted to say, I’m sorry. For what I said last week, and for trying to force you back into being how you were before. I’m just… I’m having a hard time realizing you’re not my little girl anymore—you’re my son. And I don’t have Richie here to help. It’s just… I… It’s hard for me to understand, and I’m trying, I really am. But I’m going to fail sometimes, and I’ll wish for it to go back to when things were easier. Last week was one of those times. And it was a pretty big fail.” She hesitated, then sat down by his legs. “To try and make up for it, I’ve arranged for you to be tested again. You can skip any grade level you pass, I promise. I just… I want to make things better. I know I hurt you, and I failed you, but I’m trying to do better.”

Orion was stunned. He hadn’t expected this. Adults rarely apologized to kids, let alone so sincerely. This wasn’t a hollow promise or a plea to forget the fight—this was a genuine apology.

‘Holy shitake mushrooms! She actually apologized!’ he thought, barely able to process it.

“Would you like that still?” Jessica asked, her voice uncertain. She had waited for a response, and the silence was making her nervous.

And that’s when Orion’s trust in her solidified. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I’d still really like that. Mom.”

Tears flowed that night as they both began to truly build a better relationship.

---

Orion managed to score at a senior level on average in his placement tests. Math came in at the 10th-grade level, while Science, Reading, and English were all at the 12th-grade level. That felt about right to him—math had always sucked in school, and he was much better at it when it aligned with his interests.

After discussing his results with his mom and the school, Orion decided it was best to take classes according to his abilities, rather than sticking to a single grade level. For subjects where he scored high, he was placed in advanced classes, while for math, he remained at the 10th-grade level. His homeroom was with the freshmen, though. Fortunately, he was mostly excused from gym class—thank the gods—due to his smaller size compared to the other kids. Instead, he was allowed to run the track, usually with earphones in. When it came to fulfilling the language requirement, he chose Spanish, figuring it would be easier since he had already studied it before.

The art requirement, however, turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Because he was considered younger and less experienced, the school held him to a lower standard. His shaky art, which might have been a nightmare in a more demanding setting, actually turned out fine and even enjoyable.

---

Five years after Orion woke up from the coma, the pandemic struck. Thankfully, by then, he had already achieved several key milestones. He had top surgery when he turned 18 and had been on testosterone since he was 17. He graduated high school at 16, taking online college classes afterward to cover general education requirements.

During this time, Orion also found ways to make money, landing a few jobs that allowed him to indulge in his interests. He bought entire manga sets, DVDs, and his own phone, iPod, iPad, and laptop. Art supplies were generously gifted to him by his family over the years, particularly during Christmas, leaving him with an abundant stock. Uncle Tyler had even gifted him the Harry Potter series, which Orion appreciated as part of building his own library.

Chapter Text

To be fair, Orion still hadn’t figured out which world was the real one. He had eventually settled on some messed-up version of rebirth. That theory felt even more twisted when he saw zombies on TV.

He had just turned 20 and was watching the news when he first noticed. The anchors didn’t even seem to know the word zombie. They were talking about a strange virus making people extremely aggressive, but the video clips they played showed unmistakable scenes of shambling, mindless corpses. Orion couldn’t believe they didn’t get it.

Within a week, the Z’s—his term for them—spread around the world. Another week passed, and people started to worry. Then came curfews. Schools closed. Military occupation. And then… they were gone.

Orion, being the resourceful 20-year-old he was, had stockpiled a ton of canned food, water, and survival books the moment he saw the first signs of zombies. He used the money he’d been saving for a house, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu as he prepared. He and his mom watched as the world unraveled around them.

A week after the schools closed, Jessica—like everyone else with a non-essential job—was forced to stay home. During those first weeks of military occupation, things were tense but manageable. They heard gunshots every night, but after a while, the rhythm of them became oddly reassuring. It meant someone was still fighting, that they were safe—for now.

But then the shooting slowed. The bursts of gunfire blurred together, becoming one endless noise for two straight days. Then, suddenly, it almost stopped altogether. Just like that, most of Atlanta was gone.

Orion and Jessica had started rationing their food when the military arrived, knowing that grocery runs would soon become impossible. Now they were running out, and both knew it. Orion was terrified. After everything he had gone through, just as his new life was finally becoming something good, everything was falling apart again.

“Hey, baby, look at me,” his mom said, gently holding his face. “I have to go out and get us some food. We’re running low, okay?”

“Mom, you can’t go out there alone, it’s crazy out there!” Orion protested, panic creeping into his voice.

“Shhhh, Orion, I know. But I have to. We need more food, and I need to find the best way out of the city. I couldn’t do it if I knew you were in danger.”

“But—”

“I know, I don’t like it either, but I have to keep you safe. You have to promise me you understand. Please.”

His protests faltered as he saw the determination in her eyes. “I’ll bring the food back here first, and then I’ll head back out to find a way out. I won’t be gone no more than three days, I promise. No matter what, I’ll come back for you. We’ll get out of here soon, okay? Go pack us some stuff. Make sure it’s light. I love you, no matter what, my beautiful boy.”

“I love you too, Mom,” Orion replied, his voice cracking.

With that, she kissed his head, her tears mixing with his as she left the safety of the townhouse. Neither of them knew if they’d ever see each other again.

---

After a day of preparing, Orion had packed everything he could think of into two bags. His dad's knives, a camping backpack, medicine, first aid kits, and a spare pair of clothes. He even put on the silver locket Jessica had given him. It was a feminine piece, but it was from her grandma and held a picture of Jessica and him from the day he had made his first binder and tried it on. The food went into a third backpack—beef jerky, granola bars, oats, a few cans of soup, a can opener, and water bottles, both disposable and reusable. And then it became a waiting game.

It took another day before Jessica returned. She had only managed to find a few cans of corn and beans. As planned, she stayed the night, sharing a full meal with Orion. The next day, with another tearful goodbye, she headed out again, promising to be back in a day.

But that day came and went. Orion started to worry. By the third day of nothing, he was debating whether he should go after her. Three more days passed in the same manner—still no sign of Jessica. After a week, with food running dangerously low and the corn and beans already gone, Orion knew he had to leave. But the thought of abandoning the safety of home—and the slim hope of seeing his mom again if she returned—was paralyzing. It took two more days before he finally forced himself to pack up and leave, tears streaking down his face as his silent goodbye.

Ironically, that same day, a cowboy sheriff seemed to arrive.

---

Orion started out cautiously, refitting everything to suit his solo journey. He packed only the essentials: two canteens, his medication, boxers, socks, jerky, and granola bars. He was smart about it, having taken a map of Atlanta from the library after the first news of the virus. Using it as a guide, he began heading north toward I-85.

It was only about 30 minutes in when he started seeing more zombies and taller buildings. From there, he stuck to the alleys, navigating slowly but surely toward the highway.

That’s when he found it—an abandoned, fully stocked camper with solar panels. After carefully checking to make sure it was clear of walkers and people, he decided to use it to travel faster. He even drove back home to grab some of the less essential items before setting out again along with the cans of food he couldn’t carry on him, scavenging through cars along the way.

It wasn’t long past noon when he heard gunshots—five of them, coming from a few streets up ahead. One of those larger roads. His heart pounded as he instinctively moved in that direction, his mind screaming that it could be his mom. As he got closer, the grotesque sounds of zombies filled the air—grumbles, moans, the sickening stench.

He parked the camper a couple of alleys away, locking it and pocketing the keys with a promise to return. Looking around for a safer route, he spotted a ladder leading to the roof of a nearby building. He was only three-quarters of the way up when more shots rang out, closer now, too many to count. Whatever was chasing that person was getting closer, and Orion wasn’t about to let them make a meal out of him. He climbed faster.

Reaching the top, he spotted two men running down the alley below. One was in a cop uniform, the other in a white tee and jeans.

Orion felt a mix of emotions. Relief to see other survivors, yes—but disappointment, too. It wasn’t his mom.

The men hadn’t noticed him, too focused on the horde below. As they reached the landing, Orion shouted down, “Hey! You idiots are too loud! You’ve called the whole city to this street!”

Both men jumped, startled, finally noticing him perched above.

“Who the fuck are you, Dude?” The man in the white tee demanded.

“Sorry about that,” The cop said, looking up in confusion.

“You coming up or what? The Z’s are gathering down there!” Orion yelled, pointing at the alley below.

They exchanged a quick glance before climbing the second ladder, both panting from the climb and the relentless sun.

“So,” Orion said as they reached the roof, “My name’s Orion. Who are you two?”

---

As Orion looked at the two men, something about them seemed oddly familiar. The guy in the white tee, of Asian descent, looked young—maybe in his twenties. The cop was white, probably in his mid-thirties, and both were sweaty and dirty, much like Orion himself. White Tee especially looked exhausted.

“I’m Rick, Rick Grimes, kiddo,” said the cop, his southern drawl making Orion instantly wary.

Orion turned to White Tee. “Glenn,” the man huffed out, still catching his breath.

Orion stared at them both, eyes wide as the pieces clicked into place. ‘There’s no fucking way!’ If he had doubts that this was a dream before, they were obliterated now. He knew exactly why they looked vaguely familiar. ‘He was in The Walking Dead!’

“Well… fuck,” Orion muttered.

“You gonna keep swearing, little boy?” Rick asked, frowning slightly.

Orion, now fully aware of where he was—and who he was with—felt his frustration boil over. His mom was missing, he was stuck in a zombie apocalypse, and now Rick Grimes was practically infantilizing him. It was too much.

“First of all, I am not a little boy! I am a fucking man, alright? And second, I can swear as much as I fucking want to when the world has fucking ended and people are getting eaten by fucking zombies!” Orion’s voice rose to a shout, his words echoing off the nearby buildings.

“Jesus, kid, he didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s table the discussion for later and get to a safer place. Both of you, follow me,” Glenn cut in before Rick could respond.

Glenn led the way, with Rick following, while Orion trailed behind, stewing in his emotions. As they moved from rooftop to rooftop, Orion could hear the two men talking but tuned them out. His mind was reeling. ‘This isn’t just some random apocalypse—this is a fucking TV show. And now I have to survive it.’

Orion had been a big fan of “The Walking Dead” but hadn’t watched much beyond the prison arc, and that was over a year ago. Who expects to end up in a TV show? The only things he could remember were that Norman Reedus is hot, Lori was a Karen, Shane stirred shit up and died, kids died too, Glenn’s brutal death, and that The Governor and Negan were trouble. Not much to go on in a world like this.

His thoughts were interrupted when they stopped and headed down a ladder. They moved through a building and out the back door, down some steps. Glenn pulled out a walkie-talkie and spoke into it, “I’m back. Got two guests. Plus four geeks in the alley.”

As they descended the stairs, two zombies stumbled toward them. The door on the other side of the alley burst open, and two people in black sports padding, wielding baseball bats, rushed out. They quickly dispatched the zombies while Orion, Glenn, and Rick ran past them into the building.

---

To say the people inside weren’t happy to see Rick was an understatement. Orion was slightly more welcomed because he was perceived as a ‘kid,’ but the group wasn’t thrilled with either newcomer. The moment they stepped inside, a woman—who they quickly learned was Andrea—shoved a gun in Rick’s face. She was furious, claiming they had doomed them all by drawing the walkers (as they called them) to their location.

Orion remained calm, knowing Rick wouldn’t die—he was the main character, after all. But the tension in the room was palpable.

After Glenn explained things, it became clear: Rick was the dumbass who had fired off rounds, while Orion was the boy found on the roof. Glenn had carefully emphasized “man” and looked to Orion for approval, which earned him a nod.

Just as they were beginning to understand the dire situation, Merle Dixon decided to make things worse. Memories of the show were flooding back to Orion now that he was seeing familiar faces and situations. He remembered Merle as a xenophobic arsehole who, despite his many faults, cared deeply for his brother. Orion wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting him.

But that didn’t stop him from running up the stairs with everyone else to see what the commotion was. Arriving slightly after the others, Orion quickly saw enough to confirm that Merle Dixon was as terrible as he remembered.

When Rick finally cuffed Merle, Orion saw his chance. He approached Rick for a ‘comfort’ hug—not that he needed one, but he needed the key. And the key he got.

After the hug, Rick crouched down to Orion’s level—Orion was only 5’0”—and said, “Look, I know we didn’t get off to a good start, and I’m sorry for that. But I have a son about your age, and I wouldn’t want anything happening to him. So I won’t let anything happen to you. Got it?”

Orion nodded, the key safely in his hand. “Good,” Rick continued. “Now let’s go find a way out of here.”

Rick moved off toward the others by the ledge, while Orion sat down on some pipes, staring intently at Merle. He listened as they discussed the camp outside the city, only to have Merle ruin the conversation by objectifying Andrea.

Orion had enough.

“Shut up. You’re a bloody arsehole, you’d make milk curdle just talking to it for five minutes. Merlin's beard, it’s a wonder you haven’t died yet with your... welcoming personality.”

The group looked at him, a mix of reactions—some were surprised, others were annoyed. Andrea began to say it wasn’t necessary, but Merle interrupted, “Now, li’l fairy, wha’ the fuck do ya think you’re sayin’ to ol’ Merle? I oughta teach ya some good ol’ manners once I get outta these.”

“Go ahead and fucking try! I’d like to see you beat a child and see what they do to you! No one bloody likes your personality, so shut up and show some respect—they’re the ones who get to decide if you stay—hmrmhrhm,” Orion’s rant was cut off by a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Ow! What the fuck! You bit me!” Rick exclaimed.

“You touched me without permission!” Orion shot back.

“I needed you to be quiet!”

“You could have said something!”

“We did, but you weren’t listening,” Glenn interjected.

Orion looked around at everyone staring at him, then turned back to Rick. “Can’t say it won’t happen again if you touch me without permission,” he said, with a defiant glare.

Rick raised his arms in surrender. “Noted.”

Orion fell silent, listening as the rest went back to planning their escape through the sewers. Meanwhile, he and Merle exchanged glares, both silently daring the other to make the next move.

---

Right now, it was just T-Dog, Merle, and Orion left on the roof. The rest of the group had gone to explore the sewers, leaving T-Dog to keep trying the radio while Orion lingered, still undecided about what to do with Merle.

“Hello? Anybody read? I’m hoping to hear somebody’s voice ‘cause I’m gettin’ sick and tired of hearin’ mine,” T-Dog said into the radio, his tone a mix of desperation and frustration.

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Merle sneered, leaning back against the pipes, the cuffs clinking against the metal. He winced slightly but continued, “Why don’t you knock that crap off? You’re givin’ me a headache, boy.”

Orion glanced at T-Dog, who seemed to take the insult in stride, his expression hardening as he shot back, “Why don’t you pull your head outta your ass? Maybe your headache will go away.”

Orion smirked at T-Dog’s comeback, appreciating the man’s resilience. Merle, as usual, didn’t take the hint. He tried to bargain with T-Dog, offering vague promises in exchange for being let out of the cuffs. The words dripped with false sincerity, a weak attempt to mask the simmering racism that lay beneath. When Merle dropped the n-word, Orion felt his hand twitch toward his pocket, where the key lay. The urge to shut Merle up—permanently—was strong, but he kept it in check. Just barely.

Orion’s thoughts were interrupted when the rest of the group returned. The sewers were a bust, they said, and the walkers had already broken through the first set of doors. Rick and the others rushed to the ledge, scanning the streets below for any opening, any chance to escape.

Knowing they would have to leave soon, Orion headed downstairs into the store to grab some clean clothes. His last pair was already well past due for a wash, and he hadn’t brought much with him—just socks, boxers, and his STP. He knew the group was heading to their camp outside the city, and he needed to be prepared.

In the store, he moved quickly, scanning the aisles with practiced efficiency. He grabbed a pack of underwear that looked close enough to his size and tossed it into a tactical backpack he’d found. The pack was sturdy, dark camo, and clearly brand new—a remnant of a life interrupted when the apocalypse hit. He stuffed five more of the backpacks into the first one, thinking they might come in handy later.

Orion searched the racks for another cotton shirt but had to settle for linen when he found none in his size. He grabbed the smallest pair of jeans he could find, along with a belt, and headed to the counter. There, he found a pair of scissors and cut the jeans to fit better at the ankles. After army-folding them, he tucked the clothes into his new bag.

On his way back up, Orion stopped by the sporting goods section. The variety of bats on display was surprising—he hadn’t realized there were so many types. He settled on a Louisville Slugger, the only one he recognized, thanks to a Carrie Underwood song that had stuck with him. The bat felt solid in his hands, a comforting weight as he swung it experimentally. Satisfied, he made his way back up to the roof.

The group was still gathered by the ledge, deep in conversation. Orion could tell from the snippets he overheard that they were discussing smells—specifically, using the stench of the walkers to their advantage. Knowing where this was headed, Orion decided to stay on the roof with Merle. No way was he volunteering to be the one to test the theory.

It hadn’t even been five minutes before Merle started whistling. The sharp, grating sound cut through the heavy air, setting Orion’s teeth on edge. He bit back his irritation and let it be—for now.

---

“What about Merle?” T-Dog asked Rick, glancing over at the man still cuffed to the pipes.

Rick reached into his pocket, searching for the key. His frown deepened as his fingers came up empty. He could’ve sworn he’d put it in there. ‘It must’ve fallen out in the street,’ he reasoned. Rick patted his shirt pocket, relieved to find the spare key. He pulled it out and tossed it to T-Dog.

---

A few moments later, the rest of the group, minus Rick and Glenn, rushed onto the roof, peering through binoculars to spot the pair on the streets below. Merle huffed impatiently, demanding to know what was going on. When they finally spotted Rick and Glenn, Merle’s expression twisted with anger.

“That asshole’s out on the street with the handcuff keys?” he growled, the veins in his neck bulging with rage.

T-Dog held up the spare key, silencing Merle for the moment. Orion, confused, double-checked that he still had the original key in his pocket. ‘So there were two,’ he realized, his grip tightening on the cold metal. Merle, now subdued, seemed to recognize that his fate was in the hands of those he had spent a lifetime looking down on.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, the ominous sound echoing across the rooftops. It felt like a bad omen, a warning of the storm—both literal and metaphorical—about to break. The group settled in, waiting for their chance to escape, while Orion sat back, his mind racing with the possibilities of what was to come.

Chapter Text

Everyone was on edge, waiting for the go-ahead on the roof when they suddenly heard a car horn blaring in the distance. It started far off but grew louder as it approached, sending a fresh wave of tension through the group.

Glenn’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “Those roll-up doors at the front of the store facing the street—meet us there and be ready.”

The group sprang into action, grabbing their bags and rushing towards the exit. That’s when Merle, still cuffed to the pipe, began shouting and struggling, furious at the prospect of being left behind. T-Dog hesitated, the weight of the decision clear on his face. He turned back to free Merle but tripped, dropping the key. It clattered down a drain, disappearing into the darkness below.

Panic surged through T-Dog. He rushed out, yelling back an apology as Merle cursed him with every foul word he knew. T-Dog quickly locked the door with a chain and bolted down the stairs with the others, Merle’s furious shouts echoing through the building.

Orion had watched the entire scene unfold from his semi-hidden spot. His heart raced as he weighed his options. He had a plan—a risky, probably stupid plan—but he couldn’t just leave someone behind, even if that someone was Merle Dixon. It was a bitch of a decision, one he was pretty sure he’d regret, but it was the right thing to do. At least, he hoped so.

When Merle finally ran out of steam, collapsing in a defeated heap, Orion stepped out of the shadows.

“You gonna bitch and moan some more, or do you want me to let you loose?” Orion asked, holding up the spare key.

Merle’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Orion. “Well, ain’t this a surprise, li’l fairy.”

“Yeah, well, as much as I dislike you, I’m not about to leave behind someone who can shoot a gun and fight in this hellscape,” Orion said, kneeling next to him. He fixed Merle with a hard stare. “But if you try anything, I’ll knee you in the balls, pluck out your eyes, and leave you to the crows.”

Merle grinned, though there was no humor in it. “Well, ain’t ya just sunshine and rainbows—”

Orion cut him off, pausing with the key in the lock. “If you want me to let you out, shut up for five fucking minutes.”

Merle’s grin widened. “Start the watch, ‘cause m’ready to be free, fairy boy.”

Orion finished unlocking the cuffs and stepped back quickly, giving Merle space to stand. To his surprise, Merle kept quiet, rubbing his sore wrists as he got to his feet. A moment later, they heard the unmistakable sound of walkers pounding against the door below, the wood rattling under the pressure.

“Aw, shit!” Orion cursed. He grabbed a hammer from the toolkit T-Dog had knocked over earlier and approached the door. With a resigned sigh, he swung the hammer down on the walkers’ heads as they pushed through, splattering blood everywhere. The stench of decay filled the air as the undead bodies slumped to the ground.

Orion wiped some of the blood off his face and glanced over at Merle, who was watching him with a curious expression. Merle, ever the provocateur, mimed zipping his lips, his eyebrows raised in mock innocence.

Orion sighed, too exhausted to argue. “I have a bat and a hammer. I need to change now. If you look at me while I’m doing it, I’ll assume you’re a pedo and kill you. Got it?”

Merle nodded, surprisingly obedient. “Got it.”

Orion turned his back on Merle and quickly changed into his spare clothes, stuffing the bloody ones into a zip-up toolkit bag. Once he was done, he gave Merle the all-clear. They stood there in silence for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Merle was the first to speak. “Look, kid, I can get us outta here, but you’re gonna need to listen to me. And I ain’t gonna be fuckin’ silent, caterin’ to your poor childish emotions, capiche?”

Orion stared at him, considering the man’s words. Merle was a lot of things—most of them bad—but he wasn’t wrong about their current situation. “Capiche… Now get us outta here, G.I. Joe.”

---

Meanwhile, the truck rumbled down the highway, heading back to the camp. It wasn’t long before they realized Merle was missing. T-Dog confessed, shamefaced, that he had accidentally dropped the key down the drain. Andrea, concerned, asked where Glenn was. Rick explained that Glenn was still trying to get back with the guns. Andrea looked around, feeling uneasy, like they were forgetting something.

It wasn’t until Rick hugged Carl tight that she realized what was wrong. Her eyes widened in horror. “We forgot Orion!” she exclaimed, panic rising in her voice.

The group fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them like a shroud. They debated their next move, but with nightfall approaching and the walkers becoming harder to spot in the dark, they couldn’t risk going back now. They’d have to wait until morning—until Daryl returned—before they could try to retrieve Merle, Orion, and the guns.

The realization that they’d left a kid behind gnawed at them all, but there was nothing they could do. Not tonight.

---

“Alright now, give me the hammer. I’mma smash the winda’ and we’ll be climbin’ down these stairs,” Merle said, pointing towards the fire escape.

Orion, knowing the group would return for the guns and Merle, shook his head. “No, we gotta get to where Rick—Officer Friendly—went down by the tank. He dropped some guns over there. I’m sure they’ll be coming back for them soon. So, we grab the guns, stay in this kitchen till tomorrow. I’ve got some food in my bag—I’ll even share with your bloody arse. That sound like a better plan?”

Merle raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a sneer. “Well, ain’t you just lil’ miss know-it-all. I wonder what you needed ol’ Merle for in the first place.”

Orion huffed, irritation flaring. “First of all, I do too need you. Second, my name is Orion. I may not look it, but I’m 5’0, 100 pounds of anger, and a fucking man! I don’t appreciate being called a child. Now, I just offered you some food, kindly, out of the goodness of my little fairy boy heart, so say your bloody thank-yous and let’s go get those guns.”

Merle chuckled darkly. “Damn, lotta anger for a li’l pipsqueak. Thank-a-you for the food, fairy. Now mush on, li’l boy, we gotta get us some guns.”

The journey to the guns and then back to the kitchen was a nightmare, with Merle’s constant needling and snide comments making Orion curse his decision to free him. By the time they had set up camp and gotten as comfortable as one could in the apocalypse, Orion was exhausted and mentally drained. He couldn’t wait for Rick to come back and take this burden off his hands.

Night fell, and the kitchen was quiet except for the occasional groan of walkers outside. Merle had taken the floor, sprawled out like he owned the place, while Orion leaned against the wall, trying to get some rest.

“So…wanna play cards?” Orion asked, breaking the silence.

Merle shrugged, half-interested. “Ain’t got nothin’ better to do. What’re we playin’?”

“I was thinking blackjack, or fives, or maybe nickels?”

“Let’s go with nickels.”

Orion set up the game on the floor, using a dry-erase marker he’d found to keep score. They played for a while, with Orion intentionally keeping his score low to avoid suspicion. But by round seven, Merle managed to win a hand without picking up any cards, leaving Orion in a tough spot. The final score after thirteen rounds was 123 to 207, with Orion on the losing end. Despite his irritation, they continued playing, the game gradually shifting into a conversation filled with stories instead of strategy.

“Yeah, I don’t remember anything before the age of fifteen,” Orion said, trying to keep the mood light. “In the dream, when I was in the coma, my name was Mikhail. It took me a while to get used to a new name. Apparently, my dad was really into wrestling and named me after Lennox Lewis, but my mom didn’t like it, so she changed the ending to ‘nie.’ They used to call me Len, but it was too weird, so now I go by Orion…What about you? Where’d you grow up?”

Merle leaned back, a shadow crossing his face. “Now, li’l fairy boy, I ain’t gonna give ya my sob story of a childhood. Ain’t need no sympathy from ya.”

“Oh, okay then, didn’t mean to step on your twinkle toes,” Orion replied, brushing off the slight. “So, G.I. Joe, got any good army stories?”

They passed the time talking like that, with Orion gradually warming up to Merle despite knowing better. The man was a xenophobe, no denying it, but for now, they sat in an uneasy camaraderie, waiting for the group to come back.

When it got dark, and they settled down to try and sleep, Orion asked hesitantly, “Could you teach me? Army moves, could you teach me?”

Merle snorted. “Now why would I wanna do that, pipsqueak? Ain’t nothin’ there for Merle to get.”

Orion sighed, choosing his words carefully. “I already saved you, so you owe me. I need to learn to survive out here, and it could be repayment for not leaving you behind. Fair’s fair. I kept you alive; you help keep me alive by teaching me. Simple trade.”

Merle considered this in silence for a moment before shrugging. “Maybe…or I could just let ya die. I don’t have nothin’ holdin’ me back.”

Orion pressed on, sensing he was close to winning him over. “But I’m an adult, I need the help, and you can help me. Do you really want to leave me to the abuses of the world like this? Please.”

After a long pause, Merle finally caved, grumbling something about showing him a few moves tomorrow.

The next day, true to his word, Merle began teaching Orion some basic self-defense techniques. Things were going surprisingly well until Merle noticed something off during the lesson. When it clicked that Orion wasn’t born in a boy’s body, all hell broke loose. Merle started cursing him out, but Orion, not one to back down, kneed him in the balls and threatened to stab him with a plastic fork he’d found on the floor if he didn’t cut the shit.

Merle wasn’t thrilled, but Orion named the fork "Ally-Maker" in ironic triumph. They continued the lessons, though with more frequent interruptions—Orion stabbing Merle with the fork, Merle pulling Orion’s hair in revenge, and more than a few painful kicks to the groin. Despite the tension, they were bonding in their own messed-up way.

By midday, they heard the rattle of a chain and a voice calling out to Merle.

“Well, if it ain’t Darylena, Officer Friendly, China-man, and-,” Merle started, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“-Shut the fuck up, Merle. They came back for you, just be happy. At least now you don’t have to listen to my fairy ass voice anymore—you were just complaining about it not even an hour ago,” Orion shot back before anyone else could.

Glenn, Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl—who looked exactly like Norman Reedus, much to Orion’s inward glee—appeared on the roof. Daryl rushed over to bear-hug his brother while the others lingered, taking in the scene.

“We were fine,” Orion explained. “I picked the lock when I saw T-Dog trip and drop the key down the drain. By the time I got him uncuffed, you guys had driven off.”

Merle glanced at him, squinting slightly before turning back to the group. “We also got a mighty fine black bag of guns with us today. Seems li’l fairy here remembered where ya dropped them, Officer.”

“That definitely makes our job easier,” Rick said, visibly relieved.

“We cleared out the building, so all we need to do is head to the truck,” Glenn added.

“Cool, but if you cleared the building, I need some spare clothes,” Orion replied. “My other ones are stained in walker guts. We could probably loot what’s left as well. Oh, and we should pick up my camper!”

He pointed to the door, where several walkers lay with their heads caved in, blood and brains oozing out onto the floor.

---

As they made their way back, Glenn, T-Dog, and Rick drove the box truck filled with supplies, while Daryl and Merle joined Orion in his camper.

Merle, as usual, talked nonstop, filling the space with his crude humor and stories. Orion, on the other hand, was quietly studying Daryl—Daryl, who looked way too old for him but was undeniably hot. Orion cursed his young body for the umpteenth time. Being mentally 28 didn’t count when you were stuck in a 20-year-old’s body.

Chapter Text

Orion is no idiot, but he’s sometimes slow on the uptake—his struggles in math class are proof of that. So, you couldn’t really blame him when he met Amy, Andrea’s sister, and nearly had a heart attack from the realization of what had happened in the TV show and, more importantly, what was going to happen. The memory hit him like a ton of bricks.

At first, it didn’t click. Orion isn’t omnipotent; he didn’t immediately recognize Andrea as a main character—kinda. But seeing a main character’s sibling, someone he didn’t remember at all, had been a shock. He stood there in dumb silence, trying to place Amy’s face in the jumbled mess of memories he had from the show. Then it hit him—‘she died’.

The realization sent him spiraling into a frantic mental exercise. ‘How did she die?’ He couldn’t quite remember the specifics. It had been years since he’d watched “The Walking Dead” as Mikhail, and he’d been Orion for fiveish years now. The details were fuzzy at best.

He tried to focus on Amy, but that got him nowhere fast. So, he began retracing the show’s plot in his mind, piecing together the fragments of what he could remember.

‘Rick gets shot. Rick meets a man and his son in town. Rick heads to Atlanta. Rick causes a horde. Merle gets left behind and chops off his hand. Rick comes to the quarry and sees his family…’

That was as far as he got before the sequence of events became muddled. There were too many gaps, too many details he couldn’t quite pin down.

‘They leave the quarry…Go to the CDC? Shane does something? Something blows up? A child disappears…Go to a farm? Carl gets shot?’

The questions crowded his mind, making it hard to focus. Orion knew something bad happened at the quarry—probably a walker attack—that forced them to leave. But the specifics were lost in a haze of uncertainty.

‘Did a horde show up? Were most of the people killed?’ he wondered. ‘Was that why I didn’t recognize many of them?’

The only characters he could clearly remember were the ones he had already met: T-Dog, Daryl, Merle, Glenn, Rick, and Shane—though he’d nearly forgotten about Shane and Lori entirely. Lori, Carl, Andrea…and maybe Morales and Jacqui from the department store raid. But beyond that, his memory was a patchwork of vague recollections and half-remembered scenes.

This sudden realization had hit Orion while he was still stuck in the camper with Merle, of all people.

---

Orion stared at Daryl, trying his best to keep a neutral expression. He thought he was doing a pretty good job until Merle nudged him with a sharp elbow and said, “Quit glarin’ at ma brother, Fairy.”

“I’m not glaring,” Orion shot back, rolling his eyes. “I just have a resting bitch face. Besides, I was just staring because this is supposed to be your brother, right? Certainly doesn’t act like an arsehole.” He turned to Merle, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “I think I prefer him to you, arsehole.”

Daryl, who had been quietly observing the exchange, looked slightly confused, his gaze flicking between his brother and Orion. Merle, never one to let a jibe slide, drawled, “Oh, is that right, Fairy? Maybe I won’ be teachin’ you any more basic hand-to-hand then.”

Orion didn’t miss a beat. “Now that’s rude. Maybe I’ll get Daryl to teach me instead. He seems like the kind of guy who wouldn’t throw a hissy fit if I landed a hit on him.” He turned to Daryl with a smirk. “So, what do you say? Willing to be a better teacher than your arsehole brother? You seem less likely to lose it if I get the upper hand.”

“T’was a cheap shot and ya know it!” Merle growled, his voice dripping with mock offense.

Orion just shrugged, not backing down. “We’re literally in an apocalypse, Merle. You expect me to fight fairly? Besides, I could name plenty of times when you pulled a cheap trick. I’m younger than you, I just follow the example I’m given.”

By this point, the banter had drawn the attention of others, who were grinning at the back-and-forth between the two of them. Daryl, for his part, looked like he was still processing the fact that his older brother was actually engaging in what seemed like playful banter, a far cry from Merle’s usual abrasive nature.

“Hmh, sure darlin’, that’s what you say. We’ll see when we get back to camp,” Merle grumbled, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at his lips, letting Orion know that their lessons would continue. Orion smiled back, satisfied with the small victory.

He turned back to Daryl, his curiosity piqued. “So, what about you?”

Daryl blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Wha’ about me?”

“Are you gonna teach me?” Orion asked, his tone more serious now. “I’m 20. If I want to survive out here, I need to learn all I can. Knowing how to hunt would be a good start. Your brother says you have a crossbow. Could you teach me?”

Daryl opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Merle’s voice cut through the moment. “Hold up! We’re here.”

Orion turned to see the familiar sight of the quarry, a mix of relief and anxiety settling in his stomach. He knew what was coming next, or at least, he thought he did.

---

When they arrived at the camp, Orion quickly scanned the area, his mind still racing with fragmented memories. There were familiar faces, but more unfamiliar ones, and he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that some of these people wouldn’t be around for long.

They hadn’t even finished unpacking when he spotted Andrea and Amy talking near one of the tents. His stomach twisted in knots as he remembered what he’d pieced together earlier.

‘Amy’s going to die.’ The realization weighed on him, making it hard to focus on anything else.

“Orion!” Merle’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Quit standin’ there like a damn statue and give me a hand.”

Orion reluctantly tore his gaze away from Andrea and Amy, pushing his dread to the back of his mind. ‘I can’t change the past,’ he reminded himself. ‘But maybe I can do something different now.’

As they unpacked, Merle kept up his usual stream of commentary, alternating between crude jokes and grumbling about the “sorry state” of the camp. Orion found himself half-listening, still preoccupied with his earlier thoughts.

Once everything was settled, the group gathered around the campfire. It was the first time in what felt like ages that Orion felt a semblance of normalcy—sitting with others, talking, laughing, even if the laughter was tinged with weariness and fear.

“So, you gonna teach me or not?” Orion asked Daryl again, more determined this time. “If I’m gonna survive, I need to learn to hunt.”

Daryl hesitated, glancing at Merle, who was busy exchanging crude remarks with T-Dog. Finally, he nodded, though it was more to himself than to Orion. “Yeah… I’ll teach ya. Ain’t no use in lettin’ ya die out here.”

Orion felt a small surge of relief. “Thanks, Daryl.”

Before the conversation could go any further, a commotion from the other side of the camp caught their attention. Someone had spotted something—probably a walker in the distance. The group sprang into action, tension rippling through the camp like an electric current.

Orion moved with the others, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Amy and what was likely to come. His newfound sense of control over his situation was already starting to slip.

---

As the night wore on, and they finally settled back into the camper, Orion couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in his mind. Daryl, who had been quiet during the drive, finally spoke up. “You asked ‘bout teachin’. I’ll show ya how to hunt tomorrow. But listen… I ain’t gonna be easy on ya. We do this, ya follow ma rules, got it?”

Orion nodded, feeling more grounded with a plan in place. “Got it.”

As they lay down to sleep, Orion stared at the camper’s ceiling, trying to recall more details from the show, wondering if he could change anything—if he should even try. He had to survive, but at what cost? The faces of those around him, both familiar and not, flashed through his mind, and he knew one thing for certain: things were going to get worse before they got better.

---

After settling in at the camp, Orion found himself needing a break from the relentless worry gnawing at him. The realization about Amy’s fate still lingered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside for the moment. He needed to focus on the present and, for now, that meant helping out with something a little less life-threatening.

As he tinkered with the small TV and DVD player in his camper, an idea formed. The kids were restless, and there wasn’t much to keep them occupied in a camp surrounded by the looming threat of walkers. Movies—he had a few good ones that he’d managed to salvage from before everything went to hell. Maybe it could be a small escape, even if just for a couple of hours.

Orion stepped out of the camper, scanning the camp until his eyes landed on Amy, who was near the children. She was talking softly to Carl and Sophia, trying to keep their spirits up. Carl looked particularly down, likely missing his dad, who was out on a supply run.

“Hey, Amy,” Orion called out as he approached. She looked up, a small, tired smile on her face. “I’ve got a working DVD player in my camper. Thought maybe the kids could use a break, watch a few movies. What do you think?”

Amy’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. “That sounds great, Orion. I’m sure they could all use something to take their minds off things for a bit.” She looked around at the children gathered nearby—Carl, Sophia, and the others. “What movies do you have?”

Orion rattled off the titles. “I’ve got “Treasure Planet”, “The Hobbit”, “Harry Potter”, “Ponyo”, and “Kung Fu Panda”. Figured we could start with whichever one the kids want and go from there.”

“That sounds perfect,” Amy replied, her smile widening. “I’ll keep an eye on them while they watch.”

Orion nodded, grateful for her help. “Thanks, Amy. I’ll get everything set up.”

Amy rounded up the kids—Carl, Sophia, Eliza, Louis, Levi, Annabell, and Robbie—calling them over to the camper. There was a bit of excitement in the air as they followed her, eager for a distraction from the constant tension that hung over the camp.

Orion opened the camper door wide, ushering them inside. The interior was cramped, but cozy, with a few cushions and blankets spread out on the floor. The small TV was set up on a makeshift stand, and the DVD player sat beneath it, already plugged in and ready to go.

“Alright, kids,” Orion said, holding up the DVD cases. “What’ll it be? We’ve got "Treasure Planet", "The Hobbit", "Harry Potter", "Ponyo", and "Kung Fu Panda". Who’s got a preference?”

The kids crowded around, eyes wide as they took in the options. Carl was the first to speak up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the "Harry Potter" case. “Harry Potter! Can we watch that?”

Sophia and Eliza nodded eagerly, while Louis and Robbie seemed more interested in "Kung Fu Panda". Levi, a quiet boy who rarely spoke, glanced shyly at the "Ponyo" case but didn’t say anything. Annabell, the youngest, looked at "The Hobbit" with curious eyes.

Amy, noticing the mixed reactions, crouched down to their level. “How about we start with "Harry Potter",” she suggested gently. “And then we can vote on the next one. Does that sound good?”

There were a few murmurs of agreement, and Orion nodded, sliding the "Harry Potter" DVD into the player. “Sounds like a plan. We’ll get through as many as we can, alright?”

The kids settled in, finding spots on the cushions and blankets, while Amy took a seat near the back to keep an eye on them. Orion double-checked the player and then dimmed the lights in the camper, giving the space a cozy, theater-like feel.

As the familiar opening notes of the "Harry Potter" theme filled the small space, Orion leaned back against the wall, allowing himself a rare moment of peace. The kids were entranced, their eyes glued to the screen, their worries momentarily forgotten as they were transported to the magical world of Hogwarts.

Amy, noticing Orion’s moment of stillness, gave him a soft, appreciative smile. “This was a really good idea,” she whispered, not wanting to disturb the kids.

Orion shrugged, his usual smirk creeping back. “Figured we could all use a little escape. Plus, it keeps them occupied for a bit, which gives the rest of us a break.”

Amy nodded, her eyes softening as she looked at the kids. “They need this. A chance to just be kids again, even if it’s only for a little while.”

Orion didn’t respond, but he felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. He watched as Carl leaned closer to Sophia, whispering something excitedly about the scene on screen, while Eliza and Louis giggled at a joke. Annabell clutched a pillow to her chest, her eyes wide with wonder, while Robbie and Levi sat in quiet anticipation.

As the movie played on, the tension in the camper eased. The world outside might have been falling apart, but in this small, makeshift theater, there was a sense of normalcy. For a brief moment, they were just kids watching a movie, not survivors in a world overrun by the dead.

When “Harry Potter” ended, Orion paused the player, glancing at the kids. “Alright, what’s next? Who’s ready for some Kung Fu Panda?”

Robbie and Louis shot their hands up, faces lighting up with excitement. “Kung Fu Panda!” they chorused.

Amy chuckled softly. “Looks like we have our next movie.”

Orion popped in the disc, and the kids settled back down, eager for the next adventure. As the opening scene of "Kung Fu Panda" began to play, Orion felt a little more at ease. This small act, this tiny bit of normalcy, reminded him that even in the darkest times, there were still moments worth holding onto.

As the day wore on, the movies played back to back. "Treasure Planet" followed "Kung Fu Panda", and "Ponyo" was queued up next, much to Levi’s quiet delight. By the time they reached "The Hobbit", some of the younger kids were starting to doze off, curled up in the blankets.

Amy moved quietly, adjusting the blankets around the sleepy ones, her maternal instincts in full force. Orion noticed the way she gently tucked Annabell in, the little girl’s head resting on a makeshift pillow, her breathing slow and steady as she slept.

The last of the movies came to an end, and the camper was filled with the soft sounds of sleeping children. Amy turned to Orion, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Orion. This meant a lot to them.”

Orion shrugged again, but there was a warmth in his chest that hadn’t been there before. “Glad it helped,” he murmured. “We all need a little escape sometimes.”

Amy smiled, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Yeah, we do.”

As Orion quietly shut off the DVD player and the TV, the camper fell into a peaceful silence. Outside, the night was dark, and the world was still dangerous, but inside, there was a small bubble of safety and warmth—a brief respite from the chaos.

Orion stepped outside, closing the door gently behind him, leaving Amy to keep watch over the kids as they slept. He looked up at the stars, taking a deep breath of the cool night air.

For now, they had this moment. And that was enough.

---

The night was deceptively calm. After the movie marathon, the kids had finally drifted off to sleep, curled up in the cozy confines of Orion's camper. Amy had volunteered to watch over them, smiling gratefully at Orion when he offered to set up the TV and DVD player earlier. As the last movie played, Amy’s attention wavered, lulled by the peaceful slumber of the children around her.

Orion, feeling unusually restless, stepped out of the camper into the cool night air. The camp was quiet, the faint sounds of crickets chirping in the distance. But Orion’s mind was racing. The sense of peace that had settled over him during the movie session was now long gone, replaced by an unease he couldn’t quite shake.

He glanced over at the fire where Lori, Andrea, and Shane were talking in hushed tones, their glances occasionally drifting toward him. He could tell they didn’t particularly like him—Lori and Shane always seemed to be annoyed with him, while Andrea was more distant, perhaps even suspicious. He couldn’t exactly blame them; he was an outsider, and in their eyes, probably a bit of a weirdo.

Merle, on the other hand, had started acting differently toward him since their time in the city. Sure, Merle was still an asshole to everyone else, but Orion could sense a shift in how Merle interacted with him—less antagonistic and more…protective, maybe? It was a strange feeling, but not entirely unwelcome. And then there was Daryl—strong, quiet, and so much more approachable than his brother. Orion found himself gravitating toward Daryl, and if he was honest, his crush on the man had only grown since they’d met. But that was a problem for another day.

Orion’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound—a faint rustling, too close to be just the wind. His heart skipped a beat as he scanned the perimeter of the camp, eyes narrowing as he strained to see through the shadows. Something didn’t feel right.

Then he heard it—the unmistakable groan of a walker. It was low at first, almost indistinguishable from the night’s other noises. But then it was joined by another, and another, until it became a chorus of deathly moans creeping closer.

“Shit,” Orion breathed, his hand instinctively reaching for the bat he’d taken to carrying with him everywhere. He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the main part of the camp, shouting, “Walker attack! Everyone, get up!”

Chaos erupted almost instantly. The walkers breached the camp from the woods, drawn by the noise and the scent of living flesh. The campfires cast eerie, flickering light on the scene as people scrambled to arm themselves and defend against the onslaught.

Lori wailed for Carl, rushing herself toward the RV where Dale was shouting for people to get inside. Rick and Shane, ever the leaders in crisis, were barking orders, trying to organize a defense. Andrea had her gun out, eyes wide with fear as she fired at the advancing walkers.

Orion's heart raced, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of the chaos. Then, through the noise, he remembered the kids. “Amy!” he shouted, sprinting back toward the camper. “Amy, keep the kids safe!” He pulled his campers keys out and locked it up.

Amy, who had been on the verge of dozing off, jolted awake at the sound of Orion’s voice. The kids stirred, groggy and confused, as the noise from outside grew louder. “Stay down,” Amy whispered urgently, her heart pounding as she positioned herself between the children and the camper door. She grabbed the small knife she kept by her side for protection, her hands trembling slightly as she held it.

Orion skidded to a halt at the camper door, his eyes wild as he saw Amy trying to keep the kids calm. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me, Merle, or Daryl,” he instructed, his voice firm despite the fear gnawing at his insides. “We’ll take care of this.”

Amy nodded, her face pale but determined. “Be careful, Orion.”

Orion managed a tight smile. “Always am.”

With that, he slammed the door shut, locking it from the outside to keep the kids safe, before turning back to the chaos. He could see the group trying to hold the line, but it was clear they were struggling. The walkers kept coming, relentless in their hunger.

Merle and Daryl were at the forefront of the defense, Merle wielding a crowbar with brutal efficiency while Daryl picked off walkers with his crossbow, each shot landing with deadly accuracy. Orion charged in, bat in hand, determined to help.

“Keep ‘em away from the Campa’!” Merle shouted, swinging his crowbar into a walker’s skull with a sickening crunch. “Don’t let ‘em near the kids!”

Orion’s heart pounded as he joined the fight, smashing a walker’s head in with a swift, brutal swing of his bat. He moved with a controlled fury, every hit precise, calculated. He might have been slower to react in some situations, but when it came to protecting the people he cared about, he was quick and deadly.

The battle raged on, but despite their efforts, the walkers kept coming. The camp was swarming, and they were quickly overwhelmed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Orion saw Lori struggling to find Carl. She was cornered, a walker bearing down on her. Without thinking, Orion sprinted toward them, shouting a warning. “Lori, behind you!”

Lori turned just in time to see the walker, her eyes widening in terror. But before it could reach her, Orion was there, slamming his bat into the walker’s head, sending it crashing to the ground.

“Get inside!” Orion barked, gesturing to Dales RV, which had Dale shoving mrs. Morales, Jacqui, and Carol inside. Lori hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting Orion’s with a mixture of surprise and something else—maybe gratitude? She quickly shook it off, nodding curtly before taking off toward the RV, where Dale ushered them inside.

Andrea fired off another shot, her hands shaking. Orion saw the fear in her eyes as she struggled to reload her gun, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. He knew she was on the verge of panicking, and panic was the last thing they needed right now.

“Focus, Andrea!” he yelled over the noise, taking down another walker that got too close. “We’ve got this, but you need to keep it together!”

Andrea’s eyes flicked to him, and for a brief moment, she seemed to steady herself. She took a deep breath, nodded, and managed to get another shot off, hitting her target.

Despite the chaos, Orion found himself instinctively moving closer to Daryl, drawn to the man’s calm under pressure. Daryl was a rock in the storm, methodically picking off walkers, his face a mask of concentration. Even in the middle of all this, Orion couldn’t help but admire him. ‘He’s got it together,’ Orion thought, ‘and he’s keeping us all alive.’

But it was Merle who noticed Orion’s proximity, and despite everything, he found the time to smirk. “Stick close, Fairy,” he called out, bashing another walker’s head in with his crowbar. “Don’t want ya gettin’ yourself killed now, do we?”

Orion shot Merle a look that was half-annoyed, half-amused. “I’m good, thanks,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away. As much as he hated to admit it, Merle had his back, and right now, that was worth a lot.

The tide began to turn as the group fought with everything they had. Slowly but surely, they started to push the walkers back, the pile of bodies growing at the edge of the camp. Orion was covered in blood and sweat, his arms aching from swinging the bat, but he didn’t stop.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the last walker fell. The camp was eerily silent, the only sound the labored breathing of the survivors as they surveyed the carnage.

Orion’s first thought was of the kids. He turned on his heel and rushed back to the camper, unlocking the door and flinging it open.

Amy looked up at him, her eyes wide with relief. The kids were still huddled together, sleepy but unharmed. “It’s over?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Orion nodded, his breath coming in gasps. “Yeah…it’s over. You did good, Amy. They’re all safe.”

Amy managed a small smile, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “Thank God…”

Orion stepped back to let her lead the kids out of the camper, his heart finally starting to slow. The relief was short-lived, though, as he looked around the camp at the destruction. Bodies littered the ground, both walkers and, heartbreakingly, some of their own.

Rick was already taking charge, barking orders about burning the bodies and fortifying the camp. Lori was comforting Carl, though her eyes kept drifting toward Shane, an unreadable expression on her face. Andrea was helping to gather the weapons, her hands still shaking slightly.

Merle clapped a bloody hand on Orion’s shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Not bad, Fairy. Maybe you ain’t so useless after all.”

Orion snorted, too tired to argue. “Yeah, well,

maybe you’re not as big an asshole as I thought.”

Merle laughed, a rough, barking sound. “Don’t go gettin’ soft on me now, kid. We got work to do.”

Daryl approached, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “You did good,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting Orion’s.

Orion felt a strange warmth in his chest at Daryl’s words, but he just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything without sounding like an idiot.

As the camp began to clean up and regroup, Orion found himself reflecting on what had just happened. He’d saved Lori and Carl, fought alongside the others, and kept the kids safe. He wasn’t just an outsider anymore—he was part of this group, whether Lori, Andrea, or Shane liked it or not.

But there was still a long way to go, and the night’s events were a harsh reminder of just how dangerous their world had become. Orion glanced at Amy, who was herding the kids back to the safety of the RV, and then at Daryl, who was already helping to clear the bodies.

‘She’s still alive, for now at least’

Chapter Text

The camp was somber in the wake of the attack. Bodies had been burned, injuries tended to, and everyone was on edge. Orion had barely slept, his mind racing with thoughts of what could have been done differently and how to prevent such losses in the future. But there was no time to dwell on it—there were new problems to address.

One of those problems came in the form of Jim. Rumors had started circulating around camp that Jim had been bitten during the attack. Orion noticed the nervous glances people were throwing his way, the way they whispered whenever Jim walked by. It was only a matter of time before someone confronted him, and sure enough, Rick and Shane were the ones to approach him.

Orion had been keeping an eye on Jim, so when he saw the small gathering forming around the man, he headed over. Rick’s face was grim, and Shane looked even more on edge than usual.

“Jim, we need to talk,” Rick said, his voice heavy with concern.

Jim, who had been sitting by himself, looked up, the exhaustion clear on his face. “What about?”

“People are saying you were bitten,” Shane cut in bluntly, his tone accusatory. “We need to know if it’s true.”

Jim frowned, looking down at his arm where the supposed bite was. “I wasn’t bitten,” he insisted, though there was a trace of uncertainty in his voice. “I fell—hurt myself in the fall.”

Orion, sensing the growing tension, stepped forward. “Let me take a look.”

Jim hesitated but eventually nodded, extending his arm for Orion to inspect. The group watched in tense silence as Orion carefully examined the wound. It was deep and ugly, but as Orion probed around it, he noticed the edges were jagged, not smooth like a bite would be. There were also signs of dirt and debris embedded in the wound, suggesting it had come from a fall.

“This isn’t a bite,” Orion finally declared, looking up at the others. “It’s a cut. He fell and probably hit something sharp. If it were a bite, the marks would be different, and it wouldn’t look like this. We need to clean it up, but Jim’s not infected.”

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the group, though Shane still looked suspicious. Rick nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks, Orion. We’ll clean it up, make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

Shane grunted but didn’t argue further. He seemed to realize that pushing the issue wouldn’t go over well with the group. Instead, he stalked off, muttering under his breath.

As they cleaned Jim’s wound and reassured the others that he was safe, Orion couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was brewing. It wasn’t long before his suspicions were confirmed. The Morales family, a quiet but essential part of the group, approached Rick and Orion later that day.

“We’re leaving,” Morales said, his voice firm but tinged with sadness. “We’ve decided to head out on our own. We’ve got family in Birmingham—we’re gonna try to make it there.”

Orion’s heart sank. He remembered them from the show—how Morales and his family had left the group, and how he later learned that they didn’t make it. In this world, he didn’t know what their fate would be, but the risk was too great.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Orion asked, stepping forward, his voice laced with concern. “It’s dangerous out there, especially with the way things are now. We’re stronger together.”

Morales looked down, conflicted, but his wife, Miranda, nodded resolutely. “We have to try. We can’t just sit around and wait—we need to find our family.”

Orion opened his mouth to argue, but he could see the determination in their eyes. It was clear that no matter what he said, their minds were made up. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced a smile. “Alright, but if you ever need help, or if things don’t work out… you know where to find us.”

Morales clasped Orion’s shoulder, gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Orion. You’ve been good to us. Take care of yourself—and the kids.”

With that, they packed up their things and left the camp. Orion watched them go, a heavy sense of dread settling in his chest. He had tried to save them, to warn them, but in the end, they had to make their own choices.

---

The attack had left its mark, and not just on the camp’s defenses. The children, in particular, were struggling to cope with the loss of their stepmother and grandfather. Levi, Anna-bell, and Robbie had been quiet and withdrawn since the attack, clinging to each other and to Orion as if he were their lifeline.

Orion, now fully embracing his role as their guardian, had taken them into his camper, where they also found comfort in the presence of the Dixon brothers. Merle, surprisingly, had taken to the kids with a gruff sort of affection, while Daryl kept a watchful eye, making sure they were safe.

Carol, now freed from the shadow of Ed’s abuse, began to open up as well. She spent more time with Orion, offering to help with the kids and finding solace in their company. Sophia, too, had begun to play with the others more, her spirits slowly lifting without the oppressive presence of her father.

One evening, as they sat around a small fire near the camper, Orion noticed Rick’s discomfort. The group had been talking about the next steps—whether to head to the CDC or follow Shane’s suggestion to go to Fort Benning—but Rick seemed unusually tired, his movements sluggish.

It was during dinner, as Rick picked at his food, that something clicked in Orion’s mind. He remembered reading about something in a forum in his past life—‘Refeeding Syndrome’. It was something that could happen when someone who’s been deprived of food suddenly starts eating again, causing dangerous shifts in the body’s electrolytes and fluids.

Orion quickly pulled Rick aside, his voice urgent but careful. “Rick, I think you might have refeeding syndrome.”

Rick frowned, confused. “Refeeding what?”

Orion explained, his words quick but clear. “It’s when your body struggles to handle food after being starved. It can mess with your electrolytes and cause serious issues. We need to take it slow—broth, small meals, electrolytes. No heavy food until your body adjusts. And you need to rest whenever you can, do some light stretches, ease your body back into regular movement.”

Rick, though skeptical, nodded, trusting Orion’s judgment. “Alright. If you think it’ll help, I’ll do it.”

Orion handed him a box of electrolyte packets he’d found in his camper, along with some broth. “Start with this. And take it easy. We need you in top shape.”

The interaction didn’t go unnoticed by Shane, who had been watching from a distance with a scowl on his face. As Orion turned back to the group, Shane stepped forward, clearly ready to argue.

“We should be heading to Fort Benning,” Shane said, his voice hard and confrontational. “Military’s our best bet. Not some damn CDC that might not even be there anymore.”

Orion glanced at Rick, who was too worn out to argue. “The CDC has resources, medical supplies, and possibly answers,” Orion countered. “Fort Benning is a gamble too, and it’s a lot farther. We need to think about what’s best for everyone, especially the kids.”

Shane’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Merle stepped in, backing up Orion with a gruff nod. “Fairy’s got a point. We ain’t gonna last long without medical help, and who knows if the military’s even still kickin’. CDC’s closer, so we go there first.”

Daryl, too, nodded in agreement. “CDC. Safer bet.”

The rest of the group, even those who had been wary of Orion, started to voice their agreement, siding with him and Rick. Lori looked conflicted, her eyes darting between Shane and Rick, but eventually, she nodded. Andrea, though still hesitant around Orion, agreed as well. The consensus was clear—the CDC was their next stop.

Shane, visibly seething, backed down but not without a final glare at Orion. “Fine. But if this goes south, it’s on you.”

Orion held his ground, meeting Shane’s glare with a steady gaze. “We’re doing what’s best for everyone.”

As the group dispersed, preparing for the journey to the CDC, Orion returned to his camper, where Levi, Anna-bell, Robbie, and Sophia were waiting. The children had practically attached themselves to his side, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the others.

Inside the camper, Orion began sorting through the supplies he had gathered over the past few weeks. The kids watched him quietly, their presence comforting in its own way.

“Alright, guys,” Orion said, trying to keep his tone light despite the tension in the air. “Let’s see what we’ve got here. We’re gonna need to be organized for the trip to the CDC.”

Levi, who had been sitting close by, perked up at the mention of organization. “Can I help?”

Orion smiled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Of course, you can. You’re gonna be my right-hand Dude!”

The other kids, including Carl and Sophia, gathered around, eager to help. As they worked together, sorting through the supplies, Orion felt a sense of purpose settle over him. These kids were counting on him, and he wasn’t going to let them down.

By the time they finished, the camper was neatly organized, with everything they needed for the journey within easy reach. The kids were calmer, their earlier anxieties soothed by the simple task of preparing for the trip.

That night, as the camp settled into an uneasy sleep, Orion lay awake, his thoughts racing. The decisions he made now could mean the difference between life and death for the people he had come to care about. He had saved Jim, he had tried to save Morales and his family, and now he was doing everything he could to keep these kids safe.

But the road ahead was long, and the challenges they faced were only going to get harder. As he drifted off to sleep, one thought remained clear in his mind: he was ready to face whatever came next. With Merle as a big brother figure, Daryl quietly supporting him, and the trust of the kids who had come to see him as a Guardian, Orion knew he had what it took to survive in this world.

And maybe, just maybe, he could help the others survive too.

---

The group had been on the road for hours, scavenging what they could from abandoned vehicles along the way. The air was heavy with tension, the fear of what lay ahead in the uncertain journey to the CDC lingering over them like a dark cloud.

As they approached a battered van parked haphazardly on the side of the road, Glenn and T-Dog were the first to spot it. The van looked like it had been there for a while, dirt and grime caking its windows. But what really caught their attention was the writing scrawled across one of the windows: “Please take care of my kids Liam, Eva, and Mabel and tell them I love them.”

Orion, who was walking nearby, saw the message and felt his stomach drop. The weight of those words—so full of desperation and love—hit him hard. He rushed forward, dread curling in his gut as he peered inside the van.

The smell hit him first—an overpowering stench of feces and ammonia that made his eyes water. But the sight that met him was even worse. Inside the van were three children: a boy around seven years old, a girl about five, and a baby who looked to be barely a year old. The oldest, a boy with sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes that seemed older than his years, was rocking the baby gently in his arms, his face set in a determined, protective expression. The younger girl, with long, curly brown hair and wide Chocolate brown eyes, was cowering behind him, her small body trembling with fear.

“Daddy said to stay quiet…” the boy whispered, his voice hoarse and exhausted, but steady.

Orion’s heart ached at the sight of them—so small, so vulnerable, and yet so brave in the face of unimaginable horror. He glanced at the walker tied to the side mirror, a man missing part of his hand, clearly their father who had done everything he could to protect his kids until the end.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Orion said gently, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing despite the panic threatening to claw its way out. “You’re safe now. We’re going to help you, okay?”

The boy, who Orion guessed was named Liam based on his cautious but firm demeanor, looked at Orion with wide, distrustful eyes. But there was a flicker of hope there too—hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be okay again.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Orion said, carefully opening the van door. He reached out to Liam first, who hesitated but then took his hand. The younger girl, who must be Eva, followed, clinging to her brother’s side, while Orion carefully lifted the baby into his arms. The baby whimpered but didn’t cry out, too weak from hunger and exhaustion.

Orion turned to Glenn, who had come up beside him, his face pale with shock. “Glenn, can you gather up their belongings? Anything that looks like it might be important to them.”

Glenn nodded, quickly moving to collect the few bags and items scattered inside the van. Meanwhile, Orion led the children toward his camper, his mind racing with how to care for them. He knew the camper’s small bathroom had a shower—these kids needed to be cleaned up and made comfortable as soon as possible.

Amy was already in the camper with the other kids, keeping them occupied with coloring books they had found along the way. When Orion opened the door, her eyes widened at the sight of the new children.

“Amy,” Orion began, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt inside, “can you help these kiddos clean up? They’ve been through a lot, and I think they could use some care.”

Amy, always quick to help, nodded without hesitation. She immediately moved to take Mabel, the baby, from Orion’s arms, her touch gentle as she cooed softly to the little one. “Of course. Come on, sweethearts, let’s get you all cleaned up.”

Liam and Eva followed Amy inside, still wary but beginning to relax in the presence of someone kind. The camper door closed behind them, leaving Orion standing outside, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

---

As Orion turned back toward the group, Shane was leaning against a nearby car, watching the whole scene with a smirk. He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he caught Orion’s gaze.

“Well, look at that,” Shane drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Guess you’re the group’s mother now, huh? Goin’ around adoptin’ strays like it’s your goddamn mission.”

Orion, already exhausted and emotionally drained, felt a flicker of irritation but forced himself to brush it off. He knew Shane was just looking for a reaction, another way to assert his dominance in a group that was gradually slipping out of his control.

“Someone’s gotta take care of them,” Orion replied evenly, keeping his voice calm. “They’re just kids, Shane.”

Shane scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, well, not everyone’s cut out to be playin’ house in the middle of an apocalypse. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

Before Orion could respond, Merle stepped in, his expression darkening as he stared Shane down. “Watch your mouth, Dix-” Shane started to say, but Merle cut him off with a growl.

“-Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Merle snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “Kid’s doin’ more good ‘ere than ya are, so how ‘bout ya keep yer damn opinions to ya’self?”

Shane’s eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, it looked like things might escalate. But before it could get that far, Dale quickly intervened, stepping between the two men with his hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Hey, hey, let’s keep it civil, alright?” Dale said, his voice firm but gentle. “We’ve got enough problems without fighting amongst ourselves.”

Merle huffed but backed down, though not before shooting Shane a final glare. “Keep yer trap shut, Walsh. Tha’s ya only warnin’ ”

Shane glared back but didn’t push the issue further, clearly aware that the group wasn’t on his side in this. He stalked off, muttering under his breath, leaving Orion and Merle standing by the camper.

“Thanks,” Orion muttered to Merle, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Merle’s brand of support.

Merle shrugged, his usual smirk back in place. “Don’ mention it, Fairy. I neva’ liked ‘im ‘ny way”

Orion gave a small nod, turning his attention back to the camper where the children were now safely inside. The weight of responsibility on his shoulders felt heavier than ever, but he knew he was doing the right thing—whether Shane, or anyone else, liked it or not.

---

After some time, Amy emerged from the camper, the newly rescued children now clean and in fresh clothes that Glenn had managed to scavenge from the van. Mabel was cradled in her arms, now sleeping soundly, while Liam and Eva clung to her sides, still a bit shy but visibly more relaxed.

Orion stepped forward, kneeling to be at eye level with the children. “Hey there,” he said softly, offering them a kind smile. “How are you guys feeling?”

Liam, who had been the most composed of the three, looked at Orion with cautious eyes. “Better,” he murmured. “Thank you for helping us.”

Orion’s heart warmed at the boy’s gratitude. “Don’t mention it kiddo. We’re gonna take care of you now, okay? You’re safe with us.”

He then gestured to the other kids who were peeking out from inside the camper. “These are some of the other kids here with us. They’re gonna be your new friends, alright?”

Liam glanced over at the group, his grip on Eva’s hand tightening slightly. Eva, still clinging to her brother, looked up at Orion with big, uncertain eyes.

“It’s okay,” Orion reassured them. “This is Levi, Anna-bell, Robbie, Carl, and Sophia. They’re all really nice.”

Levi, always the first to make friends, stepped forward with a wide smile. “Hey, I’m Levi. You wanna play with us? We’ve got coloring books and stuff.”

Liam hesitated for a moment but then nodded. “Okay.”

Orion smiled, feeling a sense of relief as he watched the children slowly warm up to each other. Levi took the lead, introducing them to the others and showing them the coloring books inside the camper.

As the kids settled into their new surroundings, Orion felt a sense of peace, however brief. He knew the road ahead would be hard, and that he couldn’t protect them from everything. But for now, they were safe. And that was enough.

He glanced over at Merle, who was watching the scene with a rare softness in his eyes. “You’re good with ‘em,” Merle commented, his tone unusually sincere.

Orion shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Just doing what I can.”

Merle nodded, a hint of respect in his gaze. “Yeah, well… you’re doin’ alright, Fairy. Doin’ alright.”

As they prepared to move on, with Orion’s growing family of children now under his care, he couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. The challenges they faced were immense, but with Merle, Daryl, and the others by his side, he knew they had a fighting chance.

And no matter what, Orion was determined to protect those kids—his kids—with everything he had.

Chapter Text

The group moved cautiously, spreading out as they scavenged through an abandoned neighborhood. The streets were eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant groans of walkers that they had learned to avoid. Orion, as always, kept a close eye on the children, who stayed near the camper with Amy while the others searched for supplies.

As they were sorting through a pile of debris near an overturned garbage can, a soft whimper caught Orion’s attention. He turned, his heart skipping a beat as he saw a bedraggled dog slowly approaching the group. The dog was thin, its coat a mix of black and brown, matted and dirty, but it wore a collar with the name “Lucky” engraved on it.

The dog paused a few feet away, its head lowered, eyes pleading. It was clearly starving, but it didn’t seem aggressive—just desperate. Orion’s heart went out to the poor creature. He glanced around at the others, noting the mixture of surprise and sympathy on their faces.

Orion slowly knelt down, reaching into his pack and pulling out a small piece of jerky. He held it out, his voice soft and soothing. “Hey, Lucky…You hungry, boy?”

Lucky’s nose twitched, and after a moment of hesitation, the dog crept forward, cautiously taking the jerky from Orion’s hand. As soon as he had it, Lucky devoured the treat, his tail wagging weakly. Orion smiled, reaching out to gently scratch behind the dog’s ears.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Orion murmured, feeling a sense of connection with the dog. He glanced over at the group, catching Shane watching him from a distance with a strange look on his face—one that was hard to read but sent a shiver down Orion’s spine.

Shane’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before he turned away, muttering something under his breath as he continued searching. Orion pushed the unease aside, focusing on the dog in front of him.

“Well, Lucky,” Orion said, standing up and giving the dog a gentle pat, “looks like you’re part of the family now.”

Lucky wagged his tail a bit more energetically, sticking close to Orion’s side as they continued their scavenging. Levi, Anna-Bell, and Robbie, the oldest of Orion’s adopted kids, were particularly excited about the new addition to the group. Liam and Eva were a bit more cautious, while Maple, the youngest at just one year old, seemed fascinated by the dog, reaching out with chubby hands to try and pet him. Orion couldn’t help but feel that Lucky was a good omen—a bit of luck they desperately needed.

---

After hours of driving, the group finally reached the outskirts of the CDC. The imposing building loomed before them, its exterior eerily silent, as if holding its breath. Rick immediately took charge, organizing the group to search the area for any walkers. Orion stayed close to the kids, keeping them in the center of the group as they moved cautiously around the perimeter.

As they searched, the familiar rumble of an approaching vehicle caught their attention. The group turned, weapons raised, until they saw the van pulling up—a van Orion recognized instantly. His heart leapt as the Morales family emerged, but the sight was bittersweet. Miranda and her kids, Eliza and Louis Jr, climbed out, but Louis Sr. was missing, leaving a void that didn’t need to be explained.

As Miranda, Eliza, and Jr approached, Orion saw others filing out of the van. His breath caught when he recognized the woman with the katana—a woman he knew had played a crucial role in the stories he remembered: Michonne. Beside her was a little boy, about three years old, clinging to her leg—Andre, her son.

Another familiar face appeared—Miguel, the 16-year-old who had been with a group whose name Orion didn’t remember at first, but looked weary and battle-hardened. Finally, a young boy with wide, scared eyes stepped out—Duane, Morgan’s son. The sight of Duane hit Orion like a punch to the gut. The last he had heard, Duane had been with his father, Morgan. Seeing the boy alone, trembling and uncertain, sent a surge of protectiveness through Orion.

Miranda rushed over to Orion, pulling him into a quick embrace. “Orion…we lost him,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Louis stayed behind to protect us.”

Orion nodded, squeezing her shoulder in silent support. “I’m glad you made it back,” he said softly, looking over at the others. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

As they gathered near the CDC’s entrance, the tension in the air was palpable. Rick banged on the door, his voice rising in desperation as he pleaded to be let in. “Please! We’ve got women and children! We need help!”

Shane tried to pull Rick away, his voice strained with frustration. “Rick, there’s no one in there! We can’t stay here, not this close to the city at night!”

Lori, standing nearby, added her voice to Shane’s. “He’s right, Rick. We’re too exposed here.”

But Rick wouldn’t give up. He banged on the door again, his voice cracking with the weight of his desperation. “Please! We need help!”

As they were about to turn away, the sound of metal shutters opening stopped them in their tracks. Everyone froze, staring in shock as the entrance was revealed. A man’s voice echoed from inside, cautious but firm. “Nobody is infected? You will all be subjected to a blood test—that’s the price of admission.”

Miranda, Michonne, and Carol didn’t hesitate. They rushed inside, shepherding the kids along with them. Orion snapped his fingers at Lucky, who growled at any walkers getting too close, before ordering him inside. “Go on, Lucky. Stay with the kids.”

The dog obeyed, trotting inside, as Orion turned back to the group. “Pack light and bring spare bags,” he said to Daryl, Merle, and Glenn. “I’ve got a gut feeling we won’t be able to stay long.”

They nodded, understanding the urgency, and quickly headed back to their vehicles to grab only the essentials. The air was thick with tension as they rushed back, every second feeling like an eternity.

Once inside, Dr. Jenner, the man behind the voice, gave them a stern look. “Once these doors are shut, they stay shut,” he warned, his gaze sweeping over the group. After getting the okay from Rick, he activated the lockdown, sealing them inside.

---

The group traveled down in a crowded elevator, the silence heavy with unspoken questions. Daryl broke the silence first, his voice gruff but curious. “You the only one down here, Doc?”

Dr. Jenner nodded, his expression weary. “Yes. It’s just me now.”

Merle, standing beside Orion, stared at Jenner with a calculating gaze, clearly assessing the man. “How long ya been alone down here?”

Jenner glanced at Merle, his expression unreadable. “Too long.”

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped into a sterile, dimly lit hallway. Orion’s kids clung to him, their small hands gripping his arms as they were led deeper into the facility. Michonne, walking beside them, introduced herself quietly. “I’m Michonne,” she said, her voice calm and steady despite the tension in the air. “This is my son, Andre.”

Orion nodded, offering her a small smile. “Orion. These are my kids—Levi, Anna-Bell, Robbie, Liam, Eva, and Maple.” He pointed to the dog on alert next to the kids. “That’s Lucky, our pup, he’s protective over my kids and with the other children who're a part of our group.”

Miguel, who had been lingering near the back, stepped forward but kept his voice guarded. “I’m Miguel. My previous group…died protecting me.”

Duane, still sticking close to Miguel’s side, offered a shy wave. “I’m Duane…I was with my dad, Morgan, but I ran away when I saw my mom…she got in the house. Miguel found me and took care of me.”

Orion nodded in understanding, his expression softening. “You’re safe with us now.”

Miguel nodded in appreciation, though he remained quiet, clearly not ready to share more about what he had been through. Michonne, who had been observing the interactions, added quietly, “I found Duane and Miguel after I lost my group. Andre was almost bitten, but these two saved him.”

Orion’s respect for Michonne grew even more. She was clearly a fighter and a protector, much like himself. “We’ve got your back,” Orion said, meaning it.

---

The group sat in a sterile room, the tension palpable as Dr. Jenner prepared to draw their blood for testing. Everyone was on edge, the eerie silence of the CDC only amplifying their anxieties. When it was Orion's turn, he hesitated, his eyes fixed on the needle in Jenner’s hand.

"I...I’m afraid of needles," Orion confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. His face flushed with embarrassment as he glanced around the room, feeling exposed.

Shane Walsh, who had been drinking wine earlier, couldn’t resist making a snide comment. "Afraid of needles, huh? What else are you scared of, little man? Clowns? The dark?"

The remark drew a few uneasy glances, but Michonne wasn’t having any of it. She stepped forward, her gaze hard as she locked eyes with Shane. "Fear is normal and keeps people alive, Walsh," she snapped, her voice cold and sharp. "Mocking someone for being afraid is just stupid."

Shane opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, Jenner interrupted. "Alright, that’s enough," he said, his tone firm. He turned to Orion, his voice softening. "This’ll be quick, I promise."

Orion nodded, swallowing hard as Jenner drew the blood. The moment the needle was out, Orion breathed a sigh of relief, though his hands still trembled slightly. Michonne gave him a reassuring nod, and he managed a small smile in return, grateful for her support.

---

With the blood draws done, the group settled into a restless routine as the countdown clock on the wall continued to tick down. There were only 20 hours left. The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on everyone, but they tried to relax—some even taking the opportunity to rest or enjoy a small meal.

Five hours later, Dr. Jenner’s voice crackled over the intercom, his tone urgent. “Orion, can you come to the lab? I need to speak with you.”

Orion’s heart skipped a beat, fear and confusion swirling inside him as he made his way to the lab. When he arrived, Jenner was staring intently at the blood samples under the microscope, his face pale.

“What’s going on?” Orion asked, his voice shaky.

Jenner looked up, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and amazement. “Orion… you’re immune.”

The words hung in the air, almost too surreal to grasp. Orion blinked, trying to process what he was hearing. “Immune? Ho-“ he cleared his throat as his voice squeaked then continued. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Jenner admitted, still in shock himself. “But your blood doesn’t react to the virus. It’s as if your body recognizes it and neutralizes it before it can take hold.”

Orion took a shaky breath, his mind racing. He knew he had to focus. There was something else, something more pressing. And then it hit him—he remembered why the clock was counting down.

“We need to get out of here,” Orion said, his voice urgent. “The countdown… it’s to self-destruct, isn’t it?”

Jenner nodded grimly. “Yes. Once the clock hits zero, the CDC will be destroyed.”

Orion’s mind raced as he thought of the kids, the others, and the limited time they had left. “Jenner, you need to come with us. Pack up anything valuable—research, data, supplies. Whatever you can carry. And if there’s any testosterone, I could use some of that, too.”

Jenner nodded, though his mind seemed to be reeling from the discovery. “I’ll pack what I can. We have to move fast.”

Orion left the lab, his heart pounding as he gathered Daryl, Merle, Glenn, and T-Dog. “We need to pack everything essential to the main entrance. We’re leaving as soon as possible. The clock is counting down, and we don’t have much time.”

The group nodded, their faces grim as they quickly set to work. Meanwhile, Rick, Lori, Miranda, Michonne, and Shane gathered in the common area, sharing a bottle of wine to ease the tension. Orion, however, had no time to relax. He headed to the small library within the CDC, intent on picking out books that might be useful for their survival.

---

As Orion sifted through the shelves, picking out survival manuals, medical texts, and anything else that could be useful, he felt a presence behind him. He turned, only to find Shane standing there, his expression dark and his eyes unfocused—drunk.

“How do ya know all this, Orion?” Shane’s voice was low, slurred slightly from the alcohol. He stepped closer, his movements aggressive. “Ya always seem t’know what’s going ta happen. It doesn’ make sense.”

Orion’s mouth went dry, his mind racing for a response, but fear paralyzed him. Shane’s accusations were laced with anger and suspicion, and Orion knew that anything he said might just make things worse.

When Orion didn’t answer, Shane’s frustration boiled over. “Answer me!” he demanded, grabbing Orion’s shoulders and pinning him against the wall. His fist clenched, and he raised it as if to strike. “How’d ya know everything, huh? Ya some kinda spy? Some-some freak?”

Orion flinched, his eyes wide with fear. Just as Shane was about to throw the punch, Merle appeared out of nowhere, his face twisted with rage. With a growl, Merle tackled Shane, pinning him to the ground before he could hurt Orion.

“Git yur hands offa him!” Merle snarled, keeping Shane down with a knee pressed into his back.

Dr. Jenner, who had been following Merle, rushed over to Orion, his expression concerned. “Are you alright?” he asked, quickly looking him over for any injuries.

Orion nodded shakily, still trying to process what had just happened. “I’m fine…I’m fine,” he said, his voice trembling.

Merle glanced over at Orion, his face softening slightly. “Imma drag his sorry ass to his room.”

Orion took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Yeah…thanks, sounds like a good idea.”

With a grunt, Merle hauled Shane to his feet, keeping a firm grip on him as he started to drag him away. Shane struggled briefly, but the alcohol and Merle’s iron grip kept him subdued. “Gettin’ to soft” he hears Merle mutter to himself as they turn a corner.

Jenner watched them go, his expression troubled. “You should tell Rick about this,” he advised. “He needs to know what’s happening.”

Orion nodded, his resolve hardening. “I will. But only after we’re safely out of here.”

---

With 15 hours left on the clock, Jenner finished packing everything he could—hard drives, research papers, medical supplies, and vials of Testosterone that Orion requested. Jenner and Orion worked quickly, preparing to evacuate the building. The others, who had been trying to relax, were roused by the sense of urgency as Orion and Jenner explained the situation.

Jenner led them to a military Humvee ambulance he had kept in the CDC garage. "This is our best shot," he said, his voice tense as he handed the keys to Jenner. “You drive.”

Orion made sure Merle understood the importance of keeping control, giving him a stern look before addressing the rest of the group. "You’ll stick with Jenner in the Humvee. He’s our ticket out of here, and I need you to keep it together. No slipping up."

Merle grunted in acknowledgment, his usual bravado tempered by the seriousness of the situation.

“Vi,” Jenner called out to the AI that controlled the facility. “Reroute all available power to the entrance. We need those shutters open.”

“Confirmed,” the AI responded in its calm, mechanical voice. The shutters groaned as they slowly opened, revealing the exit. T-Dog quickly backed the box truck up to the entrance, making it easier to load everything.

Shane, who had sobered up slightly but still looked disheveled, was told to pump what was left of the gas in his Jeep into the other vehicles. Reluctantly, Shane complied, his face set in a grimace as he transferred the fuel before joining T-Dog in the box truck.

There were only four hours left on the clock as the group scrambled to pack everything into their vehicles. The Humvee, the box truck, Dale’s RV, Orion’s RV, Carol’s car, and Miranda’s van were filled to the brim with supplies, books, medical equipment, and food. Orion moved quickly, directing the group and making sure nothing was left behind.

Rick, Lori, Carl, and Carol got ready in Carol’s car, while Daryl prepped his truck, making sure Merle’s motorcycle and the tents were secure in the back. Dale was with Glenn, Andrea, Amy, Jim, and Jacqui in his RV, ready to move out. Miranda, Michonne, Eliza, Louis Jr., Duane, Miguel, and Andre all packed into the van that T-Dog had given them.

Orion ensured that his RV was ready to go, with Levi, Anna-Bell, Robbie, Liam, Eva, Maple, and Lucky settled inside. He double-checked that the kids were secure and that Lucky was comfortably lying at their feet, his protective presence a comfort to everyone.

With the final preparations in place, Orion gave the signal. The clock was ticking down, and they were racing against time.

“Everyone, listen up!” Orion called out, his voice cutting through the tension. “We’ve got to get out of here now. We’re leaving in our vehicles—Jenner’s Humvee will lead the way, followed by the box truck, the RVs, the van, and the others. Make sure your walkie-talkies are on so we can communicate.”

The group quickly gathered their belongings, the urgency in Orion’s voice spurring them into action. Orion climbed into the driver’s seat of his RV, taking a moment to look over his group. These people had become his family, and he was determined to get them out safely.

Jenner, now fully committed to the escape, started the Humvee’s engine and took the lead. The box truck, RVs, and other vehicles followed close behind, navigating through the CDC’s narrow exit.

As they sped away from the CDC, the clock finally hit zero. Behind them, the building erupted in a massive explosion, the shockwave rattling the vehicles as they sped down the road.

Orion watched the explosion in the rearview mirror, his heart heavy but resolute. They had survived the CDC event.

Chapter Text

The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the sea of abandoned vehicles that stretched for miles down the highway. The group had slowed their progress to a crawl, forced to navigate around wrecked cars, trucks, and debris that clogged the road. It was a grim reminder of the chaos that had unfolded when the world fell apart.

Orion’s RV came to a gentle stop at the side of the highway. He climbed out, adjusting Maple’s sling on his back. The baby gurgled happily, her tiny hands occasionally reaching out to swat at Orion’s shoulder or the straps holding her in place. Lucky hopped out of the RV right after him, his dark Rottweiler/Boxer coat shining in the sunlight. His tongue lolled out, and he eagerly sniffed the air before padding over to his pop-up water bowl, which Orion had set down moments before.

The rest of the group was already spreading out among the vehicles, scavenging for supplies. Glenn was checking the trunks of cars, Rick was directing people to areas where it looked safe to search, and Daryl was keeping a close eye on the perimeter from his truck. Carol and Lori were helping keep track of the kids, ensuring they stayed near the vehicles and out of danger.

Orion, though tense, tried to let himself relax. He kept close to the Dixons, occasionally glancing toward his group of kids, who were in the open area just outside the RV. He had set up a small “safe zone” for them to work on the drills he’d taught them, all under his and Daryl’s watchful eyes.

Levi had taken the lead in organizing the group. He was instructing Anna-Bell, Robbie, Liam, and Eva on how to climb a nearby tree. Orion had shown them how to do it safely earlier that week, in case they ever needed to escape walkers in a pinch. Now, Levi was trying to pass along those lessons, his voice calm but confident as he coached his younger siblings and friends.

Maple shifted in her sling, letting out a happy squeal as Orion moved toward Lucky, giving the dog a reassuring pat on the head as he drank. Lucky looked up at him, his dark eyes alert and attentive. Orion scratched behind the dog’s ears with a small smile, but it vanished quickly when a distant sound put him on edge—a yelp.

His heart leapt into his throat. He turned sharply, scanning the area for the source. The kids. Without a second thought, Orion jogged over to them, his muscles coiled with tension, ready for anything. His voice was low and calm, but it carried an urgency that the kids immediately picked up on.

“Y’all okay?” he asked, his sharp eyes sweeping over them, counting heads. He saw Liam’s worried frown, Eva clutching Anna-Bell’s hand, and Levi crouched next to a crying Robbie.

“Robbie was climbing the tree like you showed us,” Levi explained quickly, his voice high with concern. “But he missed a step and scraped his shins real bad!”

Orion’s gaze dropped to Robbie, who sniffled, his cheeks blotchy with tears. The boy wasn’t crying loudly, but his face was crumpled with pain and embarrassment. Before Orion could kneel down, Robbie threw himself at him, burying his face in Orion’s stomach.

Orion stumbled slightly under the sudden weight but quickly steadied himself, wrapping an arm around Robbie’s trembling frame. He let the boy cry it out, rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s alright, bud,” Orion murmured softly, his voice a calming anchor. “You’re okay. It’s just a scrape. Happens to the best of us.”

Robbie’s whimpers slowly quieted, though his little hands clung tightly to Orion’s shirt. Orion glanced at Levi and nodded in acknowledgment, his lips twitching upward in a small, reassuring smile. “Good lookin’ out, Levi,” he said. “You did right callin’ me over.”

Levi nodded solemnly, his shoulders relaxing slightly under Orion’s praise. The other kids gathered closer, their small faces anxious as they hovered around Robbie and Orion.

Once Robbie’s cries had subsided to sniffles, Orion gently lowered himself to one knee, prying Robbie off his stomach. “Alright, let’s take a look at those legs,” he said, his tone light as if it were no big deal.

Robbie reluctantly pulled away, sniffling one last time, as Orion gently inspected the scrapes on his shins. The cuts weren’t too deep, but they were messy, with bits of dirt and bark clinging to the raw skin. Orion winced slightly at the sight, his protective instincts flaring up again, but he kept his expression calm for Robbie’s sake.

“This ain’t nothin’ we can’t fix,” Orion said, ruffling Robbie’s hair with a smile. “But I think we’re gonna call it a day on the drills, alright? Don’t want y’all overworkin’ yourselves.”

The kids exchanged hesitant looks but nodded. Orion could tell they were disappointed to stop early, but Robbie’s accident had shaken them up enough that they didn’t protest.

---

Back at the RV, Orion carefully cleaned Robbie’s scrapes, applying a little antiseptic from their dwindling supply and wrapping the cuts with gauze. Robbie sat quietly, watching Orion with wide, watery eyes.

“Does it hurt?” Orion asked as he worked.

“a lil’ bit,” Robbie mumbled, though his lip trembled slightly.

“Thank you for telling me,” Orion said with a soft smile. “I think the strongest people are the ones who admit their pain.”

When he was finished, he sent the kids to lie down for a nap, drawing the curtains tightly to keep out the sunlight. The last thing he wanted was for walkers—or anyone else—to notice movement inside the camper. Maple, who had fallen asleep in her sling after Robbie’s accident, stayed snugly in her baby carrier. Lucky lay alert by the door, his dark eyes watchful and his ears perked, ready for Orion’s next command.

“Stay here and rest,” Orion whispered to the kids, his voice soft but firm. “Lucky’ll keep watch, and I’ll be back in a bit.”

Once the kids were settled and sound asleep, Orion quietly slipped out of the RV, locking the door behind him. The weight of responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders, but he was determined to keep everyone safe.

---

As Orion stepped away from the RV, scanning the area for walkers or other threats, a sudden tug on the back of his shirt startled him. His body reacted instinctively. He yanked free of the grip, twisting away and dropping into a defensive crouch. His hand hovered near the small knife on his belt, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Whoa!” came a small, startled voice. “It’s just me!”

Orion blinked, his breath catching as his eyes landed on Sophia, who stood a few feet away, her hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Her wide eyes were full of confusion and concern.

“Are… are ya okay, Mista Orion?” she asked cautiously, her voice soft and earnest as she took a step back to give him space.

Orion stayed crouched for a moment longer, his breathing uneven as he forced himself to calm down. His heart was still racing, but the tension in his shoulders began to ease as he realized there was no threat. He stood slowly, brushing off his pants as he tried to offer Sophia a reassuring smile, though it wavered slightly.

“I’m alright, ‘Phia,” he said, his voice steadier now. “You just startled me, that’s all.”

Sophia tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “I didn’t mean to scare ya…”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Orion assured her, running a hand through his hair to settle his nerves. He crouched slightly to meet her eye level, his tone softening. “Where’s your ma? She know you’re wanderin’ off?”

Sophia bit her lip, looking down at her shoes. “She’s over there with Miss Lori,” she mumbled, pointing toward a cluster of vehicles in the distance.

Orion let out a soft sigh, glancing toward the area she had indicated. “Alright, let’s get you back to her, yeah? Can’t have you sneakin’ up on people out here. Not safe.”

Sophia nodded, and Orion guided Sophia toward Lori and Carol, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon. The hot asphalt radiated waves of heat that distorted the abandoned cars and distant tree line. Just as they reached the pair of women, something prickled at the back of Orion’s neck—a feeling he had learned never to ignore.

He glanced back toward his RV, and his heart dropped. A small group of walkers was ambling toward them. At first, it seemed manageable—just a handful of undead shambling along the highway. But as he squinted, Orion realized with growing dread that more were coming, emerging from between the abandoned cars like shadows. The group of walkers seemed to multiply with every passing second.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, his mind racing. They hadn’t noticed the group yet, but that wouldn’t last long.

Without hesitation, Orion jumped into action, his voice sharp but quiet. “Carol, Lori—get under the cars. Now.” He didn’t wait to see if they obeyed, already reaching for Sophia.

“C’mon, ‘Phia,” he murmured as he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the nearest vehicle. Sophia let out a small gasp of surprise but didn’t resist as Orion dropped to the ground and slid them both under the car. The heat of the asphalt burned against his skin, but he barely noticed. He pulled Sophia close, pressing her face into his chest and wrapping his arms around her protectively.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat. “Don’t look. Don’t listen.”

Sophia trembled in his grasp, her small body shaking against his. Orion pressed his hands over her ears, muffling the dreadful sounds of the walkers’ labored groans and shuffling footsteps. The smell of decay mixed with the scent of hot asphalt, stinging his nose and making his stomach churn.

The herd grew larger as it shuffled past, an endless wave of death. Orion forced himself to stay still, every muscle in his body screaming to move, to fight, to run. But he knew better. Moving would mean death—for him and for Sophia.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Every second was agonizing. The only sounds were the rasping breaths and dragging feet of the walkers as they shuffled by, oblivious to the living humans hiding just inches away. Orion focused on Sophia, gently rubbing her back to keep her calm as the herd slowly passed.

Finally, after thirty-six minutes that felt like an eternity, the last of the stragglers shuffled past. The groans grew fainter, and the sound of shuffling feet gave way to an eerie silence. For a brief moment, Orion allowed himself to hope that it was over.

But then Sophia moved.

She scrambled out from under the car, her small body darting into the open. Orion’s stomach twisted with dread as he saw what she had run into—two stragglers that had lagged behind the main group. The walkers turned toward her instantly, their decayed faces contorting with hunger.

Sophia froze, her eyes wide with terror. For a split second, she didn’t move, her feet rooted to the ground. Then, with a sharp squeak of fear, she turned and bolted toward the woods where the group had been training earlier.

“Damn it, Sophia!” Orion hissed, his heart pounding. He scrambled out from under the car, the searing heat of the asphalt forgotten. His mind raced as he reached for his keys, realizing he needed to act fast. He spotted Carol under another vehicle and tossed the keys in her direction.

“Take care of my kids!” he hissed, his voice filled with urgency. “I’ll come back for them—I swear.”

Carol caught the keys, her face pale with fear, but she nodded. Orion didn’t wait for her response. He took off after Sophia, weaving between the cars as quickly and quietly as he could.

---

It didn’t take long for Orion to spot her. Sophia had run deeper into the woods, and though she was faster than Orion had expected, panic had clouded her judgment. Instead of climbing a tree like they had practiced, she zigzagged aimlessly, letting out frightened squeaks as the walkers stumbled after her.

“Climb, Sophia! Climb!” Orion shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation.

Finally, as if his words had broken through her terror, Sophia stopped and looked up at the nearest tree. With trembling hands, she grabbed hold of a low branch and began to climb, her small body scrambling up as quickly as she could manage. Orion kept running toward her, his knife already in hand.

The walkers didn’t notice him until it was too late. Orion charged forward, driving his blade into the skull of the first walker with a sickening crunch. He didn’t stop to think, quickly yanking the knife free and plunging it into the second walker’s temple. The undead creature crumpled to the ground, and silence fell over the woods once more.

“Sophia,” Orion called softly, wiping the sweat from his brow as he looked up at her. “You can come down now. It’s safe.”

Sophia hesitated for a moment, her small hands clutching the tree branch tightly. Then she slowly climbed down, her face streaked with dirt and tears. The moment her feet touched the ground, Orion crouched in front of her, grabbing her shoulders gently but firmly.

“Ya hurt?” he asked, his eyes scanning her for any scratches or bites. He turned her arms and legs carefully, checking every inch of exposed skin. When he found nothing, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Sophia shook her head, her lower lip trembling. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Orion’s expression softened. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing a tear-streaked strand of hair out of her face. “You’re okay. That’s what matters.” He pulled her into a quick hug before glancing around the woods. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and with it came the realization that he had no idea how to get back to the group. His compass was on his keychain, which he had left with Carol.

“Well,” he muttered under his breath, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out two protein bars, glad he had thought to keep them on him. “Looks like we’re gonna be on our own for a bit.”

---

The two of them walked for what felt like hours, the woods growing darker as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Orion kept Sophia close, his knife in hand as they moved cautiously through the underbrush. His eyes scanned the trees constantly, searching for any signs of walkers—or worse.

Just as the first stars began to appear in the twilight sky, they stumbled upon a dilapidated farmhouse. The roof sagged, and the windows were covered in grime, but it was sturdy enough to provide shelter for the night.

Orion crouched next to Sophia, pointing to a tree near the edge of the clearing. “Climb up there and stay put until I say it’s safe, alright?” he instructed.

Sophia nodded, scrambling up the tree without hesitation this time. Orion waited until she was secure before moving toward the farmhouse. His heart pounded as he approached the door, every nerve on edge. He opened the door slowly, his knife at the ready, and cleared the small house room by room.

When he was sure it was safe, he returned to the tree and signaled to Sophia. She climbed down quickly, her face pale but determined, and followed Orion into the farmhouse.

The sky was awash with the warm colors of the setting sun as Orion set to work making the pantry into a safe little nest for Sophia. He found a few old blankets and laid them down on the floor, along with a pillow that smelled faintly of mildew but was still usable. The pantry had a heavy door, which Orion secured with a chair wedged under the knob.

Dinner was simple: a couple of water bottles, a can of beans he had found in the kitchen, and the protein bars he had brought. Sophia ate quietly, her exhaustion clear as she leaned against the wall.

“Get some rest,” Orion said softly, tucking the blanket around her as she curled up in the corner of the pantry. “I’ll keep watch.”

Sophia didn’t argue. Within minutes, she was asleep, her breathing slow and even. Orion sat near the door, his knife resting in his lap as he listened to the sounds of the night. The farmhouse was quiet, but the memories of the day played over and over in his mind.

He glanced at Sophia, then out the small crack in the pantry door. They were safe for now, but he knew he couldn’t stay here for long. Tomorrow, he’d find a way back to the group. For now, though, he kept watch, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him as the stars blinked to life in the dark sky.

---

Orion didn’t realize he had drifted off until the sound of boots scuffing against the wooden floor jolted him awake. For a split second, he thought it was a dream, but then he heard the unmistakable rasp of a walker. His body stiffened, every sense on high alert as the groans and shuffling grew louder.

Carefully, he rose from his makeshift perch in the pantry, glancing over to ensure Sophia was still sound asleep in her little nest. Her small frame was curled up beneath the blanket, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Quietly, Orion grabbed his knife and crept toward the source of the noise. His steps were slow and deliberate, his heart pounding in his chest.

Peeking around the corner, Orion spotted a portly man in his late forties or early fifties struggling with a walker that looked freshly turned. The walker snarled and snapped its teeth, clawing at the man’s flannel shirt as he pushed it back with trembling arms. Sweat poured down the man’s face, and the panic in his wide eyes made it clear he didn’t have much experience dealing with the undead.

Orion acted on instinct. He darted from his hiding spot, knife in hand, and lunged toward the walker. In one swift motion, he plunged the blade into the back of its skull with a sickening crunch. The walker went limp, collapsing to the floor in a heap.

Breathing heavily, Orion straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. "You alright?" he asked the man, his voice calm but firm.

Instead of gratitude, the man turned to Orion with a face twisted in fury. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he bellowed, his voice booming in the quiet farmhouse. Orion barely had time to process the outburst before the man raised the butt of his rifle and swung it at him.

The blow connected with the side of Orion’s head, and pain exploded in his skull. His vision swam, and he staggered back before collapsing to the floor. Darkness consumed him almost immediately, the sound of Sophia’s small voice calling out his name fading into nothing.

---

Sophia had stirred awake at the noise, her groggy mind registering the sound of a scuffle. When she didn’t see Orion in front of the pantry, panic gripped her small chest. She scrambled to her feet, the blanket falling away, and darted out of the pantry toward the noise.

“Uncle ‘Rion?” she called out, her voice trembling.

She froze in the doorway at the sight before her. Orion lay crumpled on the ground, his still form terrifyingly lifeless. A man—large, sweating, and red-faced—stood over him, his chest heaving and the butt of his rifle still in his hand. Blood trickled from Orion’s temple, dripping onto the dusty floorboards.

Sophia’s small hands clenched into fists. Fear and fury surged through her tiny body. For the first time since the world had ended, she felt safe with someone—Orion. He had been kind to her, loved her, cared for her like no one else ever had. And this man had hurt him.

Sophia’s face twisted into a snarl, and without thinking, she charged at the man. "Leave ’im alone!" she screamed, her small frame barreling toward him like a storm.

The man turned just in time to see Sophia launch herself at him, her hands clawing at his shirt as she tried to push him away from Orion. She was tiny compared to him, but her determination was ferocious.

“Hey! Get offa me, you lil-Grrr!” the man barked, stumbling back a step under her assault. He grabbed her by the arms and yanked her away, holding her at arm’s length as she kicked and wiggled furiously.

“Lemme go!” Sophia growled, her small voice filled with rage. Tears streamed down her face, but her eyes burned with determination.

The man didn’t listen. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, muttering under his breath as he scooped up both Orion and Sophia. Sophia squeaked in protest, flailing wildly in his grasp. “Put us down!” she shouted, her small fists pounding against his arms.

The man ignored her. His face was twisted in frustration and guilt, and his muttering grew louder as he trudged toward the door. “Just gotta git ‘em to the barn. Yeah... the barn’ll do. Gotta keep ‘em safe. Can’t let ‘em bring trouble here…”

Sophia’s heart pounded as the man carried them out of the farmhouse and toward an old pickup truck parked nearby. The bed of the truck was speckled with dirt, hay, and feathers from chickens, and it reeked of sweat and manure. The man threw Sophia into the back first, her small body bouncing slightly against the hard metal bed. She let out an "oof," glaring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

Before she could scramble to her feet, Orion’s limp form was tossed in next to her. Sophia gasped, immediately crouching over him protectively. Her tiny hands clutched at his shirt as if to shield him from the man. “Don’t ya hurt him!” she yelled, her voice cracking.

The man paused, his face briefly softening as he looked at her. Guilt flickered in his eyes, but he shook it off quickly. “Ain’t gonna hurt ’im no more,” he muttered, his voice low and almost remorseful. He slammed the tailgate shut, securing it with a rusty latch, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Sophia clung to Orion as the truck rumbled to life, her small frame trembling with both anger and fear. The man mumbled to himself as he drove, his words barely audible over the hum of the engine. “The barn…yeah, the barn’s safe. Gotta keep ‘em safe. Can’t risk it…”

Sophia hissed under her breath, her tiny body trying to shield Orion’s larger frame. “It’s okay, Uncle ‘Rion,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face as she brushed a strand of blood-matted hair from his forehead. “I’ll keep you safe.”

---

The truck rumbled to a stop in front of a weathered barn. Its red paint was faded and peeling, and the roof sagged slightly in the middle. In the distance, a pristine white farmhouse stood against the backdrop of a golden sunset, its beauty starkly at odds with the situation.

The man climbed out of the truck, glancing around nervously before making his way to the back. He opened the tailgate and reached for Sophia first. She growled low in her throat, swatting at his hands, but he grabbed her easily and plucked her out of the bed like she weighed nothing.

“Lemme go!” she screamed, her small fists pounding against his chest. The man ignored her, muttering under his breath as he deposited her up, into the loft of the barn.

Sophia hit the ground with a soft thud, landing on a stack of hay in the corner. She scrambled to her feet, glaring daggers at the man. “You’re a mean old bully!” she spat, her voice trembling with fury.

The man didn’t respond. He returned to the truck and hefted Orion’s unconscious form over his shoulder, grunting slightly under the weight. He carried Sophia and placed him on the hay next to her, his movements careful despite his earlier aggression.

Sophia immediately crouched over Orion, her small body a shield as she glared up at the man. The man hesitated, his face a mix of guilt and determination, before stepping back and pulling the barn door shut behind him. The sound of a lock clicking into place sent a shiver down Sophia’s spine.

“Just stay put,” the man muttered through the door. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to ya in there.”

His boots shuffled away, leaving Sophia and Orion alone in the dimly lit barn. Sophia curled up next to Orion, tears streaking her face as she whispered, “It’s okay, Uncle ‘Rion. I’ll keep you safe.”

She rested her head against his chest, listening to the faint sound of his heartbeat, and waited.

Chapter Text

Orion let out a weak groan as his aching body stirred, pain radiating from the side of his head. His skull throbbed with every heartbeat, and a ringing sound echoed faintly in his ears. The dull pounding behind his eyes made it difficult to focus, and when he shifted slightly, he felt hay pricking his arms through his shirt.

A small hiss sounded next to him, startling him into stillness. “Shhh!” Sophia whispered urgently, her breath tickling his ear.

Orion’s bleary vision cleared just enough for him to take in his surroundings. They were tucked into what seemed like a small cave made of hay, piled haphazardly against the loft wall of a barn. The musty scent of dried grass filled his nose, mingling with the unmistakable stench of death. The groans and shuffles of walkers below reached his ears, muffled but ever-present, creating a grim symphony of decay.

He turned his head slightly, wincing at the sharp pain that flared up near his temple. Through the dim light filtering in through the cracks in the barn walls, he could just make out Sophia clinging to his right side. She was pressed against him, her small body curled tightly into his, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Soph…” His voice came out dry and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, his lips cracked and parched. “Where… where are we?”

Sophia frowned, her small hands gripping the hem of her shirt as she shrugged. “You woke up a few times before now…but you weren’t really awake. You didn’t talk much. Just mumbled,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady. “I dunno where we are. That big bully put us here and left. He hasn’t come back.”

Orion closed his eyes for a moment, letting her words settle as he tried to piece together the fragmented memories in his mind. The portly man, the walker, the blow to his head—it all felt distant, as though it had happened to someone else. His head throbbed again, bringing him back to the present, and he exhaled shakily.

The faint sound of a gunshot shattered the uneasy stillness, echoing sharply through the barn. Sophia flinched and whimpered, her fingers clutching at Orion’s sleeve. The walkers below stirred at the noise, their low groans and wet grunts crescendoing into a cacophony of restless hunger. The sound of shuffling feet against dirt and wood grew louder as the undead pressed against one another, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Orion instinctively pulled Sophia closer, his arm tightening around her shoulders as he listened. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. He glanced around the barn loft, taking in their limited options. They were high up, above the walkers, but with no immediate escape in sight. For now, all they could do was stay quiet and hope the walkers didn’t find their way up.

After a few tense minutes, Orion shifted slightly, patting down his pockets. He was searching for anything useful—his compass, a knife, something to eat. The movement caused Sophia to pull back, her curious gaze fixed on him.

“Are ya… um, lookin’ for the rest of your protein bar?” she asked hesitantly, her voice barely audible over the groans below.

Orion paused and hummed softly in confirmation, his head still pounding as he tried to focus. He needed something to take the edge off the hunger clawing at his stomach, something to give him the strength to think clearly. He felt Sophia shift beside him, and after a moment, she carefully pulled something from her pocket.

“Here,” she said quietly, holding out a half-eaten protein bar. “You told me to keep it… for when I’m super hungry. Emergency food, Uncle.”

In the faint light, Orion could see her hands trembling slightly as she offered the bar. Her small, dirt-smudged fingers looked delicate against the wrapper. For a moment, a warmth bloomed in Orion’s chest. Despite everything they’d been through, Sophia had listened to him, holding onto that small piece of security like a lifeline. And now, she was offering it to him when she could have kept it for herself.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. “You did good, ‘Phia.”

Sophia’s lips twitched into a shy smile, but she quickly shoved the bar back into her pocket. “I’ll save it…for later,” she said, her tone soft but firm.

Orion nodded, pride and affection welling up inside him. The way she’d addressed him—Uncle Orion—felt like a balm to his battered spirit. He hadn’t asked for the title, but hearing it made him feel like he was doing something right in this broken world.

---

The minutes stretched into hours, marked only by the restless shuffling of walkers below. Orion stayed awake as long as he could, his body tense and alert. Sophia leaned into him, her small head resting against his chest, and he wrapped an arm around her protectively. With his free hand, he rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles, occasionally scratching her scalp the way he knew helped calm her down.

“Get some rest, ‘Phia,” he whispered. His voice was soft, the rasp of fatigue curling around the edges of his words.

Sophia mumbled something unintelligible in response, already half-asleep. Orion adjusted his position slightly, wincing at the dull ache in his head, and leaned back against the wall. He forced himself to stay awake, but exhaustion and the lingering effects of his injury pulled him under before he realized it.

The day passed in fits and starts. Quick naps helped him recover some of his strength, and he occasionally rubbed away the flakes of dried blood from his head, trying to ease the discomfort. Sophia woke up periodically, her small hands fumbling in her pocket to split the remaining protein bar between them. They ate sparingly, the small bites enough to stave off the worst of their hunger but leaving their stomachs growling for more.

The heat of the day filtered into the barn, but the loft stayed relatively cool. Orion dozed in and out of consciousness, always keeping one ear tuned to the groans below. He felt every ache and pain in his body, but he bit down on the discomfort, focusing instead on Sophia’s quiet breathing beside him.

---

When morning came, the soft light of dawn crept through the cracks in the barn walls, painting streaks of gold and orange across the hay. Orion blinked his eyes open, the fog in his mind finally beginning to clear. His head still ached, but it was no longer the sharp, stabbing pain of the day before. It felt dull now, manageable.

His stomach growled weakly, reminding him of his hunger. Sophia was still asleep beside him, curled up tightly under the tattered blanket they had found. Orion carefully shifted, easing out of the makeshift nest of hay without disturbing her.

Crouching low to avoid being seen, he scanned the loft for anything useful. His muscles protested every movement, but he ignored the discomfort, his focus solely on finding a way out—or at least something to sustain them a little longer. He glanced down toward the barn floor, where the walkers continued to groan and shuffle aimlessly, their twisted forms milling about in endless hunger.

As he moved around the loft, the faint sound of his footsteps against the wooden boards caused a few walkers below to look up. Their pale, clouded eyes stared blankly, their decayed hands reaching toward the sound. Orion froze, his breath catching in his throat as he waited for them to lose interest.

When they finally turned away, he let out a slow, controlled exhale and continued his search, determined to find a way out of this nightmare.

The dim morning light filtering through the cracks in the barn illuminated the loft above in patchy beams. Orion took in his surroundings fully for the first time since waking. The loft was shaped like a giant donut, with an open middle that offered a clear, horrifying view of the walkers below. Their grotesque forms shambled aimlessly, bumping into one another, groaning and reaching for prey that wasn’t there. The sound was ceaseless—low, guttural, and relentless.

Carefully, Orion rose to his feet, making sure not to disturb Sophia, who was still curled up in their hay nest. The barn was quiet aside from the walkers, but Orion’s stomach churned with unease. They were trapped up here, with no clear way out. He had to figure something out before their meager supplies—and their luck—ran out.

Moving cautiously, he edged toward the front of the barn, where a large double door sat closed, designed for pulling hay bales into the loft. He leaned toward the wood, peering through a knot hole. His eyes squinted against the brightness of the sun outside, adjusting slowly to the view beyond.

Through the small opening, he spotted the white farmhouse in the distance, its paint gleaming against the surrounding fields. Two men were climbing into the truck that had brought them here. From this distance, their figures were blurry, but Orion could tell they were working quickly, exchanging words before one slammed the driver’s door shut. The engine roared to life as they began pulling away from the farmhouse.

On the porch of the house, two figures lingered, watching the truck drive off. They seemed relaxed, their postures unhurried. After a few moments, the two figures turned and disappeared inside, leaving the porch empty.

Orion frowned, unease settling deeper into his chest. His foggy memory whispered the name "Otis," the man who had knocked him out and left him here. The farmhouse and the people inside were familiar somehow, but the details eluded him, slipping through his mind like water through a sieve. For now, all he could do was file away the information and figure out a way to keep Sophia safe.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the back of the barn, where a large pasture stretched into the distance. A few horses roamed lazily, flicking their tails and grazing in the morning sun. The sight was jarring in its normalcy, a stark contrast to the horrors lurking below and the danger surrounding them.

With a soft sigh, Orion turned and headed back toward their hiding spot, his footsteps careful against the creaking wood of the loft. Just as he began to lower himself into the hay nest, he froze. The faint sound of footsteps and the clank of chains reached his ears. Someone was climbing the stairs leading to the loft.

He dropped into the nest quickly, motioning for Sophia to stay quiet. He pressed a finger to his lips, and she nodded, her wide eyes locking onto his in fear. Together, they stayed perfectly still, their breathing shallow as the sounds grew closer.

The door to the loft creaked open, spilling brighter light into the space. Orion braved a small glance around the hay, careful not to make a sound. His heart raced as he spotted a figure entering the loft, carrying a burlap sack that squirmed and clucked loudly.

The person—a woman—wore a white floral dress and scuffed brown cowboy boots. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she moved with purpose as she made her way to the edge of the loft. The walkers below began to stir, their groans rising as they sensed the presence of something living above them.

The woman paused at the edge, looking down at the undead mass beneath her. Without hesitation, she hefted the sack and opened it, releasing several chickens into the open space below. The terrified birds squawked and fluttered for a moment, their panic drawing the attention of the walkers. The undead groaned louder, reaching skyward as the chickens fell, their wings flapping uselessly as they were quickly overwhelmed.

The screeches of the chickens were short-lived, drowned out by the snarls and snapping jaws of the walkers. The woman didn’t linger to watch. She turned and walked back toward the loft door, her boots scuffing softly against the wood. Orion ducked down lower as she passed, his body tense as he held his breath.

From his vantage point, he caught a glimpse of her profile, but it was enough to jog his memory. Though her face wasn’t entirely clear in the dim light, something about her sparked recognition. ”Patricia.” The name came to him like a faint echo, but the connection felt solid.

The woman—Patricia—closed the loft door behind her, the clinking chains signaling that she had locked it again. Orion listened as her footsteps retreated, growing fainter until they disappeared entirely, likely heading back to the farmhouse.

The walkers below, now satisfied by their grisly meal, eventually settled into their restless shuffling once more. The barn fell into its uneasy rhythm of groans, growls, and the occasional wet squelch.

Orion let out a quiet hum, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension eased. He turned to Sophia, who had watched the entire scene with wide, fearful eyes.

“She’s gone,” Orion whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. “Locked us back in.”

Sophia’s face fell, her small shoulders sagging as the hope drained from her. She nodded quietly, curling her knees up to her chest.

---

The oppressive silence that followed was broken only by the sounds of the undead below. Orion couldn’t stand the weight of it, not when he could see the fear in Sophia’s trembling hands and downcast eyes. He shifted closer to her, leaning back into the hay as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“You like stories, don’t ya?” he asked softly, his tone light but warm.

Sophia glanced up at him, her expression cautious. “Yeah…”

“Well, how ‘bout this,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll tell you a story—about magic and bravery and a boy with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.”

Sophia’s brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, but then her face lit up with recognition. “Harry Potter?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

Orion nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the one. Now, close your eyes and imagine this…”

And so he began, weaving the story of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in a low, soothing voice. He described the boy under the stairs, the letter-delivering owls, and Hagrid bursting through the door to deliver Harry his Hogwarts acceptance letter. Sophia leaned into him, her small body relaxing as the familiar tale drew her in.

When he reached the part where Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, screaming about the troll in the dungeon, Sophia giggled softly. The sound warmed Orion’s heart, a small light in the darkness of their circumstances. But as the story continued, Sophia’s giggles gave way to slow, even breaths. She had drifted off to sleep, her head resting against his arm.

Orion glanced down at her peaceful face, a pang of protectiveness tightening his chest. He continued the story quietly, more for himself now than for her, letting his voice trail off as he reached the end of the movie in his mind. The story grounded him, giving him something to hold onto amidst the chaos and uncertainty.

When the tale was done, Orion let out a soft sigh and shifted slightly in the hay. His head still throbbed, his body ached, and hunger gnawed at his stomach, but for now, they were safe. Wrapping his arm more securely around Sophia, he let his eyes drift closed, following her into the fragile reprieve of sleep.

---

The barn was quiet, save for the occasional groans of the walkers below and the creaking of the wooden structure as it settled in the morning heat. Maggie Greene approached the barn cautiously, a basket of feed slung over one arm and a small knife strapped to her hip. She hated Patricia’s “chores,” but it was the deal they’d made—if Maggie helped feed the walkers once in a while, Patricia would handle some of Maggie’s less pleasant duties around the farm. It wasn’t a perfect arrangement, but it worked.

Still, it didn’t sit right with Maggie. Every time she stepped into the barn, the gurgling moans of the undead made her skin crawl. She didn’t see them as "sick," as her father did. To her, they were dead. Dangerous. And keeping them locked up in the barn felt like keeping a powder keg hidden in plain sight.

As Maggie climbed the rickety exterior stairs to the loft, a faint unease prickled at the back of her neck. Something felt...off. She slowed her pace, her boots moving silently across the wooden planks. Her sharp eyes scanned the space, her instincts on high alert.

When she reached the top, her nose wrinkled. The loft smelled worse than usual, the earthy scent of hay mingling with something more pungent. Her gaze swept across the area, her heart skipping a beat when she noticed the subtle signs of recent activity: a pile of hay slightly flattened, as if someone had been lying there; the bucket tucked into a corner, poorly concealed with more hay. And then she heard it—a soft whimper, muffled and almost inaudible, like someone crying in their sleep.

Maggie’s breath caught. She set the basket down quietly, her hand instinctively moving to the knife at her hip. She moved slowly, her footsteps as silent as she could make them on the creaky wood. Her green eyes darted to the open middle of the loft, where the walkers below continued their endless groaning, unaware of her presence. The last thing she needed was to make a sound and draw their attention.

The sound came again—a faint murmur, a soft shuffle of hay. Maggie gripped her knife tighter and followed the noise to a large pile of hay tucked against the back wall of the loft. Taking a steadying breath, she reached out and yanked the hay aside, her knife raised defensively.

What she found stopped her in her tracks.

Two figures were huddled together, their forms partially buried in the hay. One was a man, his face pale and drawn, dried blood matting his temple where a nasty bruise had formed. The other was a little girl, curled tightly against his side, her small arms clinging to him even in sleep.

The man stirred groggily, his eyelids fluttering open as Maggie’s movement disturbed him. His bleary eyes focused on her, and he tensed immediately, his body curling protectively around the child. He groaned softly, trying to push himself upright despite the clear pain he was in.

“Stay back,” Maggie warned, her knife still raised. Her voice was steady, but her heart raced in her chest. She didn’t know who these people were or how they’d ended up here, but the last thing she needed was to be caught off guard.

The man raised a hand weakly, palm out in a gesture of peace. “’m…I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from thirst. “We’re just…jus hidin’. Please…don’t wake her.”

Maggie’s gaze flicked to the girl, who whimpered softly in her sleep, her face buried in the man’s side. The tension in Maggie’s shoulders eased slightly. Whoever these people were, they didn’t look like a threat—at least, not the kind she was used to dealing with. The man looked half-dead himself, his face pale and his body shaking slightly, likely from dehydration or fever. And the girl…she was just a kid. Small, scared, and clinging to the man as if her life depended on it.

Maggie lowered her knife slightly but didn’t put it away. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice softer now but still wary.

The man swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully. “‘rion,” he croaked. “And this is ‘phia. We’re just…tryin’ to survive.”

Maggie frowned, her eyes narrowing. “How long have you been up here?”

“Few days,” Orion murmured, his words slow and slurred. “Got left here…by some asshole…who thought knockin’ me out was a good idea.” He grimaced, pressing a hand to his temple as if the memory caused him physical pain. “Ain’t tryin’ to cause trouble. Just…needed a place to hide.”

Maggie studied him for a moment, her mind racing. She could see the truth in his face—the desperation, the exhaustion. She didn’t know their full story, but she didn’t need to. It was clear they’d been through hell, and they didn’t have the strength to be a threat to anyone right now.
With a sigh, Maggie sheathed her knife and knelt to the basket she’d brought with her. She pulled out a water bottle and a piece of bread, holding them out cautiously. “Here. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Orion stared at the offering for a moment, suspicion flickering briefly in his eyes. But when he saw Maggie’s expression—serious but not unkind—he nodded weakly and reached for the water first. His hands shook as he unscrewed the cap and took a few small sips, careful not to drink too fast.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Maggie nodded, her gaze shifting to Sophia, who stirred slightly in her sleep. “She’s been okay?”
Orion nodded. “I’m doin’ what I can for her,” he said, his voice thick with guilt. “She’s scared outta her mind…but she’s holdin’ up.”

Maggie’s throat tightened at his words. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for them, hiding here for days with nothing but hay for cover and the constant noise of walkers below. Her father’s rules flashed through her mind—No strangers. No outsiders. Keep the farm safe. But looking at them now, she couldn’t bring herself to call for help or tell anyone else they were here.

“I’ll bring you more food and water when I can,” Maggie said finally, her voice low. “But you need to stay quiet and outta sight. If my daddy finds you, it won’t go well.”

Orion nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

She stood and turned to leave but paused at the loft door. Glancing back, she studied them one more time—the broken man and the terrified little girl tucked into the hay. Her heart ached at the sight, but she pushed the feeling down. For now, she’d keep their presence a secret. She just hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite her.

---

The first time Maggie returned to the barn after discovering Orion and Sophia, her stomach twisted with guilt. She carried a small bundle of food and water hidden under a folded cloth, her eyes darting toward the farmhouse as she made her way across the field. The others were busy with chores or tending to Carl’s recovery—she had time, but not much.

The groans of the walkers were as relentless as ever, their dead hands clawing at the air from behind the locked barn doors. Maggie forced herself to breathe through her mouth as she climbed the exterior stairs, her boots light against the creaky planks. The last thing she needed was for someone to hear her and come looking.

When she reached the loft, she paused at the door, her hand hovering over the latch. What am I doing? she thought, her father’s words echoing in her mind. Protect the farm. Keep strangers out.
But then she thought of the little girl, her frightened face buried against Orion’s side, and the man himself—weak, bruised, and doing everything he could to shield her. With a small shake of her head, Maggie pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Orion was sitting up this time, his back braced against the loft wall. He looked slightly better than before—less pale, though still gaunt—but the dark bruise on his temple was stark against his skin. Sophia was curled beside him, her small hands clutching his shirt as if afraid he’d disappear if she let go.

At the sound of the door opening, Orion tensed, his hand moving instinctively toward the small knife Maggie had given him on her first visit. When he saw it was her, he relaxed slightly, though his body remained taut with caution.

“Brought you something,” Maggie whispered, holding up the bundle. She moved quickly, setting it down beside him and glancing toward the loft opening to make sure the walkers below hadn’t noticed her arrival.

“Thank you,” Orion said, his voice still hoarse but stronger than the day before. He unwrapped the cloth carefully, revealing a small piece of bread, a handful of dried fruit, and a bottle of water. His hands shook slightly as he picked up the water, and Maggie pretended not to notice as he took a slow sip.

Sophia stirred, blinking up at Maggie with wide, tired eyes. “Is it safe now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Maggie knelt beside her, offering a small smile. “Not yet, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But I’m workin’ on it.”

Sophia nodded, her little face crumpling for a moment before she buried it back against Orion’s side. Maggie’s heart ached at the sight.

Over the next day, Maggie returned whenever she could, sneaking small amounts of food and water into the loft. Each visit was brief, her movements quick and precise to avoid detection. She always locked the barn doors behind her, glancing over her shoulder as she made her way back to the farmhouse.

But the more time she spent with Orion and Sophia, the harder it became to justify keeping them a secret. Sophia’s frightened face, Orion’s bruised and weary expression—both chipped away at Maggie’s resolve. They weren’t dangerous. They weren’t the kind of people her father had warned her about. They were just survivors, like anyone else, trying to make it through another day.

---

On her third visit, Maggie sat cross-legged in the hay across from Orion and Sophia, her knife resting loosely in her lap. She studied Orion carefully, her sharp green eyes filled with curiosity and wariness. “You gonna tell me who put you up here?” she asked quietly.

Orion hesitated, his hand brushing over the bruise on his temple. “A man,” he said finally, his voice clipped. “Big guy. Portly. Knocked me out cold after I saved his ass from a walker.”

Maggie’s stomach twisted. “Otis?” she murmured, her tone disbelieving. “He’s dead. He died helpin’ Shane get supplies for Carl, Rick’s boy.”

Orion let out a bitter laugh, though it quickly turned into a wince as he pressed a hand to his head. “Well, before he went on his little hero mission, he dumped us here. Knocked me out, threw us in the loft, and locked the damn doors. Didn’t seem to care if we lived or died.”

Sophia sniffled, sitting up from Orion’s side. “He hit Uncle ‘rion,” she said, her voice trembling. “And he threw me in the truck like I was a sack of potatoes. He was mean.”

Maggie felt a wave of disgust roll through her. Otis had always been a little rough around the edges, but this? Abandoning a man and a child, locking them up like animals? She tightened her grip on the knife in her lap, her knuckles white with tension.

“I didn’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Orion said, his tone tired. “He’s dead, right? Karma’s got a way of workin’ itself out.”

Maggie didn’t respond, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She stood abruptly, brushing hay off her jeans. “I’ll be back later,” she said, her voice tighter than she intended. “Stay quiet.”

---

The arrival of Orion’s group at the farm made it nearly impossible for Maggie to keep her secret much longer. The Greene family had lived in careful isolation since the world fell apart, but now their quiet life was being shaken apart by a flood of new people, personalities, and conflicts.

Tensions ignited almost immediately. Shane’s short temper clashed violently against Hershel’s calm but firm insistence that this farm was not a sanctuary for outsiders. Rick, caught between keeping his people safe and respecting Hershel’s authority, was trying to negotiate for a longer stay, but every conversation seemed to end in frustration. Maggie could see it in the way Rick’s shoulders tightened each time Hershel dismissed the idea of them staying permanently, in the way Shane prowled around the farm like a restless wolf, barely restraining his aggression.

Maggie knew her father saw the world differently than Rick’s group did. Hershel still believed the walkers were just sick, that they could be cured, that holding on to his faith and the farm’s stability was the best course of action. But the newcomers had brought a different reality with them—one where the world outside wasn’t just sick. It was dead.

And worse than that, Maggie knew she had brought another complication to the farm. One that no one knew about yet.

Every day, the weight of her secret grew heavier.

She wrestled with it constantly, torn between loyalty to her father and her growing unease about keeping Orion and Sophia hidden in the barn. The two had been there for days now, tucked away in the loft, surviving off scraps of food and whatever little water she could sneak to them. Every time she climbed those rickety barn steps, she told herself she was doing the right thing—that she was helping them, that she was protecting them.

But how long could she really keep this up?

Each morning, she woke with a pit in her stomach, half-expecting someone to have discovered them overnight. Every time she passed her father, she felt the words bubbling up in her throat, but she swallowed them down, telling herself she just needed one more day. One more day for Orion to get his strength back, one more day to figure out how to break the news gently, one more day to—
A hand landed on her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She turned quickly, startled, only to see Glenn standing beside her, concern flickering in his dark eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

Maggie hesitated. She had only known Glenn for a short time, but in that time, something between them had shifted. He wasn’t like Shane, whose temper and arrogance set her on edge. He wasn’t like Rick, burdened with the weight of leadership. Glenn was steady, warm, easy to talk to.
Maybe that was why, despite everything, she found herself growing closer to him.

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a small smile.

Glenn didn’t look convinced. “You’ve been quiet,” he noted.

Maggie let out a slow breath, glancing around the farm to make sure no one else was watching them. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” she admitted, choosing her words carefully.

Glenn studied her for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he said, exhaling. “I get that.”
And somehow, Maggie believed him.

She wanted to tell him—wanted to let the secret slip from her tongue and let someone else carry the burden with her. But if she told him, it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the group knew. And if the rest of the group knew, it was only a matter of time before Hershel did.
So she stayed silent.

For now.

But deep down, she knew it couldn’t last.

---

The barnyard was in utter chaos. Shane's booming voice echoed across the open field, his anger spilling out with every syllable. “These ain’t people, Hershel! They’re dead! You can’t just keep them locked up here like pets!” His finger jabbed toward the barn, his face flushed with fury.

Hershel Greene stood firm, his weathered hands gripping the pitchfork he carried as though it anchored him to his principles. “They’re sick,” he said, his tone steady but strained. “They’re still my wife, my neighbors, my friends—”

“They’re walkers!” Shane cut him off, waving his gun in the air. “You’re gonna get us all killed!”
Maggie stood frozen near the farmhouse, her arms wrapped around herself as the confrontation unfolded. Her stomach churned with anxiety. She had known the walkers in the barn were a ticking time bomb, but she had prayed it wouldn’t come to this—Shane storming the barnyard, shouting at her father while Rick and Daryl tried to calm him down. She had prayed that no one else would get hurt.

But that was before Shane crossed the line.

With a snarl, Shane stalked over to the barn doors and grabbed the chain locking them shut. “This ends now.” he hissed, pulling it loose.

“Shane, don’t!” Rick shouted, running toward him. But it was too late. Shane flung the doors open, and the walkers inside stumbled out, drawn by the noise and the sunlight spilling into the barn.
Their grotesque forms shambled forward, arms reaching, teeth gnashing. Their groans grew louder, a sickening chorus of hunger and decay.

“Take ‘em down!” Shane barked, raising his gun.

The gunfire was deafening. Shane fired first, and the others followed, cutting down the walkers as they emerged. Daryl’s crossbow thunked as he reloaded quickly, each bolt striking true. Glenn’s pistol shook in his hands, but his aim was steady. T-Dog and Michonne stood slightly behind the group, their weapons ready in case any walkers got too close to the children or others standing by.
Maggie clutched at her chest, frozen in horror as she watched the bodies drop one by one. The barnyard became a macabre scene of falling corpses, blood pooling in the dirt, and smoke rising from hot barrels.

As the dust began to settle, the group’s heavy breathing filled the air. The final walker collapsed to the ground, its decayed skull shattered by Daryl’s last bolt. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the distant squawks of birds startled by the commotion.
And then they all saw movement in the loft.

Maggie blinked, her heart seizing in her chest as two figures emerged from the shadows. The ladder creaked under their weight as they descended slowly, cautiously. The first figure was a man, pale and gaunt, his dark hair matted with dried blood. He clutched the ladder tightly as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. His legs wobbled as he moved, his steps unsteady.

The second figure was smaller—a little girl clinging to the man’s side. Her face was dirty, her eyes wide with fear. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground as they descended, her thin arms wrapped protectively around the man’s waist.

“Wha’ the hell?” Merle’s voice broke the silence, his tone a mix of surprise and suspicion.

Chapter Text

The group turned as one, their weapons lowering as they stared at the pair in stunned silence.
Orion winced as the sunlight hit his face, his eyes squinting against the brightness. He paused at the bottom of the ladder, scanning the barnyard for danger. His heart pounded in his chest as he spotted the bodies of walkers scattered across the dirt, their twisted forms motionless. His gaze swept over the group, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw them—his people.

The kids huddled together with Carol and Amy near the farmhouse, their wide eyes fixed on him. Michonne and Miranda stood protectively in front of their children, their weapons still in hand. Merle and Daryl flanked Rick, both men staring at Orion with a mix of disbelief and relief. Shane stood slightly apart, his jaw clenched and his expression unreadable.

Orion’s knees buckled slightly as he stepped into the sunlight, his body trembling from exhaustion. But before he could fall, Sophia tugged on his arm, steadying him.

“We’re okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We made it.”

Orion gave her a small, shaky nod before turning back to the group. His lips quirked into a weak smile. “Miss us?” he rasped, his voice hoarse from dehydration.

The reaction was immediate. The kids broke away from Carol and Amy, running across the barnyard toward Orion and Sophia.

“Papa!” Levi shouted, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Robbie-Kids stay close!” Carol called after them, her voice tinged with both relief and caution.
The kids reached Orion in a flurry of movement, their arms wrapping around him tightly as they tackled him to the ground. Orion fell onto his back with a grunt, but he let out a weak laugh, his arms encircling the children as they buried their faces in his chest.

“My babies,” he murmured, pressing kisses to their foreheads as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Missed ya so much.”

Sophia stood to the side, watching the reunion with a small, shy smile. She hesitated for a moment before one of the kids—Robbie—reached out and pulled her into the pile. She let out a surprised squeak but quickly relaxed, wrapping her arms around Levi as they all clung to each other.

As the group began to close the gap around Orion and Sophia, the mix of emotions on their faces was palpable. Relief, confusion, curiosity, and—on some faces—suspicion. Orion felt all their eyes on him, but he didn’t have the energy to process the weight of their stares. His knees wobbled, his body drained from days of hunger and dehydration, but he remained upright, unwilling to collapse again in front of the group.

It was Shane who stepped forward first, his hand outstretched. The gesture seemed welcoming enough, but the tension in Shane’s body betrayed him. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched tightly, and his eyes burned with barely concealed anger as they locked onto Orion’s.

“Good to have you back,” Shane said, his voice tight and clipped. His grip on Orion’s hand was firm, almost crushing, and though his lips curled into what could pass for a smile, it was far from genuine. His dark eyes bore into Orion’s, sharp and accusatory, like he was searching for something—an explanation, perhaps, or a confession.

Orion tensed instinctively, his gut twisting at Shane’s fake warmth. The handshake felt less like a greeting and more like a warning. He met Shane’s gaze briefly before pulling his hand back, his voice steady but low. “Good to be back,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow in his mouth.
Shane’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, it looked like he might say something else—something sharp, something meant to provoke. But before the tension could boil over, Jenner appeared at Orion’s side, placing a steadying hand on his arm.

“Let’s get you looked at,” Jenner said briskly, steering Orion away from the brewing conflict. “You’re in no condition to be standing here any longer.”

Carol moved to Orion’s other side, her gentle hand resting on his shoulder as she offered him a warm, motherly smile. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm against the tension in the air.

Sophia, still clutching Orion’s hand tightly, glanced nervously at Shane as they walked away. Orion gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, silently promising that everything would be okay.

Merle and Daryl were near the barn, their weapons still in hand as they methodically checked the fallen walkers for any signs of lingering life. Daryl glanced up briefly as Orion passed, giving him a quick nod of acknowledgment. Merle, as usual, couldn’t resist a comment.

“Good ta see ya still kickin’, Pixie,” Merle called out, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Thought ya might’a grown some wings and flown off with ’em fairies.”

Orion managed a weak smile, his voice too hoarse to reply. Instead, he gave Merle a faint wave, grateful for the familiar teasing.

Daryl stepped forward briefly, his sharp eyes scanning Orion for any obvious injuries. He didn’t say much, just grunted and clapped Orion on the shoulder before nodding toward the farmhouse. “Go on,” he muttered. “Get patched up.”

Merle leaned closer to Orion as he passed, lowering his voice so only he could hear. “Make sure that doctor checks ya proper,” he drawled. “And don’t let Walsh near ya, ya hear? Bastard’s been twitchy ever since you disappeared.”

Orion gave a subtle nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. He knew exactly what Merle meant—Shane’s tense behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed.

As Jenner guided Orion and Sophia toward the farmhouse, his tone turned clinical. “You’re dehydrated,” he said, his sharp eyes scanning Orion from head to toe. “Exhausted, malnourished, and clearly concussed. That bruise on your temple looks nasty. You’re lucky it didn’t swell more.”

Orion gave a faint hum, his head pounding too much to offer a proper response. His legs felt like they were moving on autopilot, each step heavier than the last. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, but he focused on the farmhouse ahead, its white walls practically glowing in the afternoon sunlight.

“Rehydration is the first priority,” Jenner continued, his voice brisk. “After that, I want to check for any signs of infection or further injury. You’ve been through a lot, and we can’t afford to overlook anything.”

“’m fine,” Orion muttered weakly, though his body clearly said otherwise.

“You’re not,” Jenner said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re not going to be much use to anyone if you don’t let me take care of you.”

Orion sighed but didn’t argue further. His head turned slightly as they approached the farmhouse, and his gaze landed on the front steps, where Carl was sitting with Lori. The boy’s arm was in a makeshift sling, his pale face drawn tight with discomfort. Lori sat beside him, fussing with his hair as though the small gesture could protect him from the horrors of the world.

Orion’s brows furrowed, concern cutting through the fog in his mind. “What…happened to him?” he rasped, his voice raw and barely audible.

Jenner glanced toward Carl, his lips thinning into a grim line. “It’s a long story,” he said, his tone clipped. “He got shot. Not too bad—through the arm, clipped his side—but still bad enough.” He exhaled through his nose, a hint of frustration bleeding into his voice. “Shane went out with Otis to find supplies because I didn’t have what we needed. Utter miscommunication because I did. Carl’s stable now, though.”

Orion’s stomach twisted at the change of information of Carl being shot. Originally the boy was shot in the chest. Orion opened his mouth to ask more, but Jenner cut him off.

“We’ll fill you in on everything once you’re patched up,” Jenner said firmly. “Right now, you need to focus on getting some rest.”

As they neared the farmhouse steps, Orion’s attention flickered to the rest of the group still gathered in the barnyard. Rick stood near the barn doors, his expression torn between relief and frustration as he watched the Greene family retreat back toward the house. Maggie lingered behind them, her face pale and her shoulders tense as though she were carrying the weight of the world. Hershel’s back was straight and unyielding, but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.
By the time they reached the porch steps, Orion was barely upright. Carol and Jenner steadied him on either side, their hands firm but gentle as they helped him climb the short staircase. Sophia trailed close behind, her small hand clutching his shirt like a lifeline. His kids followed like a brood of chicks.

Lori glanced up as they approached, her expression softening slightly when she saw Sophia in the group of kids. “Thank God,” she murmured, her hand reaching out instinctively to touch Sophia’s shoulder. “You’re okay.”

Sophia nodded shyly, her gaze darting between Lori and Carl. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Uncle Orion took care of me, ‘n I did too!”

Orion gave her head a small pat, his chest tightening at the quiet pride in her voice.
“Alright,” Jenner said briskly, motioning for them to head inside. “Let’s get you both checked out. We’ll deal with everything else later.”

Orion nodded faintly, his legs shaking as he stepped over the threshold.

The cool interior of the farmhouse was a stark contrast to the heat outside, and as soon as Orion crossed the threshold, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and dried herbs, but it was clean—free of the stench of walkers and sweat that seemed to follow them everywhere. His legs felt like lead, and every step was a monumental effort. By the time they reached the kitchen, he was on the verge of collapse.

Jenner and Carol, walking on either side of him, guided him gently toward a sturdy wooden chair by the table. Orion lowered himself into it with a soft groan, his body slumping forward as if gravity itself was determined to pull him to the floor.

Sophia stayed pressed close to his side, still clutching his shirt as though afraid he might disappear. The rest of his kids filed in behind them, their faces pale with worry and their movements hesitant. Levi, his oldest, hovered protectively near Orion’s chair, his sharp eyes darting toward Jenner and Carol, clearly assessing whether they could be trusted. Anna-Bell and Robbie clung to each other, whispering nervously as they took in the unfamiliar surroundings, while little Liam and Eva stayed close to Levi, their wide, frightened eyes never leaving Orion. Maple, cradled in Levi’s arms, gurgled softly, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Carol crouched down to Sophia’s level, her kind smile doing little to mask the concern in her eyes. “Baby, why don’t you and the others come with me? I’ll fix you something to eat while Dr. Jenner looks after Orion, okay?”

Sophia hesitated, her gaze flicking up to Orion. “Can’t we stay with him?” she asked softly, her voice trembling.

“‘Phia,” Orion murmured, his voice rough and tired. He reached out to gently brush her hair back from her face, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Go with your ma, okay? Keep the little ones calm for me.”

Sophia bit her lip but nodded reluctantly. “Okay…” She let go of his shirt and turned to the others. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Levi lingered a moment longer, his brows furrowed in concern. “You sure you’re alright, Pops?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

Orion gave him a faint smile, resting a hand on Levi’s shoulder. “I’ll be okay, kiddo. Could you help Mrs. Carol keep an eye on everyone for me?”

Levi nodded, his jaw tightening as he ushered the younger kids toward the door. Maple let out a small whine as they moved away, her chubby arms reaching toward Orion, but Levi whispered something soothing to her, bouncing her lightly until she settled.

Carol gave Orion’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before leading the kids into the next room. “We’ll be right here if you need us,” she said softly before disappearing around the corner, leaving Orion and Jenner alone in the kitchen.

The moment the kids were gone, Orion let out a shaky exhale, his body sagging further into the chair. He hadn’t realized how much energy it had taken to keep himself upright for their sake, to put on a brave face and reassure them when he felt anything but strong. His head throbbed, the dull ache behind his eyes growing worse with every passing second.

Jenner didn’t waste any time. He set his medical bag on the table and pulled up a chair, his movements brisk and efficient. “Alright,” he said, pulling out a small flashlight. “Let’s start with the basics.”

Orion winced as Jenner tilted his chin up, shining the flashlight into each of his eyes. “Pupils are responsive,” Jenner muttered to himself. “That’s good. Any dizziness or nausea?”

“A little,” Orion admitted, his voice scratchy. He cleared his throat, wincing at how dry it felt. “Head’s killin’ me.”

“Concussion, most likely,” Jenner said, carefully probing the bruise on Orion’s temple. Orion hissed through his teeth at the sharp pain, and Jenner pulled back, nodding. “Bruising’s bad, but I don’t think it’s fractured. You’ll need to take it easy for the next few days.”

Orion let out a dry laugh, shaking his head weakly. “Easy doesn’t really exist anymore.”

Jenner didn’t respond, instead pulling out a stethoscope and pressing it to Orion’s chest. “Deep breaths,” he instructed, and Orion complied, though each breath felt like an effort. Jenner’s brow furrowed slightly as he listened. “Your lungs sound clear, but you’re definitely dehydrated. When’s the last time you had more than a sip of water?”

“Couple days ago,” Orion admitted, his gaze dropping to his lap. “We were rationing. Didn’t have much to start with.”

Jenner nodded grimly, setting the stethoscope aside and reaching for a bottle of electrolyte solution from his bag. “Drink this,” he said, handing it to Orion. “Slowly. Your body’s not ready to handle too much at once.”

Orion took the bottle with shaking hands, unscrewing the cap and taking small sips. The salty-sweet liquid tasted awful, but the coolness soothed his dry throat, and he drank it gratefully.

Jenner continued his examination, checking Orion’s pulse, blood pressure, and reflexes. “You’re weaker than you should be,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Malnutrition, dehydration, and that head injury aren’t helping. You’re going to need at least a couple of days to recover properly.”

Orion sighed, leaning back in the chair. “I don’t have a couple of days,” he muttered. “I’ve got kids to take care of, a group to pull my weight in…”

“And you can’t do any of that if you collapse,” Jenner interrupted, his voice firm. “You’re no good to anyone if you run yourself into the ground. Let the others step up for a few days. They can handle it.”

Orion didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the floor. He hated feeling useless, hated being the one who needed help instead of giving it. But Jenner’s words rang true, and he knew he didn’t have the strength to argue.

Jenner sighed, softening slightly as he packed up his bag. “I’ll check on you again tomorrow,” he said, standing. “In the meantime, rest. Drink plenty of fluids. And eat broth as soon as your stomach can handle it.”

Before Jenner could leave, small footsteps pattered toward the kitchen. Levi peeked around the corner, his expression a mix of worry and determination. “Is he okay?” the boy asked, clutching Maple a little tighter against his chest.

Jenner offered a small nod. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “But he needs rest.”

Levi turned to Orion, his face serious. “You hear that, Pops? You gotta rest. We’ll take care of things, okay? Me and the others.”

Orion’s chest tightened at the boy’s words. He gave Levi a faint smile, his voice soft but sincere. “I know you will, kiddo. You’re already doin’ a great job.”

Levi nodded firmly, his small shoulders squared as he stepped back into the other room. Jenner raised an eyebrow as he watched the exchange but didn’t comment. Instead, he gave Orion a final look and left the kitchen, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Orion leaned back in the chair, exhaustion settling over him like a heavy blanket. The distant sound of his kids’ laughter in the next room brought him a small measure of peace, and for the first time in days, he allowed himself to close his eyes and drift into sleep, the warmth of their presence keeping the nightmares at bay.

—

The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows over the farm as the group scattered to tend to their respective tasks. After a few days of rest, Jenner had reluctantly cleared Orion to start moving around again, though he insisted on light duties only. Orion, of course, had no intention of staying idle, even if his body still ached with every step.

He was crouched near the edge of the woods, sorting through a small pile of supplies he and Levi had gathered from the walkers gunned down in front of the barn earlier. Lucky sat dutifully at his side, panting softly as he watched Orion sift through an old first-aid kit, his dark eyes following every movement like a silent guardian. Levi and the other kids were nearby, weaving between the trees under Carol’s watchful eye, their laughter carrying on the wind. It was a rare sound these days, something soft and fleeting amidst all the hard edges of survival. Orion let himself enjoy it, even if only for a moment.

The quiet peace didn’t last long.

“Figured ya’d be back on yer feet sooner than ya should be.”

Orion glanced up to see Daryl standing a few feet away, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. His sharp blue eyes were locked onto Orion, his mouth set in that familiar half-scowl, half-frown he always wore when he was irritated about something. He wasn’t exactly a talkative man, but he had a way of making his presence known without saying much.

“Didn’t realize you were keepin’ track of my movements, Dixon,” Orion said with a faint smirk, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He pushed himself into a more comfortable position, wincing as his body protested the movement.

Daryl snorted, stepping closer. “Ain’t like you’re subtle,” he muttered. “Half the camp’s been watchin’ to see if ya keel over again. And from the way you’re sittin’ there actin’ like ya ain’t about to fall over, I’d say they got good reason.”

Orion let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Good to know I’m a source of entertainment,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the small pile of supplies. “I’m just tryin’ to be useful. Figured these could come in handy.”

Daryl didn’t respond right away. Instead, he crouched down beside Orion, his movements fluid and quiet, and started sifting through the supplies himself. He picked up a roll of gauze, turning it over in his hands as if checking its condition. “You ain’t gotta prove nothin’ to nobody,” he said after a moment, his voice gruff but not unkind. He jerked his head toward the farmhouse, where Shane’s shadow loomed on the porch. “Least of all him.”

Orion let out a soft chuckle, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Feels like I do sometimes,” he admitted. “When you’re the one who keeps pickin’ up strays, people start expecting you to hold it all together. Can’t exactly do that sittin’ on my ass.”

Daryl hummed in agreement, but there was something sharp in his expression, something guarded. “Ain’t just on you, though,” he muttered. “Rest of us can carry some of the weight. You don’t gotta do it all yourself.”

Orion turned his head to look at him, caught slightly off guard by the quiet sincerity in Daryl’s voice. It wasn’t often that someone reminded him he didn’t have to shoulder everything alone. “Thanks,” he said softly, and for once, he meant it.

They worked in silence for a while, sorting through the supplies and discarding anything that was too damaged to be useful. It was a companionable silence, one that Orion found oddly comforting. Daryl wasn’t the kind of person who filled the air with meaningless chatter, and Orion appreciated that more than he realized.

But Daryl’s eyes never stopped scanning—whether it was Orion, the kids, or the farmhouse, he was watching. Orion knew enough about the man to recognize when someone was on high alert.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Dixon?” Orion finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

Daryl’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look at Orion when he spoke. “Ain’t been right since ya got back,” he admitted, voice low. “Been watchin’ Shane. He ain’t lookin’ at ya normal.”

Orion stiffened slightly. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Daryl finally met his gaze, eyes cold and sharp. “Ain’t just lookin’. He’s waitin’.”

Orion swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t stupid—he’d felt it, the weight of Shane’s anger simmering just beneath the surface. He’d seen the way the man watched him, the way his body tensed every time Orion was nearby. But hearing Daryl confirm it made it real in a way Orion didn’t like.

“Figured he’d be pissed, but…” Orion shook his head. “Didn’t think he’d take it this far.”

Daryl scoffed. “Man’s wound up tighter than a goddamn spring. Somethin’ ain’t sittin’ right with him. If he tries somethin’—”

“He won’t,” Orion cut in, though his voice lacked conviction.

Daryl gave him a hard look. “And what if he does?” His tone was edged with something Orion hadn’t heard from him before—something protective. “You tell me if he pulls some shit, ya hear?” His fingers twitched against his crossbow strap, his muscles tensed like he was already preparing for a fight. “Ain’t gonna let that bastard pull nothin’ on ya.”

Orion blinked, a little taken aback by the intensity in Daryl’s voice. He didn’t doubt that Daryl meant it, and for some reason, that settled something uneasy inside him. He exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright,” he murmured. “If it gets bad, I’ll let you know.”

Daryl held his gaze for a long moment before nodding once, satisfied.

After another stretch of silence, Daryl spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You’re good with ‘em, the kids I mean.”

Orion raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Levi, who was helping Liam climb a low-hanging tree while Carol stood nearby. “Yeah, well…like I said before, someone’s gotta look out for ‘em,” he said with a shrug. “World’s a shitshow, but they still deserve a chance to be kids. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

Daryl nodded, his gaze lingering on the kids for a moment before shifting back to Orion. “Ain’t easy, though. Bein’ the one they look to.”

“No, it’s not,” Orion agreed. “But it’s worth it.”

Daryl was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “You remind me of my mom,” he said suddenly, his voice low and almost hesitant.

Orion blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “Your mom?”

“She was tough,” Daryl said, not meeting Orion’s eyes. “Didn’t take shit from nobody. But she’d go through hell and back for me and Merle. Even when things were bad, made sure we knew she was there for us.”

Orion felt a pang of empathy at the hint of vulnerability in Daryl’s voice. He could tell it wasn’t easy for him to talk about his past, but the fact that he was sharing it at all felt like a small step forward. “Sounds like she was a good woman,” Orion said gently.

“She was,” Daryl said, his voice barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, straightening up as if to shake off the weight of the memory. “Anyway, I get why ya do what ya do. Why you keep takin’ in strays.”

Orion smiled faintly, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Guess I’m just a sucker for lost causes.”

Daryl smirked, standing and slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he said. “World could use more people like ya.”

Orion stared after him as Daryl turned and walked back towards Jenners Humvee, his heart feeling a little lighter than it had in days. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed someone to have his back. And now, he had no doubt—Daryl Dixon did.

That happy feeling didn’t last long.

A slow clap broke the moment, the sound slicing through the peaceful atmosphere like a blade. Orion stiffened, his jaw clenching before he even turned around. He knew that mocking, smug tone before Shane even spoke.

“Well ain’t that sweet?” Shane drawled, stepping out from behind the camper with supplies strewn across the ground from Glenn’s Earlier scavenge along the highway. His arms were crossed over his chest, a smirk playing at his lips, but his eyes were anything but amused. “Didn’t think ol’ Dixon was your type, but hey, guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Orion sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shane,” he muttered, already exhausted by whatever this was about to turn into. “I really don’t have the patience for your bullshit today.”

Shane scoffed, stepping closer, his presence suddenly looming. “Nah, see, I knew somethin’ was off about you from the start,” he said, voice dripping with something ugly. “You always got that way about ya, pickin’ up strays, actin’ soft. Now here you are, makin’ goo goo eyes at a backwoods hick like Daryl Dixon?” He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You serious? You think-you think he ain’t gonna turn on ya the second he realizes you ain't like him?”

Orion’s stomach twisted—not from Shane’s words, but from the sheer audacity of them. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms, but he forced himself to stay calm. It wasn’t just for himself—it was for Levi, for Sophia, for the other kids lingering not far away, who had already been through too much to hear this Xenophobic garbage spewed in their direction.

He inhaled through his nose, exhaled slow. “Shane,” he said evenly, “you do realize you’re talkin’ outta your ass right now, yeah?”

Shane let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, c’mon, man! Don’t act like I didn’t just hear you two havin’ your little heart-to-heart,” he sneered. “You think Dixon’s gonna give a damn about all that ‘found family’ bullshit? You think anyone here will when push comes to shove? Y’can’t just go makin’ a whole damn rainbow coalition outta what’s left of the world.” His eyes flicked to the farmhouse, to where Michonne and Miranda stood near the porch talking, to where Levi and the younger kids played under Carol’s watchful eye. “These people? They ain’t your people. You’re just collectin’ them like you think it makes you somethin’ better than the rest of us.”

Orion felt a muscle jump in his jaw, his body coiled tight like a spring. But even as his temper simmered beneath the surface, he refused to let it show the way Shane wanted him to. He refused to give this man the satisfaction of dragging him into a screaming match—not in front of his kids, not when Shane was just looking for a fight.

Instead, he straightened his shoulders, exhaling a slow breath before leveling Shane with a look that was steady, calm—dangerous in its quiet intensity.

“You done?” Orion asked, his tone almost too even.

Shane’s smirk faltered for half a second before he scoffed. “Yeah, I’m done, ‘cause I ain’t wastin’ my breath on some cocksuc-”

“Ah-ah.” Orion held up a hand, cutting him off smoothly. “You’re done ‘cause I said you’re done.”
Shane’s brows furrowed, his mouth half-open as if gearing up for another retort, but Orion didn’t let him get there. He stepped forward—not aggressively, not confrontationally, but deliberately, the way a parent might step toward a child throwing a tantrum.

“You think you’re bein’ real clever right now, huh?” Orion mused, tilting his head slightly. His voice remained infuriatingly calm, almost gentle. “Throwin’ around big words, tryna make me feel small, tryna drag Dixon into it like he’d give a damn what you think about him.” He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “But lemme tell you somethin’, Shane-you’re just makin’ yourself look pathetic.”
Shane bristled, opening his mouth again, but Orion kept going.

“Y’know what I see when I look at you right now?” Orion continued, voice still maddeningly even. “I see a man who’s so goddamn scared of losin’ control that he’s gotta tear everyone else down just to feel like he’s on top. I see a man who’s threatened by the idea that people can give a shit about each other without conditions. I see a man who’s got a whole lot of anger bottled up, with nowhere to put it, so instead of dealin’ with his own shit, he’s gotta come sniffin’ around me to pick a fight.”
Shane’s nostrils flared, his body coiled like he was ready to explode, but Orion never raised his voice, never stepped back.

“Now, normally,” Orion continued, shifting his weight, “I’d just tell ya to fuck off and be done with it. But see, I got kids to think about. Kids who’ve seen enough hate in the world, enough people rippin’ each other apart, and I’ll be damned if I let them hear you spewin’ this hateful shit in front of ‘em.”

Shane’s hands flexed at his sides, his jaw tight. His anger was boiling over, but something in Orion’s steady, unrelenting tone kept him from snapping. Orion knew Shane wanted a fight—he wanted an excuse to throw the first punch, to escalate this into something ugly. But Orion wasn’t giving him that.

Instead, he took another slow step forward, voice dropping even lower.

“So here’s what you’re gonna do, Walsh,” Orion murmured. “You’re gonna turn around, you’re gonna walk away, and you’re gonna think real hard about whether you wanna keep actin’ like a damn fool in front of all these people. ‘Cause I promise you—every second you stand here tryin’ to push your bullshit on me? You just look weaker. And we both know you can’t afford that.”

For a long moment, the tension crackled between them like a live wire. Shane’s fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, his breathing heavy with barely restrained rage. His gaze darted around, likely realizing that a few people had noticed the exchange—Michonne watching from the porch, Daryl and Merle lingering near Jenners Humvee, Carol subtly shielding the kids with her body as she shot Shane a warning look.

Shane let out a sharp exhale, nostrils flaring. His body remained tense for a few seconds longer before, finally, he jerked his head to the side, spitting onto the dirt.

“Whatever, Bitch,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “Ain’t even worth my time.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked off, his boots kicking up dust as he headed towards his Jeep.

Orion let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders before turning back toward the scattered supplies. Lucky, who had been lying nearby, let out a low chuff of approval, as if sensing the tension had passed.

“Y’alright, Pops?” Levi’s voice piped up from a few feet away.
Orion looked over to see Levi standing there with Robbie and Anna-Bell, their little faces creased with concern.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Orion said, offering a tired but reassuring smile. “Just cleaning up some trash.”
Levi squinted in the direction Shane had gone before huffing. “He’s a jerk.”
Orion snorted. “Yeah, bud. Yeah, he is.”
———
The next morning, Orion rose before the sun, slipping out of the farmhouse before most of the others were awake. His body still ached, and his head still pounded from dehydration, but he refused to sit around and feel useless. Jenner had given him strict orders to take it easy, but Orion figured easy could still mean being productive.

Outside, the early morning mist clung to the grass, the sky painted in soft shades of pink and orange. The kids were already awake, lingering near the barn with Carol and Amy as they played with Maple and whispered among themselves. Levi perked up immediately upon seeing Orion step outside, his usual sharp-eyed focus settling on him.

“You gonna teach us more today?” Levi asked, ever the eager student.

Orion chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair as he passed by. “Wouldn’t be much of a survival lesson if we only did it a few times, Bud.”

He walked past the barn toward a small clearing near the tree line, where the ground was dry and firm. As the kids noticed his movement, they trailed after him like ducklings, their sleepy expressions quickly morphing into excitement. Orion could already hear Robbie whispering something about learning how to be a ninja to Annabell, and he rolled his eyes fondly.

Carol gave Orion a knowing smile. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“I’ll take it slow,” Orion reassured her, though the look she gave him said she didn’t believe him one bit.

By the time Orion had gathered enough space for the lesson, more than just the kids had joined in. Amy was there, her arms crossed but eyes bright with curiosity. Beth, still soft-spoken and nervous around most of the group, hovered nearby, watching Orion closely. Michonne and Miranda eventually joined too, Michonne carrying Andre on her hip as she observed Orion’s movements with mild interest.

“Alright,” Orion called out, clapping his hands together. “Today, we’re focusing on two things—climbing and silent movement.”

Sophia grinned. “Like spies?”

“Exactly,” Orion said, smirking. “Except instead of dodgin’ lasers, we’re dodgin’ walkers. Learning how to move quiet, climb quick, and stay unseen? That could save your life someday.”

Robbie pumped his fist excitedly. “Ninjas and spies? This is awesome!”

Levi, ever the serious one, rolled his eyes. “Can we just start already?”

Orion grinned, motioning for them to gather around a sturdy oak tree. “First things first—a refresher for climbing. If you ever find yourself in a tight spot, a tree can give you a quick escape. Walkers can’t climb, so gettin’ up high can buy you time to think.” He placed a hand on the bark, knocking against it. “But you can’t just scramble up, you could lose your grip an’ what? Fall, that’s right. You gotta do it right.”

He demonstrated how to find footholds, how to position his arms and legs, and how to use momentum rather than brute strength. He didn’t climb too high, just enough to show the technique before dropping back down.

“Levi, you’re up,” Orion said, stepping aside.

Levi, naturally athletic, climbed with ease, though his movements were a bit rushed. “Slow down,” Orion coached. “Make sure your grip’s solid before you move again.”

One by one, each of the kids took their turn, Orion guiding them as they went. Some needed more help than others—Liam struggled to reach the lower branch, and Annabell kept slipping because she was too eager to rush to the top—but they all got the hang of it eventually.

As they practiced, Orion glanced toward the adults. Amy and Beth had been quietly watching, but now Beth stepped forward hesitantly. “Could… could you teach me, too?” she asked.

Orion smiled. “Course I can.”

Beth flushed slightly but nodded, stepping closer.

Soon enough, Miranda, Michonne, and Amy were involved as well, each of them practicing different climbing techniques. Michonne, of course, was a natural, barely needing instruction at all. “I used to climb trees as a kid,” she admitted when Orion raised an eyebrow at her skill.

“Good,” Orion said. “That means I don’t gotta go easy on you.”

Miranda, though she struggled at first, was just as determined. “If mi bebes are learning, I might as well,” she huffed, glaring at the tree as though it had personally offended her.

Orion let out a chuckle but didn’t say anything, instead guiding her hand to a better grip.

That’s when a familiar gravelly voice cut through the morning air.

“Y’all are makin’ this harder than it needs to be.”

Orion turned to see Merle approaching, his usual cocky smirk in place as he surveyed the group. His sleeves were rolled up, cigarette tucked behind his ear, and he had that lazy swagger that made it look like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Didn’t realize you were an expert on tree climbin’, Merle,” Orion said dryly, crossing his arms.

Merle scoffed. “Ain’t about trees, Pixie. It’s about gettin’ up quick when ya need to.” He strode past Orion, eyeing the kids. “Y’all think walkers are just gonna wait while you get a good foothold? Hell no. Ya gotta be fast and smart.”

He stopped beside Levi and jabbed a finger at the tree. “Alright, hotshot. Get up there again, but this time, pretend there’s a walker right behind ya.”

Levi straightened, a determined look crossing his face. He took a deep breath and scrambled up the tree with renewed urgency. Merle watched with a critical eye, nodding in approval. “Better. But ya hesitated at the start—coulda been grabbed. Ya see somethin’ comin’ for ya, you move. No thinkin’, no doubtin’, just go.”

Orion watched as Merle stepped in, giving small but effective pointers—how to push off the ground better, how to shift weight mid-climb, how to grip without wasting too much energy. It was clear the older Dixon had done his fair share of scrambling away from danger.

Even the adults seemed to listen, Beth especially. She tried again, this time getting higher up before glancing down, a nervous smile on her face.

“Atta girl,” Merle said, surprising Orion with the praise. “See? Ain’t so hard.”

Beth beamed before carefully making her way back down.

As the lesson continued, Orion stole a glance toward the fence line. In the distance, Daryl was patrolling, moving with the quiet precision Orion had come to associate with him. His crossbow was slung over his shoulder, eyes constantly scanning the tree line. He wasn’t just looking for walkers—he was watching the land itself, making sure nothing had changed, nothing had slipped through.

A part of Orion wanted to call out to him, but he knew better. Daryl was in his element, doing what he did best—keeping people safe.

Merle clapped Orion on the back, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Ain’t bad, Pixie,” he said, nodding toward the kids. “They’re learnin’ somethin’ real.”

Orion smirked. “Yeah? Maybe I should start chargin’ for lessons.”

Merle barked out a laugh. “Good luck gettin’ payment in this shithole world.”

Orion shook his head, watching as Levi helped Liam get a better grip on the lowest branch. Despite the chaos of everything, despite the looming threats beyond the farm, this—this moment—felt like something good.

And Orion would fight like hell to keep it that way.

The lesson continued until Hershel’s voice cut through the air.

“We need to talk.”

Orion turned, wiping sweat from his brow. Hershel stood a few feet away, his expression serious, shoulders squared in quiet resolve. He wasn’t alone—Rick was beside him, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a thin line. Orion didn’t need to be a mind reader to know this conversation wasn’t going to be good.

A heavy sigh left Orion as he patted Merle’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in a bit. could ya keep helpin’ them practice?”

Merle nodded, his sharp eyes flicked to Hershel. The kids had slowed their movements, sensing the shift in tension, but Merle shot them a look that told them to keep focused.

He followed Hershel and Rick toward the porch, his boots kicking up dust as they walked in silence. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between them. When they reached the farmhouse steps, Orion leaned against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for Hershel to start.

Hershel exhaled slowly, looking past Orion toward the open fields beyond the farm, as if gathering his thoughts. Finally, he spoke. “Your group,” he began, voice carefully measured, “needs to leave.”

Orion felt a dull thud in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. He merely nodded, rubbing at his jaw. “Figured this was comin’.”

Hershel sighed, hands resting on his belt. “I took you in because you had a wounded child, and now you and the girl were found in my barn. But this farm… it’s not meant to be a shelter for outsiders. We’ve survived this long by keepin’ to ourselves, and that’s not going to change.”

Rick shifted beside him, looking conflicted. “Hershel, we don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You’ll find somewhere,” Hershel said simply. “But not here.”

Orion let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I get it. You wanna keep your family safe. But you really think a farm with wooden fences is gonna hold up forever?”

Hershel’s frown deepened. “It’s held up fine so far.”

“For now,” Orion stressed. He gestured toward the fields, where the land stretched wide and open. “But a farm is only as safe as the number of people protectin’ it. And right now? This place has too much open ground, too many gaps in defense. If a horde ever comes through, you’re sittin’ ducks.”

Rick’s brow furrowed, nodding slightly at the logic. “You have something else in mind?”

Orion hesitated. His past-life memories were still foggy at best, but he knew a prison came into play at some point. He just…couldn’t quite recall where. His gaze flicked to Rick. “You know of any prisons nearby?”

Rick blinked. “Prisons?”

“Think about it,” Orion said. “High walls, fences meant to keep people in, which means they sure as hell can keep people out. Secure buildings, limited entry points. Way better than an open farm.”

Rick rubbed his chin, considering it. “There’s West Georgia Correctional,” he said slowly. “It’s not too far, but I don’t know what kind of shape it’s in.”

Orion exhaled, nodding. “That’s gotta be our best shot.”

Hershel still didn’t look convinced, his mouth pressed into a firm line, but he kept quiet. Rick, however, looked deep in thought, as if already working out the logistics.

“There’s… something else,” Rick added hesitantly. He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck before lowering his voice. “Lori’s pregnant.”

Orion didn’t react with surprise. He’d known this was coming, but hearing it out loud made it real in a way he wasn’t prepared for. His shoulders tensed, his mind racing.

“That makes this even more important,” Orion murmured, gaze flicking toward Rick. “You really wanna have a baby in the middle of an open field with walkers roaming around?”

Rick’s grimace deepened. “No. But Hershel’s set on us leavin’.”

Orion turned back to Hershel, expression unreadable. “It is your land, so we’ll leave,” he said finally. “But not yet. Not until we have a real plan. And not until we make sure that baby’s got a safe place to be born.”

Hershel didn’t reply immediately, but the look in his eyes said that, at the very least, he was listening.

Before anything else could be said, a familiar voice called out.

“Got somethin’ for ya.”

Orion turned to see Daryl walking toward them, boots scuffing against the dirt. His crossbow was slung over his shoulder, and his usual sharp-eyed focus was trained on Orion as he approached. There was something weighty in his stance—like he’d been thinking about this long before he opened his mouth.

“Took care of three walkers past the south fence,” Daryl muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Didn’t look like roamers—probably wandered in from the road.”

Hershel frowned at that, clearly unsettled by the idea that walkers were getting so close.

Daryl didn’t linger on it. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small handful of items, holding them out to Orion. “Took what was worth keepin’.”

Orion took the offering, glancing over the haul. An all-in-one tool keychain with a couple of keys and a tiny plastic Magic 8-Ball dangling from it. A wallet—it had a few hundred bills in it (perfect for anybody who wants them to literally pay later). Five lighters, a few bullets for a .42, and some loose change.

Orion turned the small 8-Ball between his fingers, amused. “Gotta say, this isn't the oddest thing I've been handed.”

Daryl huffed, smirking faintly. “Figure it suits ya. You like pretendin’ you know the future and all.”

Orion let out a soft chuckle, tucking the keychain into his pocket before nodding toward the lighters. “These’ll be useful. The bullets too.”

Daryl grunted in agreement, then turned his attention toward Hershel. “Farm’s too open,” he muttered, mirroring Orion’s earlier words. “Ain’t gonna hold forever.”

Hershel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard. “You’re all mighty confident about this prison idea,” he muttered.

Orion shrugged. “If it’s in decent shape, it’s our best bet. But we need to check it out first.” He looked at Daryl. “You up for a scoutin’ run?”

Daryl gave a short nod. “When we goin’?”

“Soon,” Orion said. “But first, we gotta make sure everyone here is squared away. No point in scoutin’ if we ain’t got a fallback plan.”

Rick nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. We’ll gather supplies, see what we can spare. Once we’re ready, we’ll check it out.”

Hershel still looked uncertain, but he didn’t argue. Not yet, at least.

Daryl rolled his shoulders, already looking past the farmhouse like he was mentally planning routes. He fixed Orion with a hard stare, his voice quieter but firm. “Ain’t goin’ alone,” he muttered. “Not after last time.”

Orion hesitated, then nodded. He knew exactly what Daryl meant.

Daryl watched him for a second longer, then pulled a small knife from his belt and handed it over. “Keep it on ya,” he muttered.

Orion took it, fingers curling around the handle. He glanced at the Magic 8-Ball still in his other hand, then gave it a shake.

Outlook uncertain.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Chapter Text

The night was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and the distant rustling of trees as the wind rolled through the farm. The sky stretched dark and endless above, speckled with stars that seemed so much closer now that the world had gone still. It was the kind of night Orion might have once found peaceful—before everything fell apart, before survival became a full-time job.

Now, the quiet only made him uneasy.

After making sure his kids were settled in the camper, tucked beneath blankets with Lucky curled up at their feet, Orion had stepped out into the cool night air. His feet carried him toward the edge of the barn, where he already knew he’d find Shane.

And there he was, just as Orion expected.

Shane sat on an overturned crate, his shotgun resting across his lap, the moonlight casting sharp angles over his face. His movements were slow, methodical, as he ran a cloth along the barrel, his fingers flexing a little too tightly around the weapon. Tension radiated from him in waves, coiling tight in his shoulders, in the way his jaw clenched like he was barely holding something in.

Orion leaned against a fence post a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t bother easing into the conversation, didn’t see the point. “You’re comin’ with Daryl and me tomorrow.”

Shane didn’t look up right away. He finished his movement first, deliberate as ever, before finally flicking his gaze toward Orion. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… there was something sharp in them, something coiled tight beneath the surface. “That right?” he muttered, voice low and gruff.

Orion nodded, already bracing himself for the pushback.

Shane let out a slow exhale through his nose, setting the shotgun down beside him with a little more force than necessary. “Why’s that, fag?”

The word slid from Shane’s mouth like it was a test, like he was daring Orion to flinch. But Orion didn’t give him the satisfaction. He didn’t react, didn’t so much as twitch—just held Shane’s gaze, steady and unbothered. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to use a word like that to get a rise out of him, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Still, he took note of it, tucked it away for later. Shane was looking for a reaction, looking to pick a fight. That told Orion more than any argument ever could.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I thought it’d be better to have someone… tryin’ to help in case we come across some prisoners that are alive,” he said evenly.

The words were calculated, chosen carefully.

Because the real reason—the one Orion wasn’t about to voice—was much simpler. I don’t trust you to stay here.

Shane’s nostrils flared slightly. Orion saw the shift in his posture, the subtle twitch of his fingers like he wanted to argue, to push back just because. But he could also see the wheels turning in Shane’s head, the way he was already considering the possibility.

After a long moment, Shane scoffed and shook his head, like the conversation was a waste of his time. “Whatever. Just don’t get in my way.”

Orion smirked faintly, though there was no real humor in it. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Shane didn’t reply. He just picked up his shotgun again, running his fingers along the barrel with slow, deliberate motions. Dismissed. Like the conversation was already over.

But Orion didn’t miss the way Shane’s jaw tightened. Didn’t miss the way his grip was just a little too firm, like he was holding back more than words.

Orion knew he was poking a bear by putting himself in Shane’s space, making sure Shane had to acknowledge him, had to look him in the eye and see that he wasn’t backing down.

And that was the whole point.

He wasn’t stupid—he knew what kind of man Shane was, knew what desperation did to people. And the moment Shane started unraveling, Orion was damn sure going to be right there, watching. Because keeping a close eye on volatile people? That was how you kept the others safe.

With that, Orion turned on his heel and walked back toward the camper, rolling his shoulders against the lingering tension in the air.

He had kids to cuddle.

---

The camper was quiet, save for the soft sounds of steady breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets shifting in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Orion lay on his back, his body sinking into the worn mattress, surrounded by the small, warm forms of his kids. They had all crowded onto the bed with him, some curled into his sides, others sprawled out in whatever space they could find. It was a familiar weight, one that grounded him, made him feel whole despite everything.

Maple lay draped across his chest, her tiny fingers curled loosely into his shirt, her breaths deep and even. Sophia had nestled into his right side, while Levi and Robbie had claimed the pull-out couch, their legs tangled together in sleep. Annabell had Orion’s right arm under her head like a pillow, and Liam and Eva were tucked between him and the wall, where it was warmest. Lucky, their ever-watchful protector, was curled up at the foot of the bed, his body pressed against Orion’s legs, his ears twitching occasionally in response to the distant sounds of the farm outside.

It was around ten at night when the peaceful stillness was broken by a small, hesitant whisper.

“Are you gonna leave us alone ‘gain?”

Orion felt a shift near his side, and when he glanced down, he found Eva staring up at him with wide, sleepy eyes. Her little brows were furrowed, her lips pressed into a tiny pout as she awaited his answer.

A pang of guilt twisted in Orion’s chest. He knew they had been scared when he disappeared, knew the days without him had left them clinging a little tighter, watching him a little closer. He hated that he’d made them worry.

He hummed softly, shifting just enough to pull Eva closer to his side, careful not to disturb Maple’s peaceful slumber. “Not if I can help it,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’ll never leave y’all.”

Eva let out a quiet sigh, her small fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to hold him to his promise. Orion ran his fingers through her hair, lightly scratching her scalp in slow, soothing motions, the way he knew always helped him go back to sleep when he was a child.

“Want to count some sheep with me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eva gave a tiny nod against his side, her eyes already fluttering shut.

“Alright,” Orion breathed. “One sheep… two sheep… three sheep… four sheep…”

His voice grew softer with each count, his words stretching out as exhaustion weighed heavier on his limbs. He barely made it past thirty before his own eyelids drooped, his body melting into the warmth of his family around him.

And just like that, they all drifted into sleep together, safe and whole for another night.

---

The early morning light was golden against the farm, casting long shadows that stretched across the dirt path as Orion adjusted the strap of his backpack. The hum of conversation was settling now, the last murmurs fading as the group turned their attention to him. There was an air of uncertainty hanging over them, like a breath held too long, but Orion ignored the way it prickled against his skin. He had a job to do.
Rick stood to his right, arms crossed, his stance unreadable but steady. Lori hovered close to him, her fingers resting lightly on Carl’s shoulder as though grounding herself in the moment. Jenner was double-checking medical supplies with Jacqui, while Glenn and T-Dog sorted through scavenged gear near Dale’s RV. The Greene family was a few steps away, watching cautiously—Hershel’s jaw set firm, Maggie standing with her arms folded tight, Beth chewing anxiously on her lip, and Jimmy trying a little too hard to look more confident than he was.
Orion exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his curls before speaking.
“All right, listen up.” His voice was even, firm, but not unkind. “Daryl, Shane, and I are headin’ out to scout the prison. We don’t know what kinda shape it’s in or if it’s even worth takin’, so start packin’ your bags just in case. We’ll be gone at least half the day, maybe longer if clearing takes time.”
A ripple of unease moved through the group, subtle but present.
“In the meantime,” Orion continued, shifting his gaze to Rick, “I need you to keep things steady here. Stick to the usual rotations—Carol, Amy, Dale, and Miranda with the kids. Glenn, T-Dog, Andrea, Miguel, Jim, and Jenner on supply inventory and watch shifts. Michonne and Merle, if y’all are up for it, I’d appreciate you runnin’ some drills with the group. Hand-to-hand, knife work, that kinda thing.”
Michonne, who had been leaning against a fence post, gave a slow nod. “I can do that.”
Merle let out a sharp bark of laughter, clapping a hand to his chest dramatically. “Ya bet yer ass, Fairy. Like I’d pass up the chance to knock some sense into these soft-handed folks.”
Orion smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Good.”
His gaze settled on Hershel then, expression careful. “I also need a favor.”
Hershel’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his stance unreadable. “Depends on what you’re askin’.”
Orion held his ground. “We’ll need some of your extra feed and water for the livestock. If this prison works out, we’ll be movin’ there, and we’re takin’ everything that can survive with us. We can’t afford to leave ‘em behind.”
Hershel studied him in silence, his face carved from stone. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose, the sound begrudging but resigned. “I’ll set some aside.”
Maggie cut in before Orion could respond. “And I’ll pack up extra medical supplies,” she offered. “Just in case.”
Orion shot her a grateful look. “Appreciate it, Miss Maggie.”
Beth shifted awkwardly beside her sister, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I… I could help with the kids?” she offered hesitantly, glancing toward Carol for approval.
Carol, ever patient, smiled warmly. “We’d be happy for the extra hands, sweetheart.”
Satisfied, Orion let his gaze sweep over the group one last time. “Look, I don’t expect trouble while we’re gone, but don’t get comfortable, either. Keep your weapons close, stay on watch, and for the love of all things holy, don’t let anyone wander off.”
A quiet murmur of agreement passed through them, but Orion caught the way Lori stiffened slightly at the unspoken warning, her eyes flicking to Carl. The boy was doing his best to look like he wasn’t paying attention, but Orion knew better.
His focus shifted to Dale, the old man watching with his usual wary expression. “Dale, I need another favor.”
Dale arched a bushy brow. “Something tells me I won’t like it.”
Orion huffed a small laugh. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But I need you to keep an eye on Lori and Carl while I’m gone. When Lori’s busy, he gets… bold.”
Dale sighed through his nose, lips pursing slightly. “I’ve noticed.”
“Then you know what to do.” Orion clapped a hand to his shoulder, and Dale didn’t argue, though his gaze did flick warily toward Lori, who was still idly playing with Carl’s hair.
With everything set, Orion finally turned back toward the camper.
His kids were still there, waiting, watching him with careful eyes. The weight of their stares settled deep in his chest, heavier than any pack he’d ever carried.
He crouched down, arms open, and barely had time to brace himself before they tackled him in a flurry of tangled limbs and warm embraces.
“Be careful,” Sophia murmured against his shoulder.
“You better come straight back this time,” Levi muttered gruffly, though his fingers curled tightly into Orion’s sleeve.
“I’ll try,” Orion promised, squeezing them tighter.
One by one, he ruffled their hair, pressed kisses to foreheads, and offered fist bumps, making sure each of them knew he’d come back. Carol watched from a few steps away, arms crossed, her lips curved into something soft and knowing.
“See y’all later,” Orion murmured finally, voice thick.
With a last glance at his kids, he turned and made his way toward Shane’s Jeep.
Daryl and Shane were already waiting.
Daryl, standing beside the Jeep, barely spared Orion a glance as he climbed into the passenger seat—but Orion caught the way his fingers flexed against the crossbow, the subtle way his shoulders loosened just slightly, like he was making sure Orion was there, accounted for. Not missing this time.
Shane, on the other hand, was silent, his jaw tight as he slammed the driver’s side door a little too hard.
Orion exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders against the weight settling over him.
It was time to see if his memory was failing him.

---

The drive to the prison was tense and quiet, the weight of what they were about to do pressing down on all three of them. Shane was gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles white against the leather, his jaw locked as he stared at the road ahead. Orion sat in the passenger seat, watching the scenery shift from open roads to overgrown brush and abandoned cars, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh. Daryl was in the back, crossbow resting across his lap, his eyes flickering between the passing tree line and the road ahead, always on alert.

Orion could feel the tension rolling off Shane in waves. He hadn’t said much since they left the farm, but Orion knew the man was stewing over something—maybe the mission, maybe something else entirely. It was impossible to tell with Shane these days.

The moment the prison came into view, Orion’s breath caught in his throat. Even in its abandoned state, the place was humongous. The fences were still intact, stretching high into the sky, topped with razor wire that gleamed faintly under the early morning sun. The guard towers loomed overhead like silent sentinels, and beyond them, the facility itself stood tall and foreboding, its thick concrete walls a promise of security—if they could clear it out.

But between them and the prison was the real problem.

Walkers.

The front lawn was speckled with them, some shambling aimlessly, others pressed against the chain-link fences, their decayed hands reaching through the gaps, drawn by the faint noise of the jeep’s engine. Thankfully, the gates were still closed, keeping the dead contained for now.

Shane parked a fair distance away, killing the engine. The silence that followed was deafening.

“Place is crawlin’,” Daryl muttered from the back, leaning forward to get a better look.

Orion nodded, already forming a plan. “We make noise near the gates,” he said, voice low but firm. “Draw ‘em in, take ‘em out one by one with our knives. No gunfire unless we absolutely have to.”

Shane let out a sharp exhale, rubbing a hand over his face. “Gonna take forever,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, but it’s safer,” Orion shot back. “Less chance of attractin’ more from the woods. We take shifts—one of us watches the treeline while the others clear the fence.”

Daryl gave a small grunt of approval, already reaching for his knife. Shane, however, hesitated for a moment before finally nodding.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s get to it.”

They climbed out of the jeep, moving quickly but quietly toward the gates. Orion took the lead, gripping the metal bars and rattling them hard enough to send an echo through the prison yard. The walkers reacted instantly, their groans growing louder as they turned toward the noise, pressing themselves against the fence in hunger.

Orion pulled out his hunting knife, glancing at Shane and Daryl. “Nice and easy,” he murmured before driving his blade into the skull of the first walker.

The next hour passed in a methodical, brutal rhythm.

Orion and Daryl worked in tandem, stabbing through the gaps in the fence, making sure each kill was clean. Shane stood back, keeping an eye on the woods, his shotgun at the ready in case any stragglers wandered too close. They rotated every twenty minutes, swapping positions to avoid fatigue.

Eventually, the last walker slumped against the fence, lifeless.

Orion wiped his knife on his jeans, taking a moment to catch his breath before nodding toward the gate. “Let’s get it open.”

Shane and Daryl helped pull the heavy doors apart, the metal creaking loudly in the stillness. They moved quickly, stepping aside as Shane climbed back into the jeep and rolled it forward, parking just inside the perimeter before shutting the gates again.

Now came the hard part.

The prison yard was bigger than Orion remembered. There were still walkers wandering around inside, some in clusters, others pacing along the inner fences like they were following some forgotten routine.

Orion didn’t hesitate. He broke off from the others, moving ahead with practiced ease, his knife slipping into skulls with deadly precision.

Daryl covered him from a distance, his crossbow taking down any that got too close, while Shane handled the stragglers near the jeep. The three of them moved like a well-oiled machine, clearing out the open area until nothing but silence remained.

Finally, they reached the cell block Orion knew from the show—the one that would be the safest for the group.

The doors were slightly ajar, and the dim lighting inside did little to ease the tension creeping up Orion’s spine. He motioned for the others to follow, stepping carefully over the threshold.

Inside was worse than he expected.

Corpses littered the floor, some long decomposed, others fresher. The stench of rot clung to the air, making Orion’s stomach churn. He gritted his teeth, pushing past the smell as they moved deeper inside.

The cells were mostly empty, but a few walkers remained, trapped behind locked bars, their lifeless eyes tracking them as they passed.

“Let’s clear it,” Orion murmured.

Room by room, cell by cell, they worked their way through the block, dispatching anything still moving. Some walkers were still in prison uniforms, their bodies slumped over in bunks, others had clearly been guards, their riot gear still clinging to their decayed forms.

It wasn’t until Orion reached the end of the hall that he found what he was looking for.

A body.

A guard, slumped against the wall, his pistol still in his lap, a hole in his skull where he had clearly taken matters into his own hands.

Orion crouched beside him, rifling through his belt until his fingers closed around a heavy keyring.

“Bingo,” he muttered, standing up and jingling the keys. “We got access.”

Shane let out a low whistle. “Well, shit. That just made things easier.”

Daryl eyed the body briefly before shifting his attention back to Orion. “What’s next?”

Orion exhaled, glancing around the block. “We secure the perimeter, make sure there ain’t any hidden surprises,” he said. “Once we’re sure it’s safe, we bring the others in.”

Shane crossed his arms, looking around the cold, empty cells with a skeptical frown. “This place better be worth it.”

Orion stared down the darkened corridor, the weight of the keys heavy in his hand.

“It will be,” he said.

The three of them stood in the dimly lit corridor of the cell block, the stale air thick with the scent of rot, rust, and old sweat. The silence was almost as unnerving as the groans that had filled the space just hours ago, the weight of the dead lingering even now. Orion flexed his fingers around the keyring, the cold metal grounding him as he took a steadying breath.

"Alright," he murmured, voice hushed but firm. "We clear what we can for now. Block C’s the best shot we got at securing a safe place, but we don’t got the time or energy to do it all in one go."

Daryl grunted in agreement, adjusting the bolt on his crossbow. “So, we lock up what we ain’t cleared yet. Push ‘em into one section, clear the rest later.”

Shane, arms crossed, scowled at the darkened halls. “Sounds great, but how ‘bout we make sure we don’t get our asses trapped in here first?”

Orion tossed the keys once in his palm before gripping them tightly. “That’s the idea, Walsh,” he muttered, stepping forward. “Let’s get it done.”

The first few cells were easy enough to check. Most were empty, doors left ajar, long abandoned. The air inside them was stale, thick with dust and neglect. Some beds were still made, as if the prisoners had simply vanished mid-routine. A few had dried blood smeared on the walls, desperate scratches carved into the concrete—signs of those who hadn’t been so lucky.

Then they moved deeper. And things got messier.

Some walkers had wasted away in their cells, skin dried and clinging to bone, their bodies barely able to move. Others had broken free, left to wander aimlessly through the halls, still clad in orange jumpsuits with rusted shackles dragging from their wrists. A few were fresh—too fresh—bodies in uniforms that hadn’t rotted as much as the others.

Guards.

Shane nudged one with his boot, flipping the body over. The face was sunken in, lips curled back over yellowed teeth, dried blood crusted down its neck. “Looks like some of ‘em lasted longer than the rest,” he muttered.

Orion exhaled sharply. “Means we might find supplies,” he said, nodding toward the guard station up ahead.

The small office was enclosed in thick security glass, the door still locked. Through the window, Orion could see a couple of desks, old equipment, and—most importantly—a weapons rack. Most of it was empty, but a few batons and a couple of shotguns were still mounted on the wall.

Shane was already on it, yanking the keyring from Orion’s hand and flipping through the tags. “One of these should do it,” he grumbled.

Orion let him work, his own gaze sweeping over the room. Dust covered everything, thick and undisturbed, save for one desk that had a half-eaten meal still sitting on top. The food was long gone, nothing left but a blackened husk of what might’ve been bread and something that had once resembled meat. The sight of it made Orion’s stomach clench.

A soft click echoed in the air.

“Got it,” Shane muttered, pushing the door open with his shotgun raised.

The office was empty.

Daryl stepped in first, his movements quiet and precise, eyes scanning every corner before nodding. “Clear.”

Shane immediately went for the weapons rack, checking the shotguns. “Still got some weight to ‘em,” he noted, breaking one open to check the chamber. “Not much, but better than nothin’.”

Daryl checked the drawers, coming up with a few stray rounds of ammunition and a dead radio. “Could be worse,” he muttered, tossing the radio onto the desk.

Orion moved toward a metal locker in the corner, forcing the rusted door open. Inside, he found extra guard keys, zip ties, and—most importantly—a laminated map of the prison layout. His fingers traced over the faded blueprint, mentally mapping out the areas they’d need to clear next.

“This’ll help,” he murmured, folding it and tucking it into his pocket.

Shane slung one of the shotguns over his shoulder and gave a sharp nod toward the hallway. “Alright. We got weapons, we got keys. Let’s finish this up.”

They worked methodically, moving through the block like a well-trained unit.

Orion took the lead, using the guard keys to lock off hallways they hadn’t yet cleared, forcing the remaining undead into contained areas. Shane covered their rear, his shotgun ready in case anything got too close, while Daryl moved ahead, silently taking out any stragglers with well-placed bolts.

It was slow, exhausting work.

The heat inside the prison was stifling, thick with the scent of decay and sweat. By the time they managed to clear out half of Block C, Orion’s breaths were heavy, sweat clinging to the back of his neck. He wiped his arm across his forehead, smearing dirt and blood as he surveyed their progress.

Most of the immediate threat was gone, but there were still locked doors hiding whatever remained.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” Daryl muttered, wiping his blade clean on a dead walker’s jumpsuit.

Shane let out a slow breath, rolling out his shoulders. “Still too many left,” he said. “Ain’t safe to bring everyone in yet.”

“No, but it’s safer than what we had before,” Orion countered. He turned the keys in his hand before stuffing them back into his pocket. “We’ll come back tomorrow, clear out the rest.”

Shane scoffed. “Assumin’ we don’t come back to find ‘em breakin’ through these doors.”

“They won’t,” Orion said simply, patting the reinforced steel. “Not unless they figure out how to use keys.”

Daryl smirked faintly at that.

Shane, however, didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he sighed and motioned toward the exit. “Let’s get back. It’s gettin’ late.”

“Yup, I think we should scrub this place down till it sparkles before we completely move in…” Orion mumbles his plan to himself as he wipes the grit from his hands onto his pants.

Daryl let out a short grunt of agreement, rolling his shoulders as he stepped over a fallen walker, his boots scraping against the stained concrete floor. His sharp eyes flicked over the grimy walls, the dried blood smeared across the floors, and the general filth that came with a long-abandoned prison. “Gonna take a hell of a lot of elbow grease,” he muttered, nose wrinkling slightly as the musty scent of decay and old mildew settled in his lungs.

Orion exhaled through his nose, swiping his forearm over his sweat-slicked brow. Exhaustion gnawed at the edges of his mind, but he pushed it back. “Yeah, but it’s worth it. Last thing we need is someone gettin’ sick ‘cause we didn’t scrub down some dead guy’s leftovers.” He gestured vaguely to a particularly dark stain smeared across the cracked linoleum near a long-abandoned food tray.

Shane scoffed, shifting his shotgun higher on his shoulder. “You wanna start scrubbin’ toilets, be my guest,” he muttered, kicking at a spent shell casing near his boot.

Orion shot him a flat look. “I would rather not sleep next to dried blood and the gods know what else, thanks.”

Daryl let out a faint smirk, the corner of his mouth barely twitching upward. He didn’t add anything, but the way he nudged a nearby walker’s body with the toe of his boot spoke volumes. “We dump the corpses first,” he said, flicking some dried gore off his blade. “Won’t matter how much bleach we use if this place still smells like a damn graveyard.”

Orion nodded, rolling his stiff shoulders. “Agreed. We’ll need a burn pile.”

Shane sighed, rubbing the back of his head, his fingers ruffling through his already sweat-dampened hair. “Yeah, yeah, alright. We’ll worry about that tomorrow. Right now, we need to head back before it gets too dark.”

Orion didn’t argue. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion, the hours of clearing out walkers and trekking through the prison weighing on him like bricks. More than that, he had promised his kids he’d come straight back, and he wasn’t about to make them wait longer than necessary.

The three of them made their way back through the halls, their boots echoing in the eerie silence. Without the moans of walkers filling the corridors, the emptiness of the prison felt even larger—like the building itself was holding its breath, waiting. The occasional rustle of loose debris and the faint creak of shifting metal were the only sounds accompanying their movements.

As they stepped out into the yard, Shane came to a slow stop, resting a hand on his hip as he gave the prison one last look. The place loomed behind them, dark and still, the towers casting long shadows over the field.

“Still can’t believe we’re actually doin’ this,” Shane muttered, shaking his head.

Orion adjusted the straps of his backpack, feeling the damp fabric cling uncomfortably to his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at the towering structure, the weight of the moment pressing against his ribs. “Better than runnin’ forever.”

Daryl gave another noncommittal grunt, already making his way toward the jeep. “Let’s move.”

They climbed in, the worn leather seats creaking under their weight. Shane slid behind the wheel, his jaw still tight with whatever thoughts he was stewing over, while Orion took the passenger seat, his body sagging slightly now that the immediate danger had passed. Daryl settled in the back, his crossbow resting beside him, one boot tapping idly against the floorboard as he kept his eyes on the treeline outside.

The engine roared to life, the deep rumble cutting through the heavy silence. As they pulled out through the now-cleared gates, Orion let out a slow breath, rolling his sore shoulders before letting his head rest against the seat. His eyelids felt heavier than they had in days, but his mind was already racing, already planning.

Tomorrow, they’d clear the rest.

Tomorrow, they’d start making it livable.

By the time they rolled back onto the farm, the sky was a canvas of deep oranges and purples, the last remnants of daylight stubbornly clinging to the horizon. A light breeze stirred through the tall grass, carrying the distant sounds of murmured conversations and the occasional crackling of a campfire. The farm looked peaceful—too peaceful. Orion knew that wouldn’t last.

The moment Shane cut the engine, the tension inside the jeep thickened. He exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel like it had personally offended him, his jaw locked tight. Orion could already feel the storm brewing, but he was too damn tired to care.

He barely had one foot out of the vehicle when Shane’s voice cut through the cooling air.

"Orion."

Orion stopped mid-step, glancing back over his shoulder. Shane stood rigid, eyes dark with something unreadable, jerking his head toward the side of the barn.

Orion sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘Here we go.’ He caught Daryl’s eye as he slid out of the jeep—Daryl gave a barely perceptible nod. He’d wait. Watch.

Orion trudged after Shane, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they rounded the barn, away from the prying eyes of the group.

Shane was already pacing when Orion caught up, boots kicking up dust, his shoulders tense with barely-contained frustration. He stopped suddenly, turning to face Orion, his mouth opening—then snapping shut. He ran a hand over his buzzed head, shaking his head like he was arguing with himself.

Orion leaned back against the barn wall, watching. Waiting.

Shane exhaled through his nose, fists clenching at his sides. "Look, man, I—” He stopped, shifting his weight like standing still was physically painful. “I know I been actin’ like a real asshole lately.”

Orion quirked a brow, but stayed quiet.

Shane let out a frustrated huff. “I ain't good at this kinda shit, alright?” He gestured vaguely between them. “Talkin’ ‘bout feelings and all that crap. But I—” His voice caught, his nostrils flaring. "I shouldn’t have come at you like that. The whole CDC thing… and you disappearin’ and then reappearin’ at the farm—it just pissed me off, alright? I don’t like not knowin’ what the hell’s goin’ on, and you…” He jabbed a finger toward Orion. “You always seem like you do."

Orion blinked. He hadn’t been expecting an actual apology, let alone one that sounded genuine.

"Shane—" Orion started, but the man was already shaking his head, jaw tightening.

“I ain’t sayin’ I trust you,” Shane muttered, voice thick with something unspoken. “But I don’t hate you neither.”

Orion exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly. That was probably the best he was gonna get.

Before he could respond, a rough hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him clean off his feet.

“The hell—”

Daryl.

Orion let out a very dignified squawk as the redneck hauled him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing, boots dangling helplessly off the ground.

"DIXON! I swear to the Gods—"

Daryl ignored him completely, adjusting his grip like he was carrying a damn sack of potatoes and setting off toward the farmhouse without missing a beat.

“Put me the fuck down—”

"Quit yer bitchin’," Daryl grunted. "Ain’t got time for Walsh’s mood swings."

Shane stood there, stunned into silence for all of three seconds before letting out an incredulous snarl. "Are you kiddin’ me?! The hell is wrong with you, Dude?"

Daryl didn’t even acknowledge him.

Orion groaned, slumping dramatically against Daryl’s back, knowing there was no way in hell he was getting out of this. “This is so unnecessary,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

Daryl scoffed. “Ya were leanin’ on the damn barn like an old man.”

“I was fine—”

“You were ‘bout five seconds from fallin’ over.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah, ya don’t.”

They had nearly reached the farmhouse when Merle appeared from seemingly nowhere, strolling toward them with his signature shit-eating grin. He took one look at Orion slung over Daryl’s shoulder and cackled.

“Well, well, well,” Merle drawled, falling into step beside them. "Ain’t this just the cutest thing I ever did see?”

“Don’t,” Orion warned, voice muffled against Daryl’s back.

Merle ignored him completely, grinning at his little brother. "Didn’t know ya were in the business of carryin’ yer little fairy around like a bride on her weddin’ night, baby brother. Ain’t that somethin’.”

Daryl immediately turned away, ears burning red. “Shut up, Merle.”

Orion smirked despite his position. "Yeah, Merle, don’t go makin’ your baby brother all shy now."

Merle cackled again, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Ain’t my fault he’s all flustered. Just sayin’—if I’da known you were givin’ out royal treatment, maybe I shoulda played damsel in distress.”

Daryl growled. “Ain’t my fault he’s tiny.”

“I hate both of you,” Orion muttered, though the amusement in his tone betrayed him.

Merle threw an arm around Daryl’s shoulder, still grinning like the devil himself. "Don’t worry, baby brother, I ain’t judgin’. If ya wanna carry yer little fairy around like a princess, that’s your business.”

Daryl shoved Merle off him, finally setting Orion down with a little more force than necessary. Orion stumbled slightly but caught himself, glaring up at Daryl.

Daryl didn’t say anything, just turned on his heel and stormed off toward the barn, still muttering under his breath.

Merle whistled lowly. "Damn. Boy’s got it bad."

Orion sighed, dusting himself off. “Shut up, Merle.”

Merle’s grin widened. “Ain’t my fault ya got ol’ Daryl turnin’ red like a schoolgirl with a crush.”

Orion rolled his eyes and changed the subject before Merle could dig too deep. "How was the group while we were gone?"

Merle hummed, rubbing his chin. "Eh, same old. Rick n’ Hershel been talkin’ ‘bout leavin’. Carol been fussin’ over yer kids ‘n Sophia like a mother hen. Lucky’s been guardin’ the camper."

Orion smiled. “Good boy.”

Merle chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. But if you ask me? Things been a whole lot quieter without you stirrin’ up trouble.”

Orion scoffed. "Oh, please. I don’t stir up trouble.”

Merle just looked at him.

“…on purpose”

Merle clapped him on the back, still grinning. “Glad you’re back, Pixie.”

Orion huffed but didn’t fight the small smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah. Me too."

Chapter Text

The days at the farm blurred together, the routine settling into something almost normal—or at least as normal as life could get in the apocalypse. The kids had a schedule now, one that involved drills, chores, and stolen moments of childhood play. Orion kept them busy, kept himself busy. The prison run had been a success, but preparing to move an entire group—especially one with children—was no easy feat.

He poured himself into the work. Organizing supplies, reinforcing weak points on the fences, making sure each vehicle was packed efficiently. He kept his hands full, his mind occupied. Because the moment he slowed down, the moment he let himself stop—the weight of everything settled too heavily on his chest.

His body ran on sheer willpower, exhaustion clawing at his edges, but he ignored it. He told himself he was fine. That he just needed to keep moving, keep pushing forward.

And if he skipped a meal here and there? It wasn’t a big deal. The kids needed it more.

At first, it was unnoticeable—he’d hand off his portion of dinner to one of the younger kids, claiming he wasn’t that hungry. When Carol fussed at him, he’d take just a few bites to appease her before saying he’d eat later. But later never came.

He gave his rations to Lucky more than once, scratching behind the dog’s ears as the mutt wagged his tail, oblivious to the concern growing around Orion.

The lack of sleep was worse.

Nights stretched unbearably long. He’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shut off his mind. Thoughts ran in circles—memories from a life that didn’t belong to this body, the gnawing guilt over the people he couldn’t save, the weight of responsibility pressing heavier and heavier with each passing day.

Even when exhaustion wrapped around his bones, sleep wouldn’t come.

At first, no one said anything outright. He caught the way Michonne watched him when he passed up a meal. Saw the way Carol’s brows pinched when he waved off her attempts to get him to rest. Even Miranda had started looking at him sideways when she thought Orion wasn’t paying attention.

But he ignored them.

He had to.

Because if he let himself stop—if he let himself rest, even for a second—everything he was holding together would crack apart.

It all came to a head one evening as the sun dipped below the horizon. The group was gathered for a small meal, the firelight flickering as laughter bubbled here and there between bites of food. The atmosphere was light for once, and Orion sat cross-legged near the edge of the group, watching the kids eat, making sure everyone had their fair share.

He passed the last bit of his portion to Robbie, ruffling the kid’s hair when he beamed up at him in thanks. Orion gave him a tired smile, then shifted his focus to the fire, blinking slowly as the warmth made his already heavy limbs heavier.

His body swayed slightly where he sat, exhaustion curling around him like a thick fog.

Someone said something to him—he wasn’t sure who, wasn’t sure what. It sounded far away, like it was filtering through water. His vision blurred at the edges, and he could feel himself sinking.

Then everything tilted.

A sharp thud followed by a chorus of startled gasps.

Orion had collapsed.

Someone shouted his name—several voices overlapping in alarm.

A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him slightly, but his body wouldn’t respond. His limbs felt like they weren’t his own, his head swimming in a haze too thick to fight through.

"Orion—"

The panic in the voices was familiar, too familiar, and for a split second, his mind blurred the present with a memory—another life, another body—his head hitting a cold floor, voices calling out, distant and frantic—

He tried to move, tried to force his body to react, but it was like being weighed down by chains, exhaustion winning for the first time in days.

Then—strong arms, lifting him, cradling him against a solid chest. The scent of leather, sweat, and something undeniably Daryl filled his senses, grounding him enough to realize what was happening.

“Damn idiot,” Daryl muttered, voice gruff, but beneath it—concern. “Knew you weren’t eatin’.”

“Orion?” Carol’s voice was closer now, soft but worried. A hand brushed his forehead, cool against his too-warm skin.

“M’fine,” Orion slurred, the words barely making it past his lips.

“Bullshit,” Daryl growled.

There was movement—shuffling feet, hushed murmurs—and Orion barely registered being carried inside until the cooler air of the farmhouse brushed against his burning skin. He was set down carefully—a bed, he realized distantly.

A low murmur of voices continued, but Orion was already slipping, his body finally giving in after days of resisting.

The last thing he felt was a calloused hand lingering against his arm, a rough thumb brushing over his wrist—then, finally, finally, darkness.

---

Orion drifted toward consciousness slowly, as if his body was reluctant to fully return to the waking world. He felt heavy, like he was sinking deeper into the mattress rather than resting on top of it. His limbs were sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion that still clung to his bones despite the unfamiliar sensation of feeling rested.

His eyelids fluttered open, unfocused at first, his vision blurry as he tried to orient himself. The dim glow of moonlight filtered through the window, painting the farmhouse walls in soft shades of blue and silver. The air smelled faintly of dust, aged wood, and something else—something familiar. Leather, sweat, and the sharp scent of cigarettes.

He wasn’t alone.

Orion turned his head just enough to catch sight of the figure sitting in the chair beside the bed. Daryl.

The hunter was slouched slightly, arms crossed over his chest, legs stretched out in front of him, boots scuffed against the worn wooden floorboards. His head was tilted downward, but Orion could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he wasn’t fully asleep—just resting, the way Daryl often did when he didn’t trust his surroundings enough to let his guard down completely.

A strange warmth curled in Orion’s chest, unexpected but not unwelcome. Daryl had stayed.

He swallowed, but his throat felt raw and dry, like sandpaper. He licked his cracked lips and tried to find his voice, but the only sound that came out was a hoarse rasp.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open instantly.

His sharp blue gaze locked onto Orion in a heartbeat, narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees. “’Bout damn time,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to the words—just something tight beneath them.

Orion tried to smirk, but his face felt sluggish, the expression barely forming. “Didn’t know…I had a bedtime,” he murmured, voice scratchy and weak.

Daryl snorted. “Ain’t funny, Short-stack.”

He reached for something on the small table beside the bed—a canteen. Unscrewing the lid, he held it out. “Drink.”

Orion hesitated for only a second before taking it with unsteady fingers. His hands felt weak, like they didn’t fully belong to him. He took a slow sip, the cool water soothing the raw ache in his throat, and suddenly realized just how dehydrated he was.

He tried to hand the canteen back after a few gulps, but Daryl didn’t take it. Just gave him a look.

“More.”

Orion rolled his eyes but obeyed, taking a few more careful sips before finally handing it back. Daryl capped it and set it aside, but his gaze never wavered.

“Y’know,” Daryl said after a long pause, voice rough, unreadable. “Ya scared the hell outta everyone.”

Orion exhaled through his nose, eyes flickering toward the ceiling. “Didn’t mean to.”

“Ain’t the point.” Daryl’s jaw tensed. “You ain’t been eatin’. Ain’t been sleepin’ neither. Michonne noticed first. Then Carol and Miranda. Then Merle got on my ass ‘bout it.” He paused, eyes scanning Orion’s face, searching for something. “We all noticed.”

Orion swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching against the sheets. A familiar weight settled in his gut—guilt, weighing in like a stone. He hadn’t meant to make them worry. He hadn’t even realized how much they’d been paying attention to him.

Daryl shifted slightly in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yer lucky I caught ya. You were ‘bout to faceplant into the damn fire.”

That earned a weak chuckle from Orion. “Would’ve been a…dramatic way to go.”

Daryl didn’t laugh.

His lips pressed into a thin line, something flashing behind his eyes—something that looked too much like concern for Orion to ignore.

“…How long was I out?” Orion asked, voice still hoarse.

“’Bout a day.”

Orion blinked. “Shit.”

Daryl huffed, his lip twitching. “Yeah. Shit.”

A heavy silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Orion could feel Daryl watching him, reading him in that quiet way he always did. He’d gotten used to it by now—the way Daryl didn’t need words to understand someone, how he picked up on things others overlooked.

After a moment, Daryl sighed and leaned back, stretching his legs out again. “Yer eatin’ tomorrow,” he said firmly. “Ain’t negotiable. Ya kids ‘r with Caro ‘n Amy”

Orion let out a slow breath, nodding slightly. “Alright, thank you”

Daryl grunted, seeming satisfied with that answer. He stood, rolling his shoulders before moving toward the door. But just as he reached it, he hesitated, his hand resting on the doorframe.

“…Get some more sleep, Short-stack.”

And then he was gone, leaving Orion alone with the quiet hum of the farmhouse.

Orion let himself sink into the blankets, let his body relax completely, and for once—his mind didn’t fight him.

This time, sleep came easily.

---

The next few days passed in a blur of exhaustion and movement. With the prison cleared—at least the parts they’d scouted—it was time to start moving stuff over. It was a hell of a job, and Orion wasn’t allowed to do shit if Merle and Jenner had anything to say about it.

Which, unfortunately, they did.

Merle much louder than Jenner.

Orion was barely two steps into the supply organization effort when Merle physically redirected him with a firm hand on the back of his collar.

“Ah-ah, not so fast, Pixie.” Merle steered him toward a crate near the perimeter fence. “Yer ass is sittin’ down today.”

Orion scowled, tugging out of Merle’s grip. “I am sitting. On a box. While sorting extra supplies.”

Merle scoffed. “Nah. Yer sittin’ ‘cause ya got no damn sense of self-preservation. Thought I taught ya better’n that.”

Orion rolled his eyes, but the truth in Merle’s words dug under his skin. He hadn’t been taking care of himself—clearly, given the way he’d straight up collapsed a few nights ago. He still felt drained, like his body was catching up on months of neglect all at once. But the last thing he wanted was to sit around while everyone else worked.

Daryl, passing by with a roll of wire fencing, glanced between them and huffed. “Ain’t no use arguin’. Man’s been on yer ass all day.”

“No shit, Shithead” Orion muttered.

Merle smirked. “Damn right,” he drawled, crossing his arms. “Ain’t gonna watch ya keel over twice in a week, fairy boy. So sit yer bony ass down, drink some water, and eat somethin’. Don’ make me git Jenner.”

Orion sighed but didn’t argue further, mostly because he was still tired, and—annoying as he was—Merle had a point.

So, for the rest of the afternoon, Orion busied himself with less physically demanding tasks. Sorting gear. Taking inventory. Talking with Hershel, Jenner, and Michonne about potential medical stockpiles. He still felt restless, but at least he wasn’t completely useless.

By the time the sun started dipping low, Orion was done with everyone hovering over him. Especially Merle.

So, when the opportunity presented itself, he slipped away toward the small, makeshift “safe zone” within the prison—a cleared-out section of the cell block where the kids and non-fighters were gathered filled to the brim with pillows, blankets and new spare clothes found on recent supply trips.

It was quiet there.

He found Maple as well as Eve in the farthest corner, tucked against a pile of bedding, Maple's tiny fingers wrapped around one of the teething ring stuffed animals someone had scavenged. She was staring up at the ceiling with wide, unfocused eyes, lost in whatever baby thoughts she had. Eve was napping curled around a Dino nugget plushie.

Orion crouched down beside them, letting out a tired breath as he leaned back against the cold cement wall.

“Hey, kiddos,” he murmured.

Maple blinked, her bright little eyes shifting to him immediately. Then, without hesitation, she grinned—that big, gummy, full-body kind of baby smile that somehow made everything in the world feel a little less awful.

Orion let out a breathy chuckle. “Yeah? You happy to see me?”

Maple giggled in response, reaching up with grabby hands. Orion huffed, but he didn’t hesitate to scoop her up, settling her against his chest.

She immediately snuggled in, letting out a contented hum, her tiny fingers fisting in his shirt.

Orion sighed, resting his chin atop her soft curls.

The sounds of the others moving around the prison faded into the background, distant and unimportant. He let his eyes slip shut, focusing only on Maple’s steady breathing and the warmth of her tiny body pressed against him.

Minutes passed, maybe more, and for the first time since they arrived at the prison.

He was still exhausted. Still recovering. But okay.

Then, of course, Merle ruined it.

“There ya are,” the older Dixon drawled, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips like some kind of exasperated mother. “Was wonderin’ when ya’d finally quit sneakin’ off.”

Orion groaned, cracking one eye open. “I’m literally just sittin’ here, Merle.”

“Uh-huh.” Merle squinted, stepping into the room. “And what happened the last time ya pushed ya’self too hard?”

Orion rolled his eyes. “I know, Merle.”

“Do ya?” Merle gave him a long, pointed look before nodding at Maple. “Those kids o’ yours ain’t gonna do so good if ya go droppin’ like a damn rock again.”

Orion stiffened slightly, his arms tightening around Maple instinctively.

Merle sighed, shaking his head. “Ain’t tryin’ to bust ya balls, boy. Just…take care of yerself, alright?”

Orion was quiet for a long moment before finally exhaling. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Alright.”

Merle gave a satisfied grunt, clapping him on the shoulder before turning toward the door. “Good. Now, I’m gonna find some real food fer ya, ‘cause if I see ya skippin’ another damn meal, I will let Jenna’ force-feed ya, got it?”

Orion let out a tired chuckle. “Got it.”

Merle nodded and disappeared down the hall, leaving Orion alone with Maple And Eve once more.

Orion sighed, rubbing small circles into Maples back.

The thought came to him fast—why the hell hadn’t they checked the cafeteria yet?

Food was scarce. They’d been living off whatever rations they had left out as the rest was stored for the upcoming winter, supplemented by scavenged supplies from nearby abandoned houses. It wasn’t bad yet, but Orion knew better than to wait until it was.

And there was an entire cafeteria in this prison—one they hadn’t even tried to access.

Orion’s knee bounced restlessly as he sat against the wall, Maple still dozing peacefully in his arms. He’d spent the past few days being watched—by Merle, Daryl, Carol, everyone—hovering over him like he was made of glass. It was suffocating. He understood their worry, but he wasn’t useless.

If anything, clearing the cafeteria should’ve been a priority.

With a quiet sigh, Orion carefully untangled himself from Maple’s grip, making sure not to wake her as he tucked her into the nest of blankets beside Eve. She stirred slightly but remained fast asleep, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.

Good.

He moved quickly after that, pulling on his gear with practiced ease. Boots laced tight, belt secured, knives strapped in place. His bat—a sturdy aluminum one, slightly dented but reliable—was slung over his shoulder. His revolver was holstered at his hip, fully loaded, though he hated using it. Too loud. Too much attention.

This was just a quick sweep. In, check for food, out. Simple.

Orion glanced toward the sleeping forms of his kids one last time before slipping out of the room.

The halls of the prison were eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint scuff of his boots against concrete. Most of the group was outside reinforcing the fences or doing chores, unaware of his little excursion. Good. He didn’t need anyone stopping him.

He moved carefully, keeping his bat in hand as he navigated the dim corridors. The prison was still partially unexplored—too many locked doors, too many unknowns. But Orion had a feeling about the cafeteria. It was a gut instinct, the same one that had kept him alive this long.

The heavy doors leading to the cafeteria were shut, but not locked. Orion hesitated only a second before pressing his ear against the cold metal.

Silence.

No shuffling, no growls.

He tightened his grip on the bat, exhaled slowly, and pushed the door open.

The first thing he noticed was the smell—stale air, spoiled food, the faint metallic tang of old blood. The cafeteria was huge, tables still set up in neat rows, though some were overturned and shoved into a corner. Rust-colored stains marred the floor, but there were no immediate signs of walkers.

So far, so good.

Orion stepped inside cautiously, eyes scanning the room. The serving area was ahead, the metal counters still lined with trays, long since abandoned. If there was any food left, it would be in the storage rooms behind it.

He moved quickly, keeping his steps light as he maneuvered through the rows of tables. Everything was too quiet. His gut twisted slightly—not in the same way it did when danger was near, but in that nagging way that told him something wasn’t right.

He ignored it.

The metal door to the back storage was slightly ajar. Orion frowned, pushing it open fully—

And immediately regretted it.

Because standing there, blinking at him with equal amounts of shock and wariness, was a very alive, very real group of inmates.

Orion’s breath caught, his entire body going rigid.

Shit.

There were five of them, dressed in tattered prison uniforms, weapons of varied effectiveness gripped tightly in their hands. One had a makeshift shiv. Another held a rusted fire axe. A third—tall, broad, with a dark beard streaked in gray—clutched a bloodied pipe.

The tension in the room snapped tight.

Orion’s grip on his bat tightened instinctively. His brain scrambled for something to say, something that wouldn’t immediately escalate this into a fight—

“The fuck?”

The inmate with the fire axe stepped forward, his stance wary but aggressive. His gaze raked over Orion, taking in the gear, the weapons, the clear lack of a prison or guard uniform.

“You ain’t one of the guards,” the man stated.

Orion swallowed, forcing himself to breathe. His fingers flexed around the bat, but he didn’t raise it. Not yet.

“Nope,” he finally said, keeping his voice calm. “Not a prisoner, either.”

The men with the fire axe and pipe exchanged glances, subtle but tense.

The bearded one—who Orion was pretty damn sure was Tomas—narrowed his eyes. “You with the National Guard?”

Orion let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah, no.”

The guy with the shiv—a wiry-looking man with deep-set eyes—stepped forward slightly. “Then who are ya?”

Orion exhaled through his nose. “Someone tryin’ to survive, same as you.”

Another silence, thick and uneasy. The inmates weren’t stupid. They were possibly outnumbered, cut off from whatever outside group they had once been a part of. Orion wasn’t a threat to them alone, but they didn’t know if he had backup waiting in the wings.

And Orion? He knew exactly how this scenario usually went.

One wrong move, one wrong word, and he’d be dead.

He licked his lips, mind racing. “Look, I didn’t come here for trouble,” he said slowly. “Didn’t even know y’all were in here. My people and I? We cleared out the back of the prison, been workin’ to make it livable.” He gestured vaguely toward the storage shelves behind them. “Came here lookin’ for food. That’s it.”

The fire axe guy exchanged a look with Tomas, who was still studying Orion like a puzzle he didn’t quite trust.

“Your people,” Tomas repeated, voice unreadable.

Orion nodded slowly. “Yeah. We got kids, elderly, folks who don’t know how to fight and some who will if threatened. We ain’t lookin’ to take your space, but we do need supplies.”

More glances. More silent assessments.

Orion could see the gears turning in their heads, the unspoken debate of whether they should take him out now or hear him out.

Finally, Tomas let out a slow breath. “Ain’t seen anyone but the dead in weeks,” he muttered. “You sayin’ you got a whole group?”

“Yeah,” Orion said honestly. “And unlike y’all, we actually got an exit.”

That piqued their interest.

The fire axe guy frowned. “Exit?”

Orion nodded toward the door. “Back gates are clear. Ain’t no walkers in the yard, and we reinforced parts of the fence. If y’all wanna talk, we can. If not?” He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Then I’ll just grab what I need and be on my way.”

That, of course, was a bluff. Orion wasn’t leaving shit up to chance. If these inmates were gonna be a problem, he needed to know now before they became a threat to his people.

The group exchanged looks again, this time longer, more considering.

Finally, Tomas exhaled sharply. “You’re gonna wanna talk to Big Tiny.”

Orion barely kept his expression neutral. ‘Oh. Right. That guy.’

“Alright,” Orion said, keeping his voice casual. “Lead the way.”

—

Pain. That was the first thing Orion felt when consciousness came clawing back. A slow, creeping ache that pulsed behind his eyes, radiating from the spot on his skull where he’d been cracked like a fucking piñata. Every heartbeat sent another throb of pain through his head, his nerves sluggish to catch up, like they were still booting up after an unexpected shutdown.

The world around him was wrong. Too cold. Too quiet. The air hung thick with the scent of damp concrete, metal, and the stale musk of old sweat. There was something else, too—something sour, like rotting food shoved into a forgotten corner.

Orion tried to move, but his body wouldn’t listen.

At first, it felt like his limbs were just heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering fog of unconsciousness. But then—bite. Sharp, plastic edges dug into his wrists when he flexed his fingers. Too tight. His hands were secured together, thumbs locked in place so he couldn’t even twist his wrists.

His breathing hitched as realization crashed into him, snapping through the sluggish haze like a lightning strike.

‘Tied up. Fuck.’

He forced himself to inhale, slow and quiet, even as his chest clenched with something cold and coiling. His muscles tensed instinctively, fighting against the restraints, but every movement only confirmed what his rattled brain was already screaming.

They knew what they were doing.

That fact sent a different kind of chill through Orion’s veins.

His stomach churned as his awareness expanded. The cold bite of air against his bare skin made his breath hitch. Fuck. His clothes—

A quick, frantic inventory of sensation told him they hadn’t stripped him completely. His boxers and tank top were still on, and—thank every god in existence—his STP was still tucked where it should be. But everything else? Gone. His jeans, jacket, boots, belt, weapons—all of it taken.

Orion swallowed against the bile creeping up his throat. His body trembled, whether from adrenaline or cold, he couldn’t tell. Maybe both.

‘Okay. Assess. Think.’

His head lolled to the side, vision blurry as he took in his surroundings. The floor beneath him was hard, unforgiving—concrete, cold enough that his skin prickled where it touched. The air smelled of dust, old metal, and something damp. The dim light above buzzed faintly, casting flickering shadows along the cinderblock walls. ’A storage room? Maybe.’

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, a sickening thud-thud-thud as his situation fully settled in.

They’d jumped him.

Knocked him out.

Stripped him of his weapons, his clothes.

Tied him up like a fucking prize deer.

And like an absolute dumbass, he hadn’t left a note for his people before venturing off on his own.

Before the weight of that stupidity could sink in, voices filtered in from the hallway—muffled but close.

“—fucking stupid, man. We could’ve handled this different.”

“He was armed. You think I was gonna risk it? We don’t know who he’s with!”

“That don’t mean you jump him like a damn animal—”

“I secured him. That’s it. He’s fine.”

“Fine? He’s practically naked and zip-tied in a fucking storage room, Thomas.”

A scoff. “Oh, please. Ain’t like we killed him. We needed his shit, and now we got it. End of story.”

Orion’s jaw clenched. His heartbeat was too loud, but he forced himself to stay still, to keep his breathing even despite the roar in his chest.

If they thought he was still unconscious, that gave him one advantage.

He flexed his fingers, slow and careful. The zip ties barely budged, cinched too damn tight. His thumbs were the worst part—secured together, preventing any real movement. His feet were just as bad, the added tie around his toes making escape impossible without outside help.

His pulse quickened.

‘This is bad.’

Footsteps.

Orion forced his body to go slack just as the heavy door groaned open, light spilling into the room. The scent of sweat, cheap cologne, and his favorite orange scented laundry wash drifted toward him, followed by the click of boots, his boots, against concrete.

He stayed limp. Shallowed his breaths. Let his head loll just so.

A shadow loomed over him.

Then—

Sharp fingers gripped his chin, tilting his head up roughly.

It took everything in Orion not to flinch, not to react as the touch sent a flare of pain through his already-bruised skull.

“Still out cold,” a voice muttered. The same one from earlier—Thomas. The one who’d probably hit him.

A second voice scoffed. “No shit. You cracked him.”

“Barely.”

A rough hand patted his cheek. Once. Twice. Testing.

Orion forced himself to stay slack, to keep his breaths shallow, letting his head loll slightly.

A beat of silence.

“…Tch. Whatever. Just keep an eye on him. If he’s part of a bigger group, we’ll find out soon enough.”

Footsteps retreated, the heavy door slamming shut behind them.

Orion waited. Counted to thirty. Then to sixty.

Only when he was sure he was alone did his eyes crack open, his breathing still controlled but sharp.

The panic was there, coiling tight in his chest, but he shoved it down, shoved it deep. Panic wouldn’t do him any good.

His entire body was trembling—partly from the cold, partly from the pure, unfiltered rage crawling up his spine.

His fists clenched, zip ties biting into his skin.

‘You absolute dumbass,’ he scolded himself. ‘You better pray Merle kills you before Daryl finds out about this.’

---

Consciousness came and went in sluggish, disjointed waves.

Sometimes, when Orion drifted close to the surface, there would be voices—low murmurs, careful hands checking his pulse, tilting his head back just enough to let him sip at lukewarm water. His throat burned, every swallow scraping against raw edges, but he drank anyway, too dehydrated to care.

The faces changed, but the presence remained the same.

Big Tiny, whose large hands were deceptively gentle as he eased Orion’s head onto a makeshift pillow—a bundle of spare clothes that smelled faintly of sweat and dust.

Oscar, who knelt beside him, murmuring reassurances under his breath, even though Orion was barely conscious enough to register them.

Axel, the one who spoke of hope, was unusually quiet as he adjusted the bundle under Orion’s head, making sure he wasn’t laying directly on the cold concrete.

They didn’t hurt him. They didn’t mock him.

They weren’t the ones who had tied him up.

That much, Orion knew.

---

The next time he surfaced, the quiet was gone.

Somewhere beyond the thick walls of the storage room, a commotion had broken out—a cacophony of raised voices, the sharp scrape of metal against tile, the unmistakable crash of something being knocked over.

And then—

"Where the fuck is he?! We know you have ’im, ya have his damn weapons. Those are his boots ya mother fucker!"

Orion barely had the strength to flinch, but his body knew that voice.

Merle.

A slow, creeping awareness spread through his aching limbs. The weight of exhaustion still held him down, but beneath it was something else—something warm, thrumming just beneath the surface.

Merle was here.

Another voice snapped something back at him, but the response was lost beneath the sound of boots stomping against tile, a scuffle of bodies moving. Orion let his heavy eyelids slip shut again, the tension draining from his body in a slow exhale.

They found him.

Even if his brain was still sluggish, his instincts screamed the one thing that mattered:

They found him.

---

His next moment of clarity came in the form of hands shifting him onto his side. His entire body felt like it had been carved from stone, every muscle stiff and aching from being trapped in one position for too long. His arms—numb and lifeless behind his back—screamed in protest, sharp needles of pain shooting through his fingers as blood rushed back into them.

A whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it.

The movement continued, but this time, something snapped.

The zip ties.

They were cutting them off.

His wrists were freed first, the stiff plastic falling away as strong hands rubbed at the deep indentations left behind. His fingers twitched weakly, sluggish from disuse, but the sheer relief of being able to move them again made his breath hitch.

His ankles were next. Then his toes.

Orion barely registered the fact that he was shivering until a thick blanket was draped over him, wrapping his frozen limbs in immediate warmth. He exhaled shakily, his body instinctively curling toward the heat.

Someone’s hand pressed against his forehead—warm, calloused.

Familiar.

Orion groaned, forcing his head to lift just enough to see through bleary vision.

Three figures.

Merle, Daryl, and Rick.

Merle was livid. His lip curled in an expression Orion had only seen when he was about to beat someone into the ground. His knuckles were scuffed—bloodied, even—and his chest heaved with barely contained rage.

Daryl, standing next to him, was tense. His crossbow was strapped to his back, but his hands were still curled into fists, his sharp blue eyes scanning every inch of Orion like he was checking for more injuries.

Rick had his hands on his hips, his expression pinched and unreadable, but his gaze flickered between Orion and the three men standing off to the side—Big Tiny, Oscar, and Axel.

Axel was speaking.

“We weren’t part of it,” he said firmly, his deep voice calm but insistent. “Thomas and Andrew? They the ones who jumped him. We ain’t been no part in that.”

Orion’s tongue felt thick, but he managed to slur out, “Oscar, Tiny, and Axel are good.”

Rick’s gaze snapped back to him, assessing, but Orion had already lost his battle to stay conscious.

His head hit the makeshift pillow again, the blanket swallowing him whole, and this time—

This time, he let go willingly.

---

Sometime later, in the quiet hum of recovery, Orion woke to the feeling of soft fabric against his skin.

Not cold concrete.

Not rough restraints biting into his wrists.

Something clean. Something safe.

It took him a moment to process that he was in bed. His bed, the mattress firm beneath him, the scent of fabric softener still lingering faintly on the sheets.

His fingers twitched against the blanket, the warmth of it sinking into his bones.

His clothes.

They had dressed him again—sweats, a loose T-shirt, socks. Someone had taken the time to take care of him, to make sure he was warm, comfortable.

Slowly, his mind caught up with the why.

When they stripped him down to his boxers and tank top, his scars had been visible. The faint, thin lines of top surgery, the unmistakable markers of a past he never talked about.

If Merle and Daryl had dressed him, then they knew.

A strange, slow-burning warmth settled in his chest.

They knew.

---

Orion drifted in and out of sleep, his body too exhausted to do much else. The warmth of the blanket and the steady, rhythmic sound of breathing near him grounded him, but every time his mind started to wander too far, flashes of the storage room pulled him back—zip ties biting into his skin, the cold press of concrete, the sharp crack of something slamming into his skull. His fingers twitched against the sheets, his muscles tensing involuntarily.

“You’re safe, Shortstack.”

The low murmur came from his right, rough but steady, cutting through the haze in his head. Orion blinked sluggishly, turning his head toward the voice.

Daryl was sitting in a chair beside the bed, the same way he had back at the farmhouse, except this time, he wasn’t alone. Merle was perched on the other side, one boot propped up on the bedframe, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Both of them looked pissed.

Daryl was the quieter kind of pissed—the type that simmered beneath the surface, his knee bouncing slightly as his fingers curled against his jeans. Merle, on the other hand, was tense. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like he might crack a tooth, and the bruises across his knuckles told Orion everything he needed to know.

Someone had gotten their ass kicked.

Orion exhaled slowly, licking his dry lips before muttering, “Y’all look like hell.”

Merle let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “That’s rich, comin’ from you.”

Daryl shot him a look but didn’t say anything, his sharp blue eyes flicking over Orion’s face, scanning him in that way he always did—like he was checking for new injuries, for anything Orion might be hiding.

“How long this time?” Orion rasped. His voice was raw, his throat still burning from dehydration.

Daryl shifted. “Couple days.”

Orion blinked. He knew he’d been out for a while, but days?

“Carol ’n Jenner been takin’ care of ya,” Merle muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Buncha worried hens, the lot of ‘em.”

Orion scoffed weakly. “That supposed to include you?”

Merle scowled. “Fuck off.”

Daryl let out a sharp breath, rubbing his hands over his face before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “What the hell were ya thinkin’, runnin’ off like that?” His voice was low, but there was something heavy beneath it.

Orion swallowed, shifting slightly under the blanket. “I was thinkin’ we hadn’t checked the cafeteria yet.”

Daryl stared at him. So did Merle.

“That’s it?” Merle drawled. “That’s what got ya strung up in a goddamn storage room?”

Orion let his head tip back against the pillow. “Didn’t exactly plan on gettin’ jumped.”

Daryl’s jaw ticked, his hands gripping the fabric of his jeans tighter. “Dumbass move.”

Orion huffed a quiet laugh, closing his eyes. “Starting to feel that.”

Merle shook his head, muttering something under his breath before exhaling sharply. “You’re lucky we got to ya when we did,” he said gruffly. “Rick was ready to negotiate. Ain’t no negotiatin’ with fuckers that strip ya down and tie ya up.”

Orion’s stomach twisted slightly at the reminder, his fingers curling into the blanket.

Daryl watched him carefully. “They see anythin’?”

Orion knew what he was asking. He hesitated, but finally shook his head. “Didn’t seem like it. Not sure they were payin’ attention.”

Daryl’s shoulders loosened slightly, but the tension in his jaw remained.

Orion exhaled, forcing himself to push past the unease settling in his chest. “Where are they now?”

Merle smirked, but it wasn’t a kind smirk. It was sharp, edged with something dangerous. “Let’s just say they won’t be causin’ problems no more.”

Orion lifted an eyebrow. “That supposed to mean dead or just beaten within an inch of their life?”

Merle didn’t answer.

Daryl stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Ain’t important,” he muttered. “What’s important is you gettin’ back to normal.”

Orion tilted his head slightly, watching as Daryl paced toward the door.

“I am normal.”

Daryl stopped, turning to glare at him. “Bullshit.”

Orion sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was too tired for this.

Merle leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Look, Pixie, we ain’t askin’ ya to sit on yer ass forever,” he muttered. “Just long enough to make sure ya don’t keel over again.”

“I’m fine.”

Merle’s eyes narrowed. “Boy, I swear—”

The sound of the door creaking open cut off whatever insult was coming next.

Orion looked up just as a small blur of movement launched onto the bed.

Eve.

She wiggled her way under the blanket, curling up against his chest like a tiny, warm barnacle, her fingers gripping at his shirt.

Orion blinked, looking up to see Carol standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression knowing.

“She wouldn’t sleep without you,” Carol murmured. “Figured you could use some company.”

Orion exhaled, his chest loosening as he curled an arm protectively around Eve’s small body.

Merle let out an exaggerated groan. “Great. Now he’s really not gonna rest.”

Orion smirked, but didn’t argue. Instead, he let his head drop back against the pillow, his fingers rubbing gentle circles into Eve’s back.

Daryl sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before nodding toward Carol. “He eat yet?”

Carol gave him a look. “Not nearly enough.”

Daryl grumbled under his breath and turned toward the door. “I’ll get somethin’.”

Orion huffed, but the fight had already drained out of him. With Eve curled up against his chest, the exhaustion settled in quickly, the warmth of her small body lulling him back toward sleep.

He could hear Merle muttering something about mother hens as he leaned back in his chair.

He could hear Carol whispering something to Eve, her voice soft and soothing.

And just before sleep pulled him under again, he felt Daryl’s calloused hand press lightly against his ankle, a silent I got you.

Orion let himself rest.

Chapter Text

The prison was quieter than usual. Most of the group was scattered, handling different tasks—Carol, Miranda, and Amy were with the kids, Rick and Hershel were going over plans, and the others were making rounds to secure weak points. Orion had managed to sit through a meal without immediately handing it off to someone else, which was apparently enough of a victory that Daryl and Merle decided now was the time to corner him.

He should’ve known something was up the second Merle sat down across from him instead of next to him.

Daryl was perched on an old wooden crate, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his usual scowl firmly in place. Merle, on the other hand, was studying Orion, which was a different kind of unsettling. His hands were clasped together, tapping idly against the table, his mouth pressed into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t quite a frown either.

It was the look he got when he was thinking too hard about something.

Orion sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “What is it?”

Merle exhaled sharply, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You, uh…” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to figure out how to phrase what was on his mind. “You got somethin’ ya wanna tell us, Pixie?”

Orion blinked. “Pretty sure you already know whatever it is you’re fishing for.”

Merle tilted his head, unimpressed. “Humor me.”

Orion sighed again, glancing at Daryl, but his face was unreadable—his usual, unreadable mix of broody and mildly constipated. Not much help.

“You’re talking about me being trans,” Orion said flatly.

Merle clicked his tongue. “Ring a ding ding.”

Orion groaned, tipping his head back. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Merle waved a hand vaguely at him. “Kinda hard to not notice when ya got strung up like a damn deer carcass and didn’ come back with any extra…attachments.”

Orion gave him a deadpan look. “Wow. You have such a way with words, Merle.”

Merle snorted. “I try.”

Daryl finally shifted, his gaze flicking toward Orion, sharp but not unkind. “Ain’t like it matters,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “Just…ain’t somethin’ we ever had to think about.”

Merle pointed at Daryl. “Exactly.” He turned back to Orion, waving a hand. “I mean, hell, Pixie—I don’ get it, but ya still you, so who gives a shit?”

Orion blinked, genuinely taken aback. “That’s…shockingly mature of you.”

Merle scowled. “Fuck off Dickhead, I can be mature.”

Daryl grunted. “Debatable.”

Merle shot him a glare but didn’t argue.

Orion exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I know it’s weird to wrap your head around. But it’s not complicated—I just…am who I am. Always have been.”

Merle made a face, clearly still struggling with the concept. “Yeah, yeah, I get that, but—so wha? Ya just decided one day you were gonna be a dude?”

Orion let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah, Merle. One day I woke up and thought, Hey, you know what’d be fun? Making my entire life ten times harder just for shits and giggles.”

Merle scowled, clearly not amused. “Ya know what I mean.”

Orion huffed, rubbing his hands over his face before looking back at him. “I didn’t decide anything, alright? This is just who I am. Always has been.”

Merle studied him for a long moment before shaking his head with a sigh, standing abruptly. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Ain’t like it changes anythin’.”

Orion raised an eyebrow. “Then why are we having this conversation?”

Merle shot him a look. “’cause I don’t fucking understand it, Pixie.”

The sharp frustration in his voice caught Orion off guard.

Merle let out a harsh breath, rubbing at his temple. “But I do know ya still you. An’ I ain’t got the patience to sit here and figure out what’s goin’ on in that damn head of yours.” He pointed a finger at Orion, narrowing his eyes. “But don’t think for a second that means I ain’t still lookin’ out for ya.”

Orion stared at him, then huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Got it.”

Merle grunted and stalked off, leaving Daryl and Orion sitting in the uncomfortable silence he left behind.

Daryl finally exhaled, shaking his head. “He’s tryin’,” he muttered.

Orion smirked faintly. “Gods help us all.”

Daryl let out a short chuckle, rubbing his hands over his knees before glancing at Orion again. His face was unreadable, but something about his expression was softer than before.

“Still you,” Daryl muttered. “Always been you.”

Orion felt something warm settle in his chest.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Always been me.”

---

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the prison yard as Orion made his way toward the commotion near the inner gates. Even before he saw the group gathered, he could hear the sharp bite of raised voices, the unmistakable tension of an argument brewing.

Lori’s voice cut through the air, taut with frustration. “He is twelve years old, Rick! A child! He has no business carrying a gun!”

Rick’s response was calm but firm, his patience clearly wearing thin. “And he’s also growin’ up in a world where he needs to know how to protect himself.”

Orion sighed, already rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he rounded the corner. He took in the scene quickly—Carl and Sophia stood side by side, both looking like they’d rather be anywhere else, but neither backing down. Rick and Lori faced off a few feet away, shoulders squared, their disagreement thick in the air. Carol lingered behind Sophia, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression caught between concern and reluctant acceptance.

A few others had taken notice as well. Merle and Daryl were by the fence, watching with unreadable expressions, though Daryl’s fingers twitched against his crossbow strap—like he was deciding whether or not this was worth stepping into.

And then there were the guns.

Carl held one close to his chest, his small fingers curled around the grip, his expression set with stubborn determination. Sophia clutched hers as well, looser in her hands, but it was clear she wasn’t about to let go without a fight.

Orion exhaled slowly, stepping forward. “Alright,” he said, his voice carrying enough weight to draw every pair of eyes toward him. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Lori turned on him instantly, frustration and anger flashing across her face. “What’s going on is that my son—my twelve-year-old son—was sneaking around with a gun! And Sophia too!”

Carl bristled. “We weren’t sneaking.”

Lori’s jaw clenched as she turned back to Rick. “This is exactly why I didn’t want him around the gun training.”

Rick sighed, his own patience thinning. “They took the pistols from the bag we keep locked up. Same ones Daryl and I were storin’ for emergencies.”

Orion’s brow furrowed. “That true?”

Carl and Sophia hesitated before nodding.

“Why?” Orion asked, crossing his arms.

Carl’s grip on the pistol tightened. “Because I need to be able to help,” he said, voice steady despite the tension around him. “I don’t wanna just use a knife ‘n hide every time something bad happens.”

Sophia nodded beside him, her small face set with the same quiet determination. “Me neither. If somethin’ happens, I wanna protect my mommy.”

Carol inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. She didn’t speak, but the weight of her thoughts was clear on her face.

Lori, however, was not having it.

“That is not your responsibility!” she snapped at Carl. “You are not an adult, you are not a soldier—”

“No, but he is growing up in a world where knowing how to use a gun could save his life,” Rick cut in, his voice hardening.

“So we’re just giving up and handing him a weapon? Letting him throw away what’s left of his childhood?”

Orion sighed and stepped between them before this could spiral any further. “Enough.”

The air crackled with tension, but Lori bit her tongue, her expression tight with barely contained frustration.

Orion turned to Carl first, crouching slightly so they were eye level. “Listen, kid. I get why you did this. I really do. But takin’ a gun without talkin’ to someone about it first? That’s reckless. And reckless gets people killed.”

Carl’s brows furrowed. “But—”

“No buts,” Orion said firmly. “You wanna learn how to protect yourself? Fine. But it’s gotta be done right. A gun ain’t a toy, and it sure as hell ain’t somethin’ you just carry around ‘cause it makes you feel safer. You train with it. You respect it. And you never use it unless there is no other option. Do you understand?”

Carl hesitated, but eventually, he gave a small nod.

Orion glanced at Sophia. “That goes for you, too, kiddo.”

Sophia swallowed hard before nodding as well.

Carol sighed, rubbing at her temple before finally speaking up. “I don’t like the idea of her having a gun,” she admitted, voice thick with emotion. “But…if it means she’ll be safer, then I won’t stop her. As long as she’s only using it when absolutely necessary.”

Sophia’s grip on the pistol tightened, but she nodded again.

Lori exhaled sharply, her gaze flickering between Carl and Rick before settling on Orion. “I still don’t like this,” she muttered.

“I know,” Orion said. “But this ain’t about what we like. It’s about what keeps ‘em safe.”

Rick nodded. “We’ll do this right. Training, rules, supervision. He’s not carrying it around every day, but when the time comes, he’ll know how to use it properly.”

Lori swallowed hard but didn’t argue further. She turned to Carl, her expression softer now, filled with motherly worry. “Just…promise me you won’t take anything without asking again.”

Carl hesitated, then nodded. “I promise.”

Lori exhaled, clearly still unhappy but resigned.

The tension finally began to settle—but before Orion could step away, a sharp voice cut through the air.

“A herd hit the farm!”

Everyone snapped to attention as one of the lookouts near the outer gates waved frantically.

Daryl was already moving. “The last of the livestock was gettin’ moved ‘ere when a herd trampled through the damn farm.”

Orion’s stomach dropped.

“How big?” Rick asked, his tone sharpening.

Daryl’s face darkened. “Big enough. Patricia, Jacqui, and Jim got bit tryin’ to lead ‘em away.”

A heavy silence fell over the group.

Carol covered her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Lori took a sharp step back, shaking her head.

Orion clenched his jaw. Patricia and Jacqui had been good people. Jim, too. They hadn’t deserved this.

Daryl shifted, his voice quieter now. “They made sure the herd was movin’ away from us. Gave us time to finish clearin’ the last of the animals out. They—” He exhaled roughly. “They didn’t make it.”

Orion inhaled deeply, steadying himself before turning back to the group. “We won’t let their sacrifice be for nothin’,” he said, voice firm. “We go into lockdown. No lights, no noises, no smells or movement!”

Rick nodded, his expression grave. “Alright. Everyone, let’s move.”

And just like that, the conversation about guns was forgotten.

The tension in the air was already thick, but the moment Maggie’s warning settled, another sound cut through the yard—the sharp crack of branches snapping.

Orion’s instincts kicked in instantly. His hand shot toward his knife, and he wasn’t the only one—Daryl had his crossbow drawn in a second, Merle’s pistol was halfway out of its holster, and Rick had shifted protectively in front of Lori and Carl.

From the thick brush just outside the prison fence, movement erupted.

A large man burst through the greenery first, stumbling forward with wide eyes and a shotgun clutched tightly in his hands. His clothes were worn but not ragged, dirt and sweat covering his dark skin, but he wasn’t injured—not visibly, anyway. He skidded to a stop the moment he spotted the group, chest heaving.

Two others came tumbling after—a woman, younger than the man but with the same sharp eyes and strong features, followed closely by a man in his late twenties, his expression wary and guarded. The last person—a third male, smaller but just as tense—burst through the trees with a panicked look over his shoulder.

No one moved.

For a long, thick moment, the only sounds were heavy breathing and the distant groans of walkers beyond the fences.

Orion’s grip on his knife tightened, but he didn’t raise it—not yet.

The big man’s gaze darted between them all, taking stock, calculating. His shotgun stayed low, not aimed at them, which was a good sign.

Finally, his eyes locked onto Rick’s.

“We don’t want trouble,” the man said, his voice deep and steady, despite his heavy breathing. “But we got the undead on our asses, and I ain’t lettin’ my people die out here.”

Rick didn’t lower his gun, but his expression shifted slightly—cautious, but listening. “How many?”

The woman next to the big man—his sister, maybe?—glanced behind them toward the tree line. “Too many,” she said breathlessly. “They split off from a bigger herd. We lost our car a few miles back and ran this way looking for cover.”

Orion flicked his eyes toward the trees, scanning for movement. It was quiet—for now. But if they really had a herd on their tail, that wouldn’t last long.

Rick hesitated. Then, to Orion’s mild surprise, he lowered his gun slightly.

“What’s your name?” Rick asked, his voice still sharp, but less aggressive.

The big man straightened. “Tyreese,” he said, then motioned to the woman beside him. “This is my sister, Sasha.” He gestured to the other two. “That’s Allen, and Ben.”

The group didn’t relax, but something in the air shifted.

Daryl didn’t lower his crossbow, but he tilted his head slightly toward Orion, silently asking for his read on the situation. Orion glanced at the newcomers again—Tyreese held himself like a leader, but not one who ruled with fear. Sasha, despite the exhaustion in her face, had a sharpness to her that reminded Orion of Michonne. Allen and Ben, however…something about them made Orion’s gut twist slightly, but he pushed it aside.

“They armed?” Daryl muttered.

Tyreese nodded, tapping his shotgun. “Me and Sasha got weapons,” he admitted. “Allen too. But we’re low on ammo.”

Allen shifted uncomfortably. Ben just looked nervous.

Rick exhaled through his nose, thinking.

“We ain’t gonna hurt y’all,” Tyreese said after a moment. “We just need a safe place for the night. Give us a chance to prove we can pull our weight.”

Silence stretched again.

Merle scoffed under his breath, but Orion shot him a warning look before he could run his mouth.

Rick finally nodded. “We’ll talk about long-term later,” he said. “But if that herd’s really on its way, we need to focus on getting everyone inside. Now.”

Tyreese nodded immediately. “We’re with you.”

Daryl was already moving. “We got maybe fifteen minutes before they’re close enough to see us. Let’s go.”

The group sprang into action.
Orion jogged toward the gates with Daryl while Rick barked orders, sending Glenn and T-Dog to get the women and kids inside. Carol ushered Sophia toward the cell block, Lori grabbed Carl’s hand, and Hershel moved to help Axel and Oscar secure the courtyard.
As Orion reached the fence, he caught a glimpse of movement in the distance—figures shambling between the trees, some faster than others.
“Shit,” he muttered. “We got movement.”
Daryl cursed under his breath, loading a bolt into his crossbow. “Time’s up.”
Rick spun toward the newcomers. “You help or you get inside and stay outta the way.”
Tyreese and Sasha exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. “We’re not leavin’ you to handle this alone,” Tyreese said.
Sasha had already raised her rifle, stepping beside Daryl without hesitation.
Allen hesitated, then swallowed hard and lifted his pistol. Ben, however, looked paralyzed, shifting on his feet like he wanted to run.
Merle snorted. “Best not freeze up, kid. Won’ do ya much good out here.”
Ben’s face went red, but he nodded, gripping his weapon tighter.
Orion turned back to the oncoming herd, his pulse quickening. They had minutes before the first walkers reached the outer fence, and not much longer before the full force of the herd followed.
He exhaled sharply. “Everyone inside—now.”
With that, the prison doors slammed shut behind them, sealing them inside—along with their newest people.

---

The days passed in a tense but necessary quiet. The herd had loitered near the prison for nearly two days before finally moving on, drawn by the distant sounds of something else—walkers were predictable that way. They wandered wherever the noise was, following movement like mindless moths to a flame.

Orion was grateful for the prison’s inner courtyard. It gave them a way to keep their livestock fed without drawing attention. He and Hershel had talked about it in hushed tones, ensuring that the animals had enough space to graze while remaining out of sight. The chickens were kept inside their coop, but the goats, cows, and horses were finally allowed back into the pasture once they were sure the herd had cleared out.

They’d learned their lesson, though. Even now, as Orion helped fasten another tarp to the inner fence, he knew they couldn’t afford to be careless. Movement attracted the dead, and if the walkers couldn’t see them, they wouldn’t linger.

The sound of a hammer striking metal rang out from across the yard. Daryl, Big Tiny, Axel, and Tyreese were reinforcing a weak spot in the fencing near the watchtower, tightening the bars that had rattled too much during the herd’s passing. Merle was supposed to be helping, but from the way Daryl kept glaring, Orion was pretty sure Merle was just standing there and making commentary.

Orion shook his head with a small smirk, finishing the last tie on the tarp.

Things were settling. Slowly.

Once they were sure the herd was truly gone, they finally started sending people out again. The prison was sturdy, but it needed more. Stronger defenses, better supplies, food.

Orion, Shane, and Daryl had taken on the more dangerous supply runs. They were some of the fastest and most efficient fighters, and they worked surprisingly well as a unit—when they weren’t arguing.

Today’s mission was a mix of priorities. They needed bags of sand and cement to reinforce some of the weaker prison walls, food to keep everyone fed, and anything else that might prove useful.

---

The air was thick with humidity as Orion tightened the straps on his backpack, standing near the open gates with Daryl and Shane.

“Y’all ready?” Orion asked, adjusting his gloves.

Daryl gave a sharp nod, crossbow slung over his shoulder, while Shane huffed, tossing his bag into the back of the truck.

“Let’s just get this shit done,” Shane grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We don’t need to be out there longer than necessary.”

Orion didn’t argue. The last thing they wanted was to attract attention.

They climbed into the truck, Shane behind the wheel, Daryl riding shotgun, and Orion in the back with the supplies.

As they pulled out of the prison gates, Orion leaned back against the seat, watching as the prison disappeared behind them.

Another run. Another day trying to survive.

He just hoped this one went smoothly.

---

The road stretched out before them, cracked and uneven, lined with rusting cars and overgrown weeds reclaiming what humanity had left behind. The air inside the Jeep was thick with the scent of sweat and leather, the faint remnants of old cologne still clinging to Shane’s seat.

Orion kept his eyes on the passing landscape, his fingers idly tapping against the stock of his rifle. It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that never meant anything good.

Daryl was scanning the treeline, his crossbow resting in his lap but his grip steady. Shane’s hands were tight on the wheel, his jaw working as he flicked his gaze between the road and the mirrors.

After a few miles, Orion sighed and finally broke the silence.

“We hitting the hardware store first?”

Shane exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yeah. Get the heavy shit outta the way before we go after food.”

Daryl grunted in agreement. “Rather not be haulin’ bags of cement while dodgin’ biters.”

Orion huffed a quiet chuckle, but his fingers still twitched against his rifle. His gut was nagging at him, that quiet instinct that had been keeping him alive since the world went to shit.

He didn’t like this.

Didn’t like how still it was.

Didn’t like how easy the road had been so far.

He shifted, scanning the horizon. “This part of town was clear last time, right?”

Shane shrugged one shoulder. “Far as we saw.”

“Then why does it feel like we’re walking into a trap?”

Daryl shot him a look, sharp and assessing. He must’ve felt it too because his grip on his crossbow tightened. “Could be nothin’,” he muttered. “Could be somethin’.”

Shane rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, just pressed down harder on the gas. “If somethin’ happens, we handle it.”

Orion hoped it was that simple, he had a bad feeling it wouldn’t be.

The town was just as eerie as Orion remembered—silent, desolate, the ghosts of its former life lingering in every shattered window and abandoned storefront. Shane pulled the Jeep up to the curb in front of what used to be a hardware store, its large glass windows cracked but still intact. The once bright red "OPEN" sign hung at an awkward angle, faded and useless.

Daryl was the first out, moving with the quiet efficiency Orion had come to expect from him. His crossbow was already in his hands, eyes scanning the rooftops and alleyways. Orion followed, rifle slung over his shoulder as his boots crunched against loose gravel. Shane was last, slamming the car door a little harder than necessary as he adjusted his grip on his shotgun.

“Alright, let’s make this quick,” Shane muttered, nodding toward the entrance. “We grab what we need, we get out.”

Orion adjusted his gloves and took point, nudging the door open with the barrel of his gun. The air inside was thick with dust, the sharp tang of rust and mildew clinging to the walls. The shelves were mostly bare—ransacked long ago—but a quick glance told Orion there were still things worth taking.

“Sandbags and cement first,” Daryl murmured, moving toward the back of the store. “Split up, grab what ya can.”

Orion nodded and veered left, scanning the aisles for anything useful. A few unopened buckets of roofing tar, some heavy-duty nails, a roll of thick industrial plastic—he shoved it all into his bag. Every little bit helped.

As he moved toward the loading dock, something caught his eye—a stack of unopened cement bags shoved into a corner, almost hidden behind a toppled shelving unit. His gut told him this was too easy, but they needed supplies, and if they left now, they might not get another chance.

He crouched down, testing the weight of one of the bags. Heavy as hell. He sighed and braced himself to lift it when—

A sound.

Faint.

A scuff of movement.

He froze, his pulse spiking.

Then, in the reflection of a shattered mirror on the far wall, he saw it—movement. Not a walker. A shadow, shifting just beyond his line of sight.

Shit.

Orion moved fast, swinging his rifle up as he twisted to face whoever—or whatever—was behind him.

The moment he turned, he was met with the barrel of a gun aimed directly at his chest.

His breath hitched.

A man stood a few feet away, his grip steady, his face shadowed by the low light filtering through the broken windows. He wasn’t alone. Two others flanked him, their weapons drawn but not yet raised.

Orion’s stomach dropped.

They weren’t just scavengers.

They were waiting.

It was a trap.

“Well, well,” the man in the middle drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “Looks like we got ourselves a visitor.”

Orion’s jaw tightened, fingers flexing against the trigger of his rifle. His mind was already working, calculating. He could drop one, maybe two, before the third got a shot off—but the odds weren’t in his favor.

From the other side of the store, he barely caught the sound of Shane’s voice calling out to Daryl.

They didn’t know.

They didn’t know he was in trouble.

Orion forced himself to exhale, steadying his stance as he locked eyes with the man in front of him.

“Didn’t mean to crash your party,” Orion said evenly, keeping his voice light. “Just lookin’ for supplies.”

The man smirked. “That so?”

Orion nodded. “Ain’t lookin’ for trouble.”

The man clicked his tongue, a lecherous look on his face as he tilted his head slightly. “See, the problem with that is…you already found it.”

The gun cocked.

The air in the store felt suffocating, thick with the scent of dust and stale sweat. Orion’s grip on his rifle tightened, but he didn’t raise it higher—not yet. Three against one. He could hear Daryl and Shane moving somewhere in the store, but they were too far away to help him now. If he wanted to get out of this in one piece, he had to play this smart.

The man in front of him—the leader, Orion guessed—wore a smug, knowing smirk, his finger resting just a little too casually near the trigger. His stance was easy, almost relaxed, but Orion wasn’t fooled. This guy was confident, cocky even. That meant one of two things—he either had backup nearby, or he thought Orion was already as good as dead.

“You alone?” the leader asked, his tone light, conversational, like they weren’t standing in the middle of a ruined store with guns pointed at each other.

Orion considered lying, but he could see it in the guy’s eyes—he already knew the answer.

“Nah,” Orion said easily. “Got people waitin’ for me outside.”

The leader hummed, glancing briefly at the man to his right. That one was thinner, twitchier, his grip on his gun a little too tight. The third guy—built like a damn wall—hadn’t moved much, his expression unreadable.

Orion kept his breathing steady, keeping his focus on the leader. If he was the one calling the shots, he was the one Orion needed to distract.

“Smart man,” the leader said, tapping the barrel of his gun against his thigh. “But see, that puts me in a bit of a dilemma. Can’t just let you waltz outta here with our supplies.”

Orion lifted a slow eyebrow. “Your supplies?”

The leader grinned, but there was no warmth in it. “Finders keepers.”

Orion exhaled through his nose. ‘Stalling isn’t gonna work forever.’ His eyes flicked to the left, scanning for anything—an escape route, a weapon, ‘something.’ His rifle was still lowered, but he could feel the weight of it in his hands, familiar and steady. If he could just—

Footsteps. Fast ones.

Orion barely had a second to react before a fourth man—one he hadn’t seen—grabbed his arms from behind, yanking his rifle away.

“Shit—”

Pain shot up his spine as his back slammed into the concrete floor, his shoulder slamming against the tile. Starsbursts in his vision, his pulse roaring in his ears as he felt his shoulder disconnect and reconnect back in place with two pops. He heard his rifle clatter away, out of reach, and a boot pressed down hard on his chest.

The leader crouched down beside him, grinning. “Didn’t think we’d come unprepared, did ya?”

Orion gasped, glaring up at him. “Go fuck yourself.”

The leader laughed, actually laughed, before nodding to one of his men. “Strip him down. See what he’s got.”

Orion fought.

Even dazed, even pinned, he thrashed against the weight on his chest, his knee jerking up to try and catch the guy in the stomach. But there were too many of them—too many hands grabbing at his jacket, his belt—

No. No. Not again. Why?

Then—

A gunshot.

Not close. But close enough.

The men froze.

And then, from the other side of the store—

“ ‘rion?”

Daryl.

Orion’s heart jumped.

Another gunshot rang out, this one closer, and the weight on his chest lifted as the men scrambled for cover.

Orion moved.

With everything he had left, he rolled onto his side, ignoring the sharp sting in his shoulder and ribs as he lunged for his rifle. After a quick re-adjustment of his belt, he fixed up his ruffled clothes.

Footsteps pounded against the tile, and suddenly—

“Get down!”

Orion barely registered the blur of movement before Daryl yanked him to the floor behind a toppled shelf. A second later, bullets ripped through the air, shattering the glass windows, sending shards raining down.

Shane’s voice rang out, sharp and pissed off. “Son of a bitch!”

Orion gritted his teeth, fumbling to reload his rifle as Daryl crouched beside him, his crossbow raised. His eyes were wild, sharp with adrenaline. “The hell did you wander off for?!”

“Not the time, Dixon,” Orion snapped, wincing as another round of bullets pelted the shelves around them.

Daryl growled but didn’t argue. He peeked over the edge, firing an arrow that whistled through the air—

A sharp grunt followed, and Orion didn’t have to look to know one of the bastards had gone down.

Shane’s shotgun boomed from across the store, and Orion took that as his chance. He moved, pushing up onto one knee, rifle steady as he took aim.

The leader was already retreating, his eyes burning with fury as he ducked toward the back exit.

Orion exhaled through his nose and fired.

The bullet grazed the guy’s arm, sending him stumbling—but it wasn’t a kill shot.

The leader cursed, clutching his wound as he bolted through the door, his remaining men scrambling after him.

Orion started to chase after them, but Daryl grabbed his arm.

“Let ‘em go!”

Orion’s breathing was ragged, his fingers tight around his rifle. His pulse roared with leftover adrenaline, but Daryl’s grip was firm, grounding.

Finally, Orion exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly.

Shane stomped over, his shotgun still raised. “You dumbass! You goin’ outta your way to get yourself killed or somethin’?!”

Orion glared at him. “I didn’t—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Look, I thought the place was empty. Guess I was fuckin’ wrong.”

Shane scoffed. “No shit.”

Daryl clicked his tongue. “Dumbass move,” he muttered. But his grip on Orion’s arm lingered for just a second longer before finally letting go.

Orion carefully rolled his shoulders, sucking in a deep breath. His body ached, but he was still standing.

Shane sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, already turning toward the supply shelves. “Next time, stick to the damn plan.”

Orion let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Daryl grunted, already moving toward the supplies. “Let’s grab what we came for and get the hell outta here.”

Orion nodded, taking one last look toward the back door where the men had disappeared.

His stomach twisted.

---

The tension didn’t fade, even as the gunfire died down. The store was eerily quiet now, the only sounds being their heavy breathing and the faint creak of the building settling around them.

Orion rolled his shoulders, feeling the dull ache of where he’d been slammed into the floor Causing his shoulder to pop out and back into place. He was gonna be majorly bruised tomorrow.

“Shit,” Shane muttered, yanking down a half-broken shelf in frustration. “Could’ve died ‘cause of your dumbass stunt.”

Orion exhaled sharply through his nose, ignoring him as he knelt to pick up his rifle. He wasn’t in the mood to argue—he knew he’d fucked up.

Shane paced, shotgun still slung over his shoulder, his free hand gripping the strap tightly. His eyes flicked to Orion, narrowed in frustration, but then…they dropped lower.

Orion barely noticed at first, too focused on shifting through the scattered supplies on the ground. But then, he felt it—Shane’s stare, heavy and lingering, locked onto his chest.

It took a second for Orion to realize why.

His tank top had been yanked to the side during the scuffle, exposing the faint, pale scars that stretched just beneath his collarbone.

Orion froze.

Shane’s expression wasn’t disgusted, but it was confused. His brows furrowed, mouth parting slightly like he was about to say something.

Orion’s throat felt tight. He quickly adjusted his tank top, yanking it back into place, but it was too late.

Shane scoffed, crossing his arms. “The hell is—”

“Don’t,” Daryl cut in, his voice sharp.

Shane blinked, snapping his gaze toward him. “What?”

Daryl didn’t even look at him. He was crouched near the hardware aisle, shoving rolls of duct tape into his bag, but his shoulders were tight with irritation. “Ain’t your business, Walsh.”

Shane huffed. “Ain’t like I said anythin’.”

Daryl finally glanced up, and Orion caught the warning in his eyes. “You were gonna.”

Orion swallowed, forcing himself to move, to act like he didn’t care. He turned away from them, quickly moving down the next aisle.

He didn’t want to care.

Didn’t want to feel that old, gnawing sensation creeping under his skin—the one that made him feel too exposed, too seen, too fucking wrong.

He ignored it, shoving it down deep as he scanned the shelves, his eyes landing on something that made his stomach twist for a different reason.

Feminine products.

Tampons, pads, wipes, even some unopened pregnancy tests. The shelves had been picked through, but there were still some left.

Orion clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening into a fist before he forced himself to relax.

The women needed this.

Amy, Beth, Carol, Lori, Maggie, Michonne, Miranda, the girls.

It didn’t matter how it made him feel.

Without a word, he grabbed a bag and started stuffing it full.

Each item felt wrong in his hands, like they weren’t his to touch, like they weren’t meant for him. His skin crawled with phantom sensations, memories he didn’t want.

He focused.

He thought about Maggie, how grateful she’d be.

Thought about Michonne, how she’d give him a nod, that subtle way she acknowledged things without fuss.

Thought about Carol, how she’d quietly set aside supplies for the younger girls without making a big deal about it.

This wasn’t for him.

This was for them.

Daryl and Shane were still in the other aisle, their conversation reduced to quiet muttering. Orion didn’t listen. He just kept filling the bag until it was too full to close, then slung it over his shoulder and moved on.

He had other things to do.

Other things to focus on.

Because if he let himself stop—if he let himself spiral for even a second—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to breathe.

---

The world felt distant. Muffled. Like Orion was moving through water, every sound distorted, every movement slow and sluggish.

He barely remembered loading the last of the supplies into the Jeep. Barely registered the drive back to the prison, the way the others spoke around him, their voices blending into a dull hum. His limbs felt like they weren’t his own, just extensions of something mechanical, moving only because they had to.

By the time they arrived, he was already numb.

The weight of the day pressed down on him like a lead blanket, suffocating and thick. He let his body move on autopilot—drop off the supplies, check on the kids, nod numbly when Beth asked if he was okay.

He wasn’t.

But saying it out loud felt like too much effort.

The next thing he knew, he was in the shower, scalding water rushing over his skin.

Orion stood beneath the spray, unmoving. The heat burned against his shoulders, his chest, his arms—hot enough that his skin was already turning red, but he didn’t turn the temperature down.

Didn’t move at all.

The feeling of being dirty clung to him like oil, thick and heavy. His skin crawled with it, with the weight of eyes lingering too long, the ghost of Shane’s stare boring into his chest.

He scrubbed.

His fingers dug into his arms, his nails dragging across his skin as he scrubbed at himself, harder, harder, harder.

The water turned pink.

He couldn’t tell if it was from dirt or if he’d broken skin.

He didn’t care.

His breath came in slow, shallow gasps, his chest tightening, his ribs squeezing around his lungs like a vice. His limbs felt like jelly, weak and trembling beneath the weight of exhaustion and something worse.

His mind wouldn’t stop.

Wouldn’t shut up.

He couldn’t breathe.

Orion’s knees buckled.

He crouched down, pressing his forehead against his arms as the water kept rushing over him, hands curling into fists, nails biting into his palms as he tried to steady himself.

He couldn’t breathe.

The pressure in his chest wouldn’t stop.

Everything felt too much.

Too tight, too loud, too wrong.

His breath hitched, coming in short, ragged gasps.

He can't breathe.

The door creaked open.

Footsteps.

A shadow moved beyond the curtain.

Then—

A voice.

Rough, but gentle.

“…‘Rion?”

Orion couldn’t answer.

The curtain shifted, not pulled back all the way, just enough for a hand to reach inside, shutting off the water. The sudden silence was deafening, the only sound left was the ragged gasping of his own breath.

Then—warmth.

Something soft wrapped around his shoulders, a familiar weight draping over him.

His favorite towel. The big, light-green one with holes on one end.

Daryl.

Orion’s breath hitched as he felt strong arms wrap around him, pulling him close, shifting him until he was no longer crouched against the wall but held.

Daryl settled onto the floor, tugging Orion into his lap, one arm wrapped securely around his back while the other rubbed slow, steady circles against his arm.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Rocking them both gently, a slow, grounding motion.

Orion felt small.

Felt like he was breaking apart.

“Breathe,” Daryl murmured, his voice quiet, close to Orion’s ear. “Just breathe, Shortstack.”

Orion tried.

Tried to match the slow rise and fall of Daryl’s chest, tried to focus on the warmth surrounding him instead of the cold clawing at his insides.

It took minutes.

Long, drawn-out minutes of silence, of ragged breathing, of Daryl holding him together.

Then, finally—Daryl spoke again.

“Y’know,” he muttered, his voice low, rough, but steady. “Merle once got his head stuck in a goddamn banister when we were kids.”

Orion blinked, his breathing still uneven, but the words cut through the fog just enough to anchor him.

Daryl huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Dumbass thought he could squeeze through like a dog or somethin’. Got stuck for hours before Ma even noticed.”

Orion’s fingers twitched against the fabric of the towel, the barest ghost of a reaction.

Daryl kept going.

“She just left him there, y’know? Said it was ‘a lesson in consequences’ or some shit. Meanwhile, I’m sittin’ there tryin’ not to laugh my ass off ‘cause Merle’s goin’ red screamin’ his head off.”

The image was ridiculous.

Orion’s breath hitched—not a sob, not a gasp, but something.

Daryl felt it, the slight shift, the subtle unwinding of tension, and kept talking.

“Got stuck so bad, we had to get the neighbor to saw the damn thing off. Old man Jenkins was so pissed, thought Merle was gonna break the whole damn porch.”

Orion let out a breath—not quite a laugh, but closer than before.

Daryl’s hold didn’t loosen, but his voice softened. “Point is…dumbass got out. Looked like a wreck after, but he was fine.”

Orion swallowed thickly, his grip on the towel tightening.

Daryl sighed, his fingers still moving in slow, steady circles against Orion’s arm. “You’re fine, too.”

Orion wanted to believe that.

Didn’t quite yet.

But sitting there, wrapped in warmth, held in steady arms that didn’t let go…

It was easier to try.

---

The prison was quiet as Daryl moved through the dimly lit halls, Orion still wrapped in the soft green towel, his body limp with exhaustion. His breathing had evened out, though his fingers still curled into the fabric of the towel like he was holding on for dear life.

Daryl had never been good with this sort of thing—comfort, care, gentleness. But Orion was damn near boneless in his arms, his body completely spent, and leaving him to fend for himself wasn’t an option. Not after what just happened.

He stepped into the infirmary, the scent of clean linen and antiseptic sharp in the air. Jenner had left spare supplies behind, but Daryl barely glanced at them as he carefully set Orion down on the medical cot.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching the way Orion barely reacted. His half-lidded eyes flickered toward Daryl, but there was no fight left in him, no sharp retort, no teasing quip. Just exhaustion.

Daryl exhaled through his nose and turned to grab the clothes he’d set aside earlier—the ones he’d found on the supply run and almost left behind.

They were soft.

He didn’t know why he picked them up in the first place, but something about them made him think of Orion.

The pajama pants were flannel, dark green, worn but still sturdy. The shirt was one of those old, oversized henleys, lightweight but warm. And the briefs—he wasn’t gonna think too hard about those. He just grabbed the softest ones he could find.

He hesitated, turning the clothes over in his hands before clearing his throat. “Got somethin’ for ya,” he muttered.

Orion blinked sluggishly, barely registering the clothes before nodding weakly.

Daryl sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before kneeling beside the cot. “Ain’t gotta do nothin’,” he muttered. “Just…let me help, alright?”

Orion didn’t respond, but he didn’t resist either.

Daryl worked quickly, focusing on the task rather than the details. His fingers were rough but careful as he pulled the fresh briefs over Orion’s legs, mindful of how utterly out of it he was. His brain barely even registered what he was doing—just another job, another wound to dress, another task to complete.

Didn’t matter.

Orion was Orion.

That was all.

Daryl pulled the flannel pants up next, rolling Orion onto his side just enough to slide them into place before easing him back down. He worked the henley over Orion’s head last, guiding his arms through the sleeves with slow, steady movements, and tugging it down over his torso.

When he was done, Orion just lay there, blinking up at him.

Daryl cleared his throat. “There. Better.”

Orion hummed, his eyes already slipping shut again.

Daryl sighed, shifting his grip before gathering Orion up once more. His arms hooked beneath Orion’s knees and back, lifting him with ease.

Another thing he wasn’t gonna think too hard about.

The halls were still quiet as he carried Orion toward his cell, the dim lighting casting soft shadows across the concrete walls. Orion didn’t stir much, just a slight shift against Daryl’s chest, his body naturally curling into the warmth.

By the time Daryl reached the small cell, he was painfully aware of how easy it would be to just…hold Orion for a little longer.

Instead, he carefully lowered him onto the cot, pulling the thin sheets over him.

That should have been the end of it.

Daryl should have walked away.

But his damn feet wouldn’t move.

His eyes flickered to the cot, to how Orion looked even smaller wrapped up in those blankets, his exhaustion still pulling at his features.

Daryl huffed, muttering a quiet curse under his breath before turning on his heel and heading back down the hall.

He returned a few minutes later, a weighted blanket slung over his shoulder and a small, well-worn plushie tucked under his arm.

He wasn’t gonna ask.

Wasn’t gonna talk about it.

He just draped the heavy blanket over Orion’s form and set the Panda plushie near his pillow.

Orion shifted slightly, his fingers brushing against the fabric of the plush, but he didn’t wake.

Daryl sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Dumbass,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Then, without another word, he turned and left, pulling the cell door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

The morning was slow, the cool air of the prison still holding onto the night’s lingering chill as Orion moved through the halls. His body still ached, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin, but he needed to do something—something normal, something quiet.

So, he gathered the kids.

It didn’t take much convincing. The moment he suggested a trip to the library, they perked up, their groggy expressions shifting into excitement. Levi and Sophia tried to play it cool, but even they couldn’t hide the way their steps quickened. Robbie and Annabell all but dragged Liam and Eva along, their eager chatter filling the halls. Maple, of course, was strapped securely against Orion’s chest in her sling, her tiny fingers curling into his shirt as she babbled softly.

The walk to the library was short, but Orion was relieved when they arrived. The space was small—tucked away in one of the less damaged wings of the prison—but it was quiet. Peaceful.

And, more importantly, the books from their last supply run had made it.

Orion exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing for the first time since they found the library he took in the sight of the shelves, now fuller than before. The familiar scent of old paper and dust clung to the air, bringing a small, tired smile to his lips.

"Alright, you lot," he murmured, clapping his hands together. "You can pick a book to read on your own, or you can sit with me and I’ll read somethin’ out loud."

The kids scattered immediately, their small hands skimming over the spines of books as they searched for something that caught their interest.

Levi grabbed something thick and wordy, already settling into one of the old chairs with a focused expression. Sophia picked a book but lingered near Orion, torn between reading on her own and listening to him. Robbie, Annabell, Liam, and Eva all plopped onto the rug in front of Orion expectantly, their eyes wide with anticipation.

Orion chuckled softly. “Guess that means I’m readin’.”

He moved toward the shelves, scanning the titles until something caught his eye. A familiar worn faded green and brown cover. “Because of Winn-Dixie.’

‘Perfect.’

Orion settled onto the rug, adjusting Maple in her sling as he opened the book. “Alright,” he murmured, flipping to the first page. “Let’s get started.”

The kids quieted immediately, their eyes fixed on him as he began to read.

The soft, rhythmic cadence of Orion’s voice filled the library, low and warm, drawing the kids into the story. The crackling hum of the prison’s old generator droned faintly in the distance, but here—in this small pocket of peace—the world outside felt far away.

Orion’s fingers brushed lightly over the worn pages as he read, his voice steady and soothing.

"My name is India Opal Buloni, and last summer my daddy, the preacher, sent me to the store for a box of macaroni-and-cheese, some white rice, and two tomatoes, and I came back with a dog."

Maple gurgled softly against his chest, her chubby fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, occasionally giving an absentminded tug. Her head rested against him, the slow rise and fall of his breathing already lulling her into a drowsy, milk-drunk haze.

On the rug in front of him, Robbie was sprawled on his stomach, chin propped in his hands, his eyes wide with interest. Annabell sat cross-legged beside him, her fingers fiddling with the corner of the rug, but her gaze never wavered from Orion. Liam sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, blinking slowly as he lost himself in the words, while Eva tucked herself close to his side, her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

Sophia lingered a few feet away, pretending to flip through her book, but her eyes kept drifting back to Orion. She eventually gave up the charade, setting her book aside quietly and inching closer, folding herself onto the rug with the others.

Levi, the only one still sitting in a chair, held out the longest. He kept his eyes trained on his own book, making a show of being too old for read-alouds. But slowly—gradually—his posture softened, and he let the words pull at him. His book lowered slightly in his lap, his ears subtly tilted toward Orion’s voice.

Orion didn’t rush. He read slowly, his voice dipping into the natural rhythm of the story, giving each sentence the space to breathe.

"I found him in the produce section. He was a big dog. And ugly, too. He looked like he was having a real bad time of it. His fur was all matted up and he had bald patches all over him, and he smelled real bad."

“Like Lucky when he finds a mud puddle,” Liam whispered with a tiny grin.

Annabell giggled softly, and Robbie grinned into his hands.

Orion’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but he didn’t stop reading.

"But he had a big smile on his face. A real friendly dog smile. And when he saw me, he pulled back his lips and showed me all his teeth, as if he were smiling right at me."

Robbie’s eyes widened slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like Lucky does…”

“Yeah,” Sophia murmured, her chin resting in her hands. “Just like him.”

Orion’s voice dipped lower, softer, as he continued.

"I waved at him. And then I said, ‘Hey!’ And he kept right on smiling at me. And the whole time, he was wagging his tail so hard that he knocked over a bunch of oranges, and they rolled everywhere, making a big mess. The manager came out and yelled, ‘Who let that dog in here?’"

Maple shifted slightly against him, her tiny body growing heavier as she drifted deeper into sleep. Orion adjusted the sling slightly, gently stroking her back as he turned the page.

The story wove on, and the kids grew quieter, sinking deeper into the gentle current of his voice.

By the time Orion reached the third chapter, Annabell’s head was drooping, her hand loosely tangled in Liam’s sleeve. Robbie’s cheek was smushed against his palm, his eyes heavy-lidded but still trying to stay awake. Liam was blinking slowly, his breaths evening out, and Eva had already curled herself into his side, sound asleep.

Sophia, who had shifted closer over the course of the story, was now leaning against Orion’s knee, her head resting against it as her eyes fluttered shut.

Levi was the last one still holding on, his book abandoned in his lap, his eyes fixed on the worn pages in Orion’s hands. But even he was slouching now, his chin resting on his palm, his eyelids drooping despite his best efforts.

Orion slowed his voice as he neared the end of the chapter, the words softening, barely more than a murmur.

"And so, I took Winn-Dixie home. And my daddy was sitting out on the porch. He had been talking to people that morning. He was a preacher. And when he saw me walking up with that dog, he crossed his arms and gave me the look that says, ‘Where did that dog come from?’"

His voice drifted into a gentle hush as he slowly closed the book, letting the silence settle around them.

The kids were out—limp and loose with sleep, their small bodies tangled in a cluster of warmth on the rug. Sophia had curled closer, her arms now loosely wrapped around Orion’s leg.

Orion exhaled softly, closing the book and setting it aside. He leaned back slightly, resting against the wall with Maple still nestled against his chest. Her tiny breath puffed softly against his collarbone, her fingers still loosely gripping his shirt.

For the first time in days, the tension in his chest eased.

He closed his eyes briefly, listening to the sound of their soft, steady breathing.

No walkers.

No guns.

No panic.

Just the slow, steady rhythm of their breathing and the weight of Maple’s tiny body against his chest.

A warm, tired smile tugged at the corners of Orion’s lips.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself just be.

And he stayed that way, surrounded by his sleeping kids, holding onto the moment for as long as he could.

---

The library’s peaceful stillness was broken by the sharp clatter of hurried footsteps.

Orion’s ears twitched at the sound, his half-lidded eyes slowly opening as he stirred from his brief doze. His arms were still wrapped securely around Maple, her tiny body warm and heavy against his chest, her soft breaths steady and deep in sleep. The other kids were still out cold, sprawled across the rug in a tangle of limbs and soft snores. The library was quiet, filled with the gentle warmth of their combined body heat, but the hurried footsteps approaching the doorway shattered the serenity.

‘Too fast.’

‘Too frantic.’

Orion’s body tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife strapped to his thigh even as his mind fought through the sleepy haze. His eyes flicked over the tops of the bookcases, muscles coiling as he waited for whatever—or whoever—was coming.

Carol’s voice broke through first, sharp with worry.

“Sophia?”

“Carl?” Lori called out a beat later, her voice tight, verging on panic.

A second later, Carl shuffled in behind them, looking thoroughly disgruntled, his small hands shoved deep into his pockets. His brows were drawn into a deep scowl, his lips pursed in frustration. He trudged after the two women with a resigned, sullen slouch, clearly annoyed.

Carol’s sharp eyes darted around the room, scanning every corner, the rapid rise and fall of her chest making it clear she was near the edge of panic. Her eyes were wide, frantic, her breaths coming quick and shallow. Lori, while less visibly distressed, was still pale-faced, worry clinging to the edges of her expression as her eyes flicked across the library.

The moment Carol spotted Orion’s messy head of hair peeking over the top of the farthest bookcase, her breath caught. Her hands flew to her chest, and she released a sharp, shaky exhale, clutching at the fabric of her shirt as if trying to physically steady her heart.

Orion exhaled through his nose softly, blinking slowly as he met her wide eyes.

‘She was scared. She probably thought she lost Sophia again.’

His gaze softened.

Careful not to disturb Maple, Orion slowly raised a hand and gave Carol the smallest nod before tilting his chin toward the slumbering children. His eyes lingered briefly on Sophia, who was curled near his knee, her cheek smushed against her hand, completely oblivious to the world.

Carol’s eyes followed his gaze, and the relief that washed over her face was instant. Her shoulders sagged, her eyes going glassy with emotion. She let out a quiet, trembling breath, her hand still pressed firmly to her chest as she stared at her sleeping daughter, alive and safe.

Beside her, Lori exhaled as well, some of the tension slipping from her frame. She exchanged a brief glance with Carol, silently acknowledging their shared relief.

Before either woman could move, Carl spotted Orion. His scowl immediately lifted, his eyes lighting up slightly at the sight of him. The tension in his small shoulders eased as he scurried toward Orion without a word, clearly seeking the familiar comfort that Orion always seemed to offer.

Carl opened his mouth—ready to speak, already forming a question—but Orion raised a finger to his lips, silently hushing him.

The boy froze, blinking in confusion, but then his eyes landed on the pile of sleeping kids. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he clamped his mouth shut without argument, his small hands clenching into loose fists at his sides as he shuffled closer.

Orion caught the faint sounds of Carol and Lori’s footsteps moving toward him, but his focus remained on Carl. With a small, reassuring smile, Orion gestured toward the ground beside him, patting the soft patch of rug invitingly.

Carl’s eyes flicked from Orion’s face to the rug, then back again, his uncertainty clear.

Without a word, Orion leaned down slightly, reaching out to tug one of the nearby rolling chairs toward them. The wheels squeaked softly as it shifted, and he patted the seat once, offering Carl the choice of the chair or the rug.

Carl’s lips twitched slightly, his face softening at the simple gesture. Without hesitation, he plopped down onto the rug beside the others, pulling his knees to his chest.

Satisfied, Orion slowly reached for the book he had been reading earlier—Because of Winn-Dixie—and cracked it open again.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he simply began to read.

His voice was low, soothing—a steady, velvety rhythm that slipped easily back into the familiar cadence of the story. The words flowed softly, filling the library like a gentle current, smooth and calm.

The mothers stood nearby, unmoving, drawn in by the sound of his voice. Carol slowly sank into one of the rolling chairs without realizing it, her eyes never leaving Sophia’s sleeping face. She let out a slow, shaky breath, her knuckles still white from gripping her shirt. But with each steady word Orion read, her fingers loosened slightly.

Lori remained standing, her arms crossed over her chest, but her face was more thoughtful now—less tense. Her eyes drifted over the scene, taking in the sight of the children huddled around Orion, their small forms curled into each other on the rug.

Even Carl, who had been restless and defiant only minutes ago, was sitting quietly, knees hugged to his chest, eyes fixed on Orion’s hands as he turned the pages.

They listened.

Not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

Orion’s voice dipped lower when the story grew softer, lifting slightly with moments of gentle humor, his expression flickering with warmth as he read. His voice was steady, unwavering, filled with the kind of careful, deliberate tenderness that came naturally to him when he was with the kids.

By the time he reached the final page, Carl was leaning slightly against Orion’s arm, his stubborn pride forgotten in favor of the comfort Orion brought.

Orion’s voice softened to a hush as he read the last line.

"And I lay there and thought how life was like a Littmus Lozenge, how the sweet and the sad were all mixed up together and how hard it was to separate them out. It was confusing."

He let the words linger for a moment before quietly closing the book.

Carl sat still for a moment, blinking slowly, clearly processing the ending. But before Orion could say anything, the boy suddenly shot to his feet and bolted from the rug.

“Carl—” Lori called after him, startled, but he was already gone.

Carol sat up straighter, worry flashing across her face, but before she could move, Carl came rushing back into the room.

In his hands was a book—a thick, slightly worn hardcover that he clutched against his chest.

He practically skidded to a stop in front of Orion, his eyes wide and eager as he held the book out.

“This one,” he blurted breathlessly, shoving it toward Orion. “Read this one next? Please?”

Orion blinked in surprise, his eyes flicking to the title.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

He stared at the book for a moment before looking back at Carl, whose hopeful expression was almost vibrating with anticipation.

Orion’s lips twitched into a small, tired but genuine smile.

He patted the rug beside him again.

“Alright, kiddo,” he murmured softly. “Get comfy.”

Carl’s eyes practically lit up as he plopped back down onto the rug, bouncing with excitement as Orion cracked open the book and began to read once more.

---

The faint hum of the prison’s ventilation system was the only sound that filled the library, a low and steady thrum that barely registered over the soft breathing of the sleeping children. The once lively, chatter-filled room was now a peaceful haven, scattered with the slow, deep exhales of bodies lost to exhaustion.

The warm press of tiny limbs draped over Orion, the familiar weight of Maple snug against his chest in her carrier, and the comforting warmth of Sophia’s small hand loosely curled against his sleeve made the world outside feel distant—forgotten.

The slow rise and fall of his chest matched the rhythm of the children’s breathing, his own body heavy with bone-deep weariness. His head lolled slightly to the side, resting against the edge of a low bookshelf, his eyes slipping shut despite himself.

Time blurred. He drifted in and out, the distant murmur of footsteps growing closer before retreating again. For a while, he stayed lost in the hazy limbo between sleep and wakefulness, too comfortable, too heavy-limbed, to move.

And then he heard it—real footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and many.

Orion’s eyes cracked open sluggishly, still half-lidded and dazed from sleep. His breath hitched as the sound drew closer, his body instinctively tensing. He was already shifting to reach for the knife on his thigh, his muscles coiling to protect the pile of kids still tangled around him, when—

Blue eyes.

His gaze locked onto a familiar pair of hard, sharp eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea—Daryl.

And then another pair, just a shade darker, filled with the same quiet fire—Merle.

For a split second, his muscles remained coiled, ready for a fight, but the tension bled out of him almost immediately.

The exhaustion on the brothers’ faces was evident—the layer of sweat on their skin, the streaks of dirt smudged along their jaws and necks, and the hard lines carved into their expressions. But the moment Daryl’s eyes found Orion’s, and Merle’s gaze followed, both of their faces softened.

It was subtle—barely noticeable—but Orion saw it.

The slight dip of Daryl’s brows, the flash of relief in his eyes. The way Merle’s shoulders slackened ever so slightly, the hard line of his mouth easing.

They were relieved.

Orion exhaled slowly, his own tension slipping away as he slumped back slightly against the bookcase. He blinked blearily at them, letting the warmth of familiarity chase off the last tendrils of sleep.

He waited.

He didn’t move right away, just remained still, watching as they slowly approached the sleeping group. The heavy scuff of their boots was slow and cautious, their eyes roving over the kids with sharp, instinctual protectiveness before finally settling back on him.

Daryl and Merle weren’t alone. Behind them, Rick, Glenn, and Maggie followed closely, their eyes sweeping over the sleeping children, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and quiet relief.

Glenn’s eyes softened immediately when he spotted Liam’s tiny hand curled into Robbie’s shirt, their faces smushed together in shared dreams. Maggie’s breath hitched softly at the sight of Eva’s tiny fingers tangled in Sophia’s hair, their small bodies pressed close.

Rick lingered by the doorway, his eyes steady and sharp, ever-watchful. His shoulders were stiff with tension, but when his eyes found Carl—tucked safely against Lori—his expression cracked slightly, his relief bleeding through the exhaustion in his eyes.

The group didn’t speak at first. They simply watched.

Orion’s body remained still, barely moving, allowing them time to take it all in. The slow, steady breathing of the children. The warmth of the sleeping pile. The peace.

Finally, he shifted. Carefully, he began to disentangle himself from the mass of small limbs, moving with deliberate, practiced gentleness to avoid waking them.

His muscles ached as he sat up fully, finally stretching out his stiff limbs with a soft groan of relief. His back popped, his shoulders cracked, and he rolled his neck, relishing the small wave of release after hours of being still.

Maple stirred slightly against his chest, but didn’t wake, her tiny fist curling into his shirt with a soft, sleepy whimper. Her breath was warm against his collarbone, and Orion instinctively rested his palm against her small back, rubbing slow, soothing circles until she settled again.

Once he was fully upright, he scanned the group, his eyes meeting each of the adults before silently gesturing toward the children.

Without a word, he assigned each adult a sleeping kid with a simple nod.

First, he pointed at Maggie and Glenn.

They exchanged a glance, sharing a faint, tired smile before quietly moving toward Liam and Eva. Glenn knelt carefully, his hands practiced and steady as he scooped Liam into his arms, while Maggie lifted Eva with practiced ease, cradling her small body close.

Next, he nodded toward Rick.

Rick crouched down, his hands steady as he gathered Carl into his arms. The boy stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his small hands fisting into the fabric of Rick’s shirt on instinct.

Orion’s eyes shifted toward Carol.

She knelt beside Sophia, her hands trembling slightly as she carefully brushed the hair from her daughter’s face. Her fingers were gentle, reverent, as if committing the sight to memory. She bent down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Sophia’s temple before lifting her into her arms, cradling her daughter close to her chest.

Finally, Orion turned his gaze to Daryl and Merle.

He pointed at Levi first.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. His boots barely made a sound as he crossed the room, his movements instinctively fluid and controlled. He crouched, one knee pressing into the rug, and slid his arms beneath Levi’s small frame. The boy stirred slightly, letting out a soft, sleepy murmur, but Daryl simply tucked him closer, his grip steady and protective.

Merle was last.

Orion’s eyes shifted toward Robbie, his brows raising slightly.

Merle’s lips twitched into something halfway between a smirk and a scowl, but he didn’t argue. With a low, quiet grunt, he knelt down and carefully gathered Robbie into his arms. The boy’s head lolled against his chest, his small hand curling into the front of Merle’s shirt.

Orion, still holding Maple, slowly bent down and scooped Annabell into his other arm, balancing her small, limp form easily against his side.

Lori, still lingering near Carol, let out a soft groan as she rubbed her lower back. She straightened with some difficulty, wincing slightly, but no one offered her a child to carry. She was already moving stiffly, her hand pressed against the small of her back as she hobbled after them.

Without a word, they all filed out of the library, the slow shuffling of boots the only sound as they made their way back toward the cells.

When they reached the block, Orion carefully tucked each of the kids into their beds. Maggie and Glenn pressed soft kisses to Liam and Eva’s temples before stepping away. Carol lingered the longest, smoothing Sophia’s hair and whispering something soft before reluctantly stepping back.

Orion lingered by the doorway, watching the children as their breathing evened out, their small forms relaxed in sleep.

When he finally turned back to the others, Maggie and Glenn shot him matching, mischievous grins, their brows wiggling suggestively.

Glenn smirked. “We’ll keep an eye on the kids.”

Maggie’s grin widened. “You two—” she nodded toward Daryl, her eyes glinting with amusement, “—should take a shower.”

Orion rolled his eyes fondly, but he didn’t argue. Orion exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting toward Daryl.

And with an exhausted but content sigh, he allowed himself to be gently tugged away from the door, following Daryl into the loud silence of the communal showers.

---

The faint scrape of boots against the cold concrete filled the quiet corridor as Orion and Daryl walked side by side, moving slowly toward the showers. Orion’s limbs felt heavy, his body sluggish with exhaustion, but it was more than just physical weariness weighing him down. His muscles ached, yes—his back stiff from hours of holding the kids, his arms trembling slightly from the strain—but the emotional fatigue was worse. His chest felt tight, his skin stretched too thin over his bones, fraying at the edges.

He didn’t speak as they walked. Neither did Daryl.

They didn’t need to.

The shower room was dimly lit, the overhead fluorescent lights flickering softly as they buzzed faintly against the stillness. The space was cold—sterile and unwelcoming—but Orion hardly noticed. His boots scuffed against the worn tiles as he trudged inside, the weight of the day pressing down on his chest like a stone.

Daryl shut the door behind them, the heavy clang of metal against metal reverberating through the room before it fell into silence once more.

Orion exhaled slowly, his breath shaky as he dragged his hands through his hair, fingers briefly catching on the tangles at the nape of his neck. He could feel the grit of dirt beneath his fingernails, the faint crust of dried blood clinging to his skin—a constant reminder of the last few days.

Without a word, Daryl walked past him, moving toward the far end of the room where the water pipes jutted from the wall. He twisted the handle, and with a loud sputter, the water burst from the nozzle.

It was cold at first—a sharp, biting chill—but Daryl didn’t flinch. He simply kept his hand under the stream, waiting, testing it with the calm patience of someone who had done this a hundred times.

Orion stared blankly at the rising steam, feeling nothing.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes flicking over Orion’s still form.

“C’mon,” he murmured softly, his voice low and steady.

Orion didn’t move.

He just stood there, arms hanging limply at his sides, his body aching but unwilling to respond. His gaze was unfocused, his eyes distant, locked somewhere beyond the walls of the prison. His breath caught slightly in his throat, the tension in his chest tightening, making it hard to breathe.

Daryl’s brows knit slightly, and he crossed the short distance between them. He didn’t speak—he just moved. With practiced gentleness, he reached for the hem of Orion’s shirt, his calloused fingers brushing against the fabric.

Orion flinched slightly, his eyes snapping back into focus. His hands shot up, grabbing Daryl’s wrists on instinct.

For a moment, they were still, the space between them heavy with unspoken tension.

Orion’s hands were trembling slightly, his knuckles white as they clutched Daryl’s wrists in a desperate, automatic grip.

But Daryl didn’t pull away.

He just held still, his eyes steady, waiting.

After a long beat, Orion’s fingers loosened, slowly falling away.

He swallowed thickly, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”

Daryl shook his head once, wordlessly dismissing the apology. His hands remained steady, patient, as he gently peeled the shirt over Orion’s head.

The fabric clung to his skin slightly, damp with sweat and the day’s grime. The cool air kissed the exposed flesh, raising goosebumps along Orion’s arms and shoulders. His scars—faint and pale against the slight tan of his skin—stood out under the dim fluorescent light. The old, jagged remnants of knife wounds marred his left side, while the smooth, clean lines of his top surgery scars curved just below his pecs, faint but unmistakable.

Daryl’s eyes lingered briefly on the scars, but his expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch, didn’t avert his gaze.

He just looked.

Then, he moved again.

With slow, careful movements, Daryl crouched slightly and unlaced Orion’s boots, tugging them off one by one. The laces were crusted with mud, the leather scuffed and worn. He set them aside without a word, his hands steady as he moved to Orion’s belt.

There was nothing tender about it—no awkwardness, no hesitation. Just quiet, deliberate movements, precise and calm.

Once Orion was stripped down to his boxers, Daryl finally met his eyes again.

“You good?” he murmured softly.

Orion’s throat bobbed slightly. His voice was thin, strained. “Yeah.”

He wasn’t. But Daryl didn’t call him on it.

Instead, he simply reached for the waistband of Orion’s boxers, silently asking for permission.

Orion’s breath hitched slightly, but he nodded once, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Daryl kept his eyes firmly on Orion’s face as he carefully eased the boxers down over his hips, keeping his movements slow and steady. He didn’t linger, didn’t hesitate, didn’t look.

Once Orion was bare, Daryl took a step back and reached for the shower handle, testing the water once more before gently guiding Orion forward.

Orion stepped under the stream without a word, his breath catching slightly as the warm water hit his skin.

For a moment, he simply stood there, unmoving, his head bowed slightly, water coursing over his hair, his face, his shoulders.

Then, with a shaky exhale, he moved.

He grabbed the soap and scrubbed at his skin with rough, unrelenting hands. His nails scraped against his arms, his collarbones, his chest—too hard, bordering on raw. He dragged the bar over his scars, over his shoulders, over his thighs, until his skin was red and tender, stinging beneath the heat of the water.

His fingers trembled slightly as he scrubbed at his arms again—once, twice, three times—as if trying to peel something invisible from his skin.

Get it off, get it off, get it off.

He was breathing harder now, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his throat tightening as his heart thudded against his ribs. His vision blurred slightly, the steam thickening around him.

His hands were still scrubbing, moving fast and clumsy, nails biting into his skin.

“Hey.”

The voice was low, gravelly—grounding.

Orion’s movements stilled slightly, his breath catching in his throat.

Strong, steady hands suddenly enveloped his wrists, stopping his frantic scrubbing.

Daryl’s voice was low and calm, his breath warm against Orion’s temple. “Easy, ‘rion,” he murmured softly. “Yer alright.”

Orion blinked slowly, disoriented, the fog still thick in his mind.

Before he could process what was happening, Daryl carefully turned off the water, grabbing the large, light-green towel he had specifically picked out for Orion. It was soft and massive, practically swallowing Orion’s trembling frame as Daryl wrapped it snugly around his shoulders.

Without a word, Daryl sank to the floor, tugging Orion with him. He shifted easily, leaning back against the wall as he pulled Orion into his lap.

Orion didn’t fight it.

He didn’t have the strength to.

His limbs felt like lead, his breath still coming in short, uneven bursts. His skin was damp and flushed, still stinging slightly from the rough scrubbing, but the towel was warm, and Daryl’s arms were steady.

Daryl shifted slightly, his fingers finding slow, steady patterns against Orion’s arm. He didn’t speak right away—he simply held him.

After a long moment, Daryl’s voice rumbled softly against Orion’s temple, low and steady.

“Y’know,” he muttered, his tone light, gruff but warm, “Merle once tried to ride a cow. Got kicked in the face. Knocked him clean on his ass.”

Orion let out a weak, breathy huff, his body still trembling faintly, but the tension began to ease.

Daryl’s arms tightened slightly. “He was so damn mad he tried twice.”

Orion’s lips twitched faintly, and for the first time in days, he let himself lean into the warmth, into the steadiness of Daryl’s embrace.

The steady hum of the water filled the quiet space, a gentle rhythm that echoed softly against the tiled walls. The warmth of the shower clung to the heavy steam clouding the air, making the small room feel almost cocooned—removed from the harshness of the world outside.

Orion sat in Daryl’s lap, still trembling faintly beneath the towel wrapped around his shoulders. His limbs were heavy, his skin damp and warm, still stinging faintly from his frantic scrubbing. But Daryl’s arms were steady—solid—anchoring him in place. The slow, methodical patterns he traced along Orion’s arm were grounding, the rasp of his calloused fingertips gliding over soft, damp skin.

Neither of them spoke at first.

They simply breathed.

The rise and fall of their chests were slow and in sync, the heat of the shower slowly seeping into their bones, loosening the stiffness from their bodies. Orion could feel the faint scratch of Daryl’s stubble against his temple, could hear the soft rasp of his breath near his ear, low and steady.

It was comfortable.

But underneath the comfort, something else stirred. Something tentative. Uncertain.

And new.

Orion shifted slightly in Daryl’s lap, the movement unintentional—a slow, weary stretch of stiff limbs—but the slide of skin against skin made his breath catch slightly in his throat. His bare thighs dragged faintly against Daryl’s, damp from the steam, and the towel that had been loosely draped around him slipped slightly, falling open just enough to expose the curve of his shoulder and the upper slope of his chest.

He felt Daryl’s breath hitch.

It was subtle—barely perceptible—but Orion felt it, the faint hitch in his exhale, the slight stilling of his fingers against his skin.

Slowly, Orion’s eyes cracked open, his lashes heavy and damp, still half-lidded with exhaustion. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at Daryl’s face.

The other man was already watching him.

His eyes were dark beneath the dim, flickering fluorescent lights—softer than usual but still sharp, cutting through the hazy fog that clung to Orion’s mind. His pupils were blown slightly, the sharp blue of his irises darkened, almost eclipsed by the black.

Neither of them spoke.

They just looked at each other, the steady drip of water the only sound filling the space.

Orion’s lips parted slightly, his breath slow but uneven, and Daryl’s eyes immediately flicked down to his mouth. His throat bobbed once, his Adam’s apple shifting subtly, but he didn’t move.

He was waiting.

There was a hesitation in his eyes—a quiet, silent question hovering there—but no pressure. Just…waiting.

Orion exhaled softly, his lips barely parting as he let out a slow, shaky breath. His hands, still trembling slightly, slowly came to rest over Daryl’s arms where they were wrapped around him, his fingers splaying over scarred, calloused skin.

For a moment, they simply stayed like that—bare skin against bare skin—the warmth of the shower wrapping around them like a blanket, turning the entire room into a small, private world.

Then, ever so slowly, Orion moved.

His eyes remained locked on Daryl’s as he shifted slightly in his lap, turning just enough to face him properly. The towel slipped further down his arms, sliding from his shoulders to pool around his hips.

He could feel the sharp inhale Daryl took, the slight tightening of his grip around his waist, but he didn’t pull back.

Orion’s fingers curled faintly into Daryl’s skin, hesitant but deliberate. His breathing was shallow, his pulse thrumming in his throat, but he didn’t stop.

Slowly, cautiously, he leaned forward.

Their noses brushed faintly, a feather-light touch, and for a brief moment, Orion hovered there, close enough to feel Daryl’s breath against his lips.

His eyes flicked downward, his gaze dipping to Daryl’s mouth.

And then—finally—he closed the distance.

The kiss was tentative at first—soft and uncertain—but the moment their lips met, Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, his arms tightening around Orion’s waist. His hands splayed against Orion’s back, broad and warm, rough with callouses but steady as they slowly slid lower, tracing the curve of Orion’s spine.

Orion’s breath caught faintly, his fingers curling tighter against Daryl’s skin as he pressed in just a little more, deepening the kiss with slow, hesitant confidence.

He could feel the faint scrape of Daryl’s stubble against his lips, the warmth of his breath as their mouths parted slightly, only to press together again with growing urgency.

Daryl’s hands were slow and deliberate, calloused fingers tracing the ridges of Orion’s spine, following the lines of his scars with reverent familiarity. His palms were warm against the curve of his waist, his thumbs brushing faint, soothing circles into his skin.

Orion exhaled softly into the kiss, his breath shuddering slightly when Daryl’s hands shifted, sliding lower. His fingers splayed against the small of Orion’s back, the roughness of his palms a stark contrast to the warmth of the water still clinging to their skin.

The heat between them was slow and smoldering—unhurried—a careful exploration of something neither of them had ever allowed themselves to want.

Daryl’s lips moved slowly against Orion’s, cautious but certain, as if memorizing the shape of his mouth, the warmth of his breath. His grip was steady—protective, almost possessive—as he guided Orion deeper into the kiss, tilting his head slightly to fit their mouths together more firmly.

Orion’s fingers tangled in Daryl’s hair, his breath shuddering slightly as Daryl’s arms tightened around him, pulling him closer. Their chests pressed together, skin slick with water, the heat of their bodies radiating between them.

Neither of them rushed.

Neither of them spoke.

It was all slow—a patient, quiet unraveling of tension, of emotion neither of them had ever dared acknowledge.

Daryl’s mouth was warm and insistent but never forceful. His lips moved slowly against Orion’s, tasting, memorizing, learning.

When Orion’s breath hitched slightly, Daryl’s hands immediately stilled, his grip softening as if silently asking if he was alright.

Orion’s eyes cracked open, his lashes heavy and damp, but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he shifted in Daryl’s lap, drawing in closer, his lips parting slightly as he chased the kiss.

And just like that, the tension bled from Daryl’s shoulders, and he melted into it.

He pressed in again, deeper this time, his hands splaying wide against Orion’s lower back, anchoring him in place. His breath was heavier now, warmer against Orion’s lips as his hands slowly traced down the curve of his spine, lingering at the dip of his waist.

Orion shivered faintly, a soft exhale escaping against Daryl’s mouth, and Daryl growled low in his throat—a faint, gravelly sound that sent heat curling low in Orion’s belly.

The kiss slowed again, turning softer, more languid.

And when they finally pulled back—breathless and slightly dazed—they stayed close, their foreheads pressed together, their breathing uneven but in sync.

Orion’s chest heaved softly, his lips slightly parted, still tingling faintly from the kiss.

Daryl’s hands remained steady against his skin, grounding him, anchoring him in place.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

And then, with a slow, shaky exhale, Daryl murmured softly against Orion’s temple, his voice low and gravelly.

“‘Bout damn time.”

Orion huffed out a weak, breathless laugh, his hands tightening faintly against Daryl’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a breath. “‘Bout damn time.”

The kiss lingered between them, slow and unhurried, as though neither was entirely ready to pull away. The heavy warmth of Daryl’s breath lingered against Orion’s mouth, their lips barely parted, still close enough for the faintest brush of damp skin. Their foreheads remained pressed together, the gentle press of bone-to-bone grounding them in the shared moment.

Orion’s hands remained tangled in Daryl’s hair, his fingertips trembling slightly against the wet strands. The weight of exhaustion clung heavily to his limbs, but the warmth coiled low in his belly was enough to keep him tethered—awake.

Daryl’s hands hadn’t moved. They stayed exactly where they were, splayed protectively along the small of Orion’s back, his thumbs rubbing slow, steady circles into the damp skin. It was instinctive—reassuring—as though he could feel the lingering tension still trapped in Orion’s bones and was working it loose with every tender stroke.

Neither of them spoke.

For once, there was no need for words.

Daryl exhaled softly, his breath fanning against the curve of Orion’s cheek as his hands slowly, deliberately, roamed upward, trailing along the length of his spine. The movement was slow—leisurely—his fingertips tracing every ridge, every faint dip of Orion’s body as though committing him to memory.

The showerhead continued to drip above them, the warmth of the mist soaking into their skin, making their muscles heavy and languid. The steam had turned the room into a humid cocoon, wrapping around them like a heavy blanket, making the world beyond the tiled walls feel far away.

Orion let out a soft, shuddering breath, his lips barely brushing over Daryl’s jawline as he exhaled. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his heart still thundering softly in his chest, but he didn’t move. He just stayed there, pressed against Daryl’s warmth, the heat of their bodies keeping him grounded.

After a long moment, Daryl shifted slightly, his hands gliding along Orion’s sides before slowly, reluctantly, easing away.

Orion barely had the strength to open his eyes, but when he did, he was met with Daryl’s steady, dark gaze—watchful, but soft, as though quietly assessing every part of him.

Without a word, Daryl reached out, his hands slow and deliberate as they traced over Orion’s arms, then carefully over his shoulders, following the slope of his collarbones. He moved with a quiet reverence—cautious, almost as though Orion might break beneath his touch.

“Y’alright?” Daryl rasped softly, his voice low and gruff, barely louder than the shower’s steady rhythm.

Orion, still a little breathless, gave a slow, lethargic nod.

“Mhm,” he hummed softly, the sound barely coherent. “M’okay.”

Daryl studied him for a moment longer, then slowly leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to Orion’s temple. The roughness of his stubble rasped faintly against Orion’s damp skin, sending a shiver down his spine, but he stayed close, lingering for just a moment longer before slowly, reluctantly, pulling back.

“C’mon,” Daryl muttered softly, his voice low and steady. “Let’s get ya dried off.”

Orion didn’t protest. His limbs were heavy—boneless with exhaustion—but he allowed himself to be guided, barely aware of his own movements as Daryl slowly shut off the water. The sudden quiet was jarring, the lack of the heavy cascade making the small room feel almost too still, too silent.

But the moment Daryl’s hands returned, carefully wrapping him in a towel, the tension in Orion’s chest eased slightly.

The towel was large—huge, almost comically so—but soft and warm, swaddling around Orion’s shoulders and chest. The heavy fabric was one of the ones Daryl had brought him—the light green one he knew Orion favored, thick and plush, with just the faintest scent of sandalwood lingering from the last time it had been washed.

He barely noticed when Daryl began drying him off with slow, methodical movements—his touch gentle, almost reverent.

Orion stood mostly still, swaying slightly in place as Daryl carefully ran the towel over his arms and shoulders, then down the length of his back. His hands were firm, but not rough—careful—and when his knuckles brushed against Orion’s hips, he lingered slightly, his fingers flexing briefly before moving on.

Daryl was quiet the entire time, his gaze steady and intent, following the slow path of his own hands. He didn’t rush—didn’t seem inclined to—his movements slow and deliberate, almost intimate in their thoroughness.

When he finally finished, he carefully guided Orion toward the bench near the lockers, sitting him down with a steady hand against his shoulder. Orion was pliant and loose-limbed, allowing himself to be gently lowered onto the worn wood without resistance.

“Wait here,” Daryl muttered softly, brushing Orion’s damp hair from his face. “Be right back.”

Before Orion could respond, Daryl slipped away, moving toward the lockers where he’d stashed their clean clothes earlier.

Orion blinked slowly, still a little dazed from the shower, the steam making the room feel dreamlike and hazy. His eyes were half-lidded when Daryl returned, carrying the clothes he’d chosen for Orion—soft clothes, comfortable and worn, familiar and warm.

Without a word, Daryl knelt in front of him, carefully guiding Orion’s legs through the soft, comfortable briefs he’d picked out. His hands were steady, his fingers warm against Orion’s skin as he tugged the fabric gently into place.

Orion’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes flickering open to meet Daryl’s. Their gazes locked for a brief moment—steady and unflinching—but neither of them spoke.

Daryl’s hands lingered faintly against his thighs, his fingers flexing slightly before he pulled back.

He helped Orion into a fresh pair of sweatpants and his loose, oversized henley, one of the shirts Daryl had specifically grabbed for him on their last run. The fabric was soft and well-worn, loose enough to feel comfortable but still warm.

Once Orion was fully dressed, Daryl gently tucked the towel around his shoulders again, letting it hang loosely over his frame.

“C’mon,” Daryl muttered softly, his hand firm but gentle against Orion’s back as he helped him to his feet.

Orion leaned into him slightly, heavy-limbed and unsteady, but Daryl held him firm.

Without a word, they slowly made their way back toward the cell block.

---

The cafeteria was warm, the dim lighting casting a golden hue over the room as they sat at one of the smaller tables.

Orion was quiet, still foggy from exhaustion, but he ate steadily, the warm, simple food soothing the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. Daryl sat beside him, close enough for their arms to brush every time they reached for their cups, their movements slow and unhurried.

They didn’t speak much—just small, quiet comments between bites. Daryl muttered something about Merle snoring loud enough to wake the dead, and Orion snorted softly, his mouth still half-full.

For the first time in weeks, they felt content—simply sharing a meal, their movements slow and familiar.

When they finally finished, Daryl grabbed another plate, filling it with food.

“C’mon,” he muttered softly, jerking his chin toward the door. “Let’s bring some back to the kids.”

Orion’s lips twitched faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward into a small, tired smile.

Without a word, he followed.