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Chapter Text

It's dark by the time Daryl stumbles out of the woods, and Rick knows immediately that something is very wrong. There's no Merle with him, which can only mean one thing, and the way Daryl is moving sends alarm bells ringing in the Alpha's mind. He's already loping down the driveway, his nose stinging from the fire still burning in the guard tower as he passes by it. He spares a glance for the ruined gates, his lips curling and a rumble building in his chest but staying contained for the moment.

"Daryl," he rasps as he draws close to the hunter, and then he has to stop as he runs into a wall of scents so tangled and strong that he has to slap a hand over his nose, his Alpha instincts rousing in response to the omega's anguish. He can feel his eyes bleeding to silver, can feel his canines thickening, and his responding scent is carried to Daryl by the winds.

The omega jerks with a whimper, his ears flat against his hair and his tail curling between his legs. His head snaps up, pale eyes a dull, flat blue – glassy only from the tears that well up and run down his face unhindered.

"Daryl," Rick says again, even more alarmed now. He has never seen his Second like this before. Daryl may be an omega, but it has never made him weaker. He's one of the strongest, bravest men Rick has ever met, and his biology has never slowed him down once. Even in the crippling grips of his heats, he's seen the archer take down walkers and protect the pack with a ferocity that some Alphas could never hope to match.

No one questioned Rick's decision when he chose Daryl as his Second beta. Glenn had even offered to step down as First, to let Daryl have that rank, but the omega had refused. His quiet strength has given Rick reason to keep going more than once, which is why his stomach is tight with dread now as he slowly reaches out and rumbles soothingly.

"Rick," Daryl whines, and that's – that's not right. It comes out more like Wick, like a child's frightened tremble, and Daryl's voice is so soft and small, his terror so overwhelming.

"What happened?" The Alpha comes closer, eating up the last few feet until Daryl suddenly throws himself into Rick's arms, clinging to his shirt and nuzzling closer and shaking from the force of his sobs. Rick pets through his hair, strokes down his spine, and croons as he tries to ease his omega's distress.

"He's dead, Rick. Dey killed him, but dey did it w'ong an' he came back," Daryl babbles brokenly, and Rick instinctively looks around to make sure no walkers that may have lingered since the Governor’s attack are being drawn by his Second's crying.

So Merle is dead, then. Rick can't say he's heartbroken to hear that, but he recognizes the Dixon Alpha's sacrifice for what it was, and he sends a quiet farewell to the man's soul as he gathers Daryl closer and presses his cheek against the dark, tangled hair. He nuzzles the closest ear, feeling it twitch and brush against his nose; soft, silky fur tickling him but giving him no desire to laugh or smile.

"He's dead," Daryl sobs again, his voice thick from emotion and so fragile that Rick fears him shattering at the smallest push. "I had ta kill 'im, Rick, an' I didn' wanna but I had ta."

"I know, Daryl. I know. God, I'm so sorry."

"Rick," he sniffles, and he's still saying it wrong, still talking in a way that reminds the Alpha of Carl when he was only a cub. Pulling back, he watches his Second rub at his eyes like a tired cub himself, looking miserable and still sniffing as his nose runs. "Rick, I wan' Triumph."

"What's that?" he asks, confused, and apparently it's the wrong thing to say, because new tears start flowing down the archer’s face and Daryl's chin trembles.

"I wan' Triumph!" the omega shrieks, and then suddenly he's shoving Rick away and trying to rush past him, scrambling toward the prison. Rick catches him by the shoulder, minding the crossbow, and tries to calm him even as Daryl struggles to squirm free; his hands stretched out toward their home and his fingers curling plaintively. "No, no, no!" he bawls. "Wan' Triumph! Wan' Triumph!"

Rick has no idea what to do – he's never seen Daryl like this before. He doesn't know how to fix this, or what "Triumph" is, so in the end he has to let Daryl go before his shouts draw unwanted attention. As soon as the archer is free, he runs as fast as he can, stumbling over his own feet once or twice and still whimpering as he rushes up the driveway. Rick follows close behind him, wary and concerned alike as he tries to figure out what to do.

Carol is guarding the gate to the courtyard, her eyes wide and worried. She's seen the whole thing and is already dragging the gate open, fingers tight against the chain links. Daryl barely waits before he's barreling through the gap with Rick hot on his heels.

"Carol," his Second whimpers, and he doesn't say her name right either. He says Cawol, like he can't say his r's correctly. The female omega coos immediately and opens her arms as she steps closer.

"It's okay, Pookie, we've got you," she promises. Daryl reaches forward like he's going to cling to her too, but then stops and pulls away again, gripping his own shirt hem and tugging on it.

"Wan' Triumph," he whispers, and Rick looks helplessly at Carol. Her ears droop as she reaches out and uses her shirt to wipe away Daryl's tears and clean his running nose. He whines in protest and tries to wiggle free, but Carol tuts at him quietly, her expression gentle and her scent relaxing.

"You let me clean you up," the Den Mother coaxes, "and then I'll help you find Triumph, okay?"

"Pwomise?" Amazingly, Daryl stops fidgeting, looking up at her with trusting eyes. Rick can only stare, his mind whirring as he tries to figure out what the hell is happening.

"I promise, Pookie," Carol coos. "And I never break a promise, remember?"

"I 'member." Daryl nods, a quick little bob of his head, and Rick comes forward hesitantly, fearing another meltdown if he says the wrong thing. The archer turns and fists his hand in the front of Rick's shirt, still so trusting, and it’s a brief moment of relief. It gives the Alpha time to try and think of what to do.

"Where's the last place Triumph was? Can you remember?" he asks softly. He can't help when he ruffles Daryl's hair a little bit, and the omega leans into the affection rather than shoving away. This is all so confusing, because Rick knows he's looking at his Second, but his instincts are screaming cub. It's throwing him off-kilter, leaving him scrabbling to figure out the rules of this new game – although game might not be the right word for it.

"In bed wiff me," Daryl replies, ducking his head like he's suddenly shy. Rick blinks and looks over at Carol, who is rubbing up and down Daryl's back, minding the crossbow the same way Rick had. "He don' like bein' lonely," the archer adds, and he's tugging on his shirt again as he worries his lower lip. "He don' like da dark. I gotsta get him so's he ain't alone!"

His voice is rising again, taking on that edge of fear and distress, so Rick rumbles gently and nudges at his Second until the man starts moving toward the Block.

"We'll help him, Daryl, don't worry. You're back now. He's not gonna be alone anymore, okay?"

Daryl breaks into a fast jog, whining sub-vocally as he jumps up the steps and wrenches the door open. Rick reacts instinctively to the omega’s fear-driven actions, rumbling low in his chest and ignoring the startled looks of the others as Daryl bolts past them and runs into the Block. He takes the steps two at a time, almost tripping until Rick catches him and helps him regain his balance. Daryl doesn't even pause, pushing forward like it's life or death until he makes it to the cell he's claimed as his own. Rick still doesn't like his Second being so far away from the rest of the pack, but he understands Daryl's need for space. He hesitates at the threshold, unsure of his welcome when Daryl is clearly going through something big, and he watches as the archer drops to his knees beside the thin cot and starts digging through his blankets.

"Triumph," he whispers, his eyes wide and his body shaking. Rick bites his lip hard to keep himself from reacting in a way that might set Daryl off even worse; jamming his hands into his pockets and keeping his eyes on his erratic Second as he hears Carol coming up the steps while the rest of the pack gathers and waits on the lower level, their scents tense and worried.

"Triumph!"

Daryl's face lights up as he finds whatever it is he's been so desperate to have, and Rick almost bites through his lip in shock when his Second pulls a stuffed bear in a little leather jacket from amongst the folds of his sheets. Daryl whines and hugs the stuffed animal to his chest, rocking back and forth and nuzzling the peach-colored faux fur. He's crying again, babbling to the bear, and Rick feels his heart ache so badly he's amazed it's not broken as he listens to something he's not certain he's meant to hear.

"He died, Triumph. Dey killed him w'ong an' he was tryin' ta chew me. I didn' have a choice, I had ta do it, but I didn' wanna! I didn't wanna but dey killed him w'ong! He was ma bwuver an' dey killed him w’ong! I had ta do it right an’ I didn’ wanna!"

He's almost screaming again, his voice too loud and so broken as he buries his face between the bear's ears and bawls, reliving the loss of his brother anew. Rick doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know how to fix this – doesn't know what Daryl needs to be okay again. The Alpha is completely out of his element here, so he lets his instincts take over and moves to kneel beside his friend.

"Hey, little one," he croons softly, brushing Daryl's bangs back from his face as gently as he can. The omega keens brokenly and rubs his running nose against the stuffed animal's fur, looking at Rick with so much misery and pain twisting his face that the Alpha shifts so he's sitting cross-legged and coaxes Daryl onto his lap, which he crawls onto eagerly. "That's it, Daryl, there you go. C'mere, I've got you. Is Triumph okay? I bet he's really sad too, huh?"

"Uh huh," Daryl sniffles, curling against Rick easily and tucking his head under the Alpha's jaw. "Misses him lots, even do' Merle never gots ta meet him."

"And why's that?" The edge of the crossbow is digging painfully into Rick's ribs, but at least it's not loaded, so he deals with it for Daryl's sake as he runs his fingers through his friend's hair and lets his scent work to calm the distressed archer as well as his voice and touch. He cocoons Daryl in safety, petting him and crooning and feeling his Second's limp tail where it's draped over his thigh.

"'Cause he jus' would'a made fun'a us." Daryl sounds a little calmer, his wrenching sobs quieting to hiccups of emotion as he clings to Triumph and nuzzles Rick’s throat. "Would'a said stuffies is fer cubs an' girls."

"They're for anyone who needs them," Rick says firmly, and he feels Daryl's ears twitch against his cheek when he nuzzles the man's hair in return and breathes in the scent of the woods and the bitter tinge of rot. "If you like Triumph, and he likes you, then that's all that matters."

"But s'fer babies," Daryl hiccups, and Rick doesn't know why he does it, but he tickles his fingers against Daryl's unprotected side until the omega squirms and huffs out something that might be a giggle.

"Oh yeah?" he whispers, feeling his lips pull into a grin as he tickles the man a little more, putting more effort into it, and Daryl yelps as he squirms harder.

"No! No tickles!"

"Why not, little one?" It's so easy to adopt the nickname, so easy for Rick to see Daryl as the lost, frightened cub he's become. He might not understand it, whether it's a coping mechanism brought on by Merle dying or if the fact that he already has Triumph points to something else, but hearing Daryl shriek and try to get away from Rick's fingers like a pup playing a game lightens his heart enough to stop the ache. He grabs the omega and hauls him back, listening to Daryl laugh and squeak and feeling the way he's struggling – hard enough to entice more play, but not fervently enough to actually be trying to get free. It's all the incentive Rick needs.

"No tickles!" Daryl tries to bat at the Alpha’s hands, pulling at them like that will do any good, and it's such a cub-like reaction – bawling one second and laughing the next – that Rick has no doubt in his mind that this isn't just some fabricated front. "Said no! Lemme gooooo!"

"But then I'd miss out on your cute little laughs," Rick chuckles. He manages to get Daryl to be still long enough to take the crossbow and rest it beside his Second's bed, and then he looks at Daryl and grins, hooking his fingers like claws and wiggling them.

Daryl shrieks in glee, clinging to Triumph and grinning as he tries to scramble backwards one-handed toward the door of his cell. Carol appears to block him, hands on her hips and a smile warming her pixie-like face as she takes in the scene.

"Where do you think you're going, Pookie?" she asks, looking down at Daryl where he's turned around to rest on his knees in front of her and look up. Rick can see that his face is pressed to the back of his bear's head, his ears twitching and his tail starting to wag as he uses Triumph to muffle his giggles.

"He's tryin' ta tickle me, Cawol!" the boy tells her, and Rick adopts a perfectly innocent face as he hides his hands behind his back. The Den Mother looks at him, her long, elegant gray tail swaying behind her.

"Is that true, Rick?" She sounds serious and scolding, but her eyes are bright and she can't keep the smile off her face. "Are you tickling this little guy?"

"I might have tried," Rick replies nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side and trying not to grin wider when Daryl turns to him and pouts.

"You did!" he insists, and the Alpha wonders if he'd be stomping his foot if he were standing. "You did tickle me!"

"I maintain that I am innocent of any supposed tickles."

"But you did!" Daryl looks mad now, but it’s not the cold fury Rick is so used to seeing when something pisses him off. This is a cub gearing up for a tantrum, and he knows how to derail this particular train before it gathers too much momentum.

"Oh, you mean like this?" He lunges and Daryl shrieks again, all upsets forgotten when Rick tackles him carefully and rolls them to the ground. He tickles the omega mercilessly, basking in his carefree laughter and enjoying how much more at ease Daryl looks now as he squirms and tries to get free so he can run away.

"All right, you two," Carol finally laughs, and Rick looks up at her as he sits back to give Daryl a moment to breathe and calm down. He's still giggling, still wiggling and hugging Triumph to his chest, and as he relaxes Rick can see his eyes getting heavy as the exhaustion and strain of the day finally catches up with him.

"How are you feelin', little guy?" he asks as he helps his Second to stand up. Daryl leans into him immediately, his thumb inching toward his mouth. He's always had a bad habit of chewing at his cuticles, but as Rick watches this time, he finds that he's not that surprised when the omega chooses to suck his thumb instead, his eyes fluttering shut while he does so. He hums quietly rather than answering, snuggling closer, and Rick keeps a steady, gentle hold on him as he helps his friend to his cot.

As soon as he's laying down, Daryl snuggles into his blankets but makes no move to actually cover himself, so Rick does it for him. He tucks the omega in and is pressing a kiss against his forehead before he's even thought about it. Daryl hums again, sounding more asleep than awake – at least until Rick starts to pull away. Then his body tenses, his eyes snapping open, and he whines pitifully.

"Don' go," he begs without taking his thumb away, his words wispy and lisped. "What if da monsters come an' chew on me?"

"They can't get you, Daryl, I promise." Rick brushes the man's long, dark bangs back and kisses his forehead again. "You are safe here, sweetheart, okay? I'll stay until you fall asleep. Sound good?"

"Are you mad at me?" Daryl whispers, his eyes wide and his words nervous. Rick blinks, confused, and Daryl whimpers. "M'sorry I ain't right, Alpha."

"There is nothing wrong with you, Daryl." Cupping his Second's face, Rick shakes his head. "You're perfect, sweetheart, don't you worry. I'm not mad, and you didn't do anything wrong, okay?"

"You pwomise?" Daryl tucks his thumb further into his mouth, sleep winning out over everything else. Rick can't help himself, he kisses his friend's relaxed forehead one last time and strokes a soft, furry ear.

"I promise, little one. You get some sleep now. Can you do that for me?"

Daryl doesn't answer because he's already asleep, his head tucking down against his pillow and his thumb still in his mouth, his features smoothed out in a way Rick has hardly ever seen. He looks so young, so untroubled, and the Alpha stands up slowly to make sure he doesn't disturb that peace. He stands beside the bed for a moment, chewing on his lip, and then tucks the blankets around Daryl a little better; resting his hand lightly between the omega's ears before finally stepping back and turning to look at Carol.

"I think we all need to have a talk," he murmurs, and the woman is already nodding, her ears quivering as she looks past him to Daryl.

"I think we do," she agrees quietly. He can see her warring against her instincts just like he is, fighting what he sees with what his senses are telling him. Daryl is a full-grown man, but Rick's instincts, and Carol's too from the look on her face, are telling them something different right now.

They leave the cell together, bodies pressed close as they draw comfort from one another. Rick can't help but glance back one more time, taking in the sight of Daryl curled up on his bed, a teddy bear's ear sticking out from under the covers and his thumb still in his mouth. Nothing about him screams of the man Rick has fought beside countless times in just a year; none of that support and seemingly-endless strength he's come to rely on present in the man who has returned to them after having to kill his own brother.

"Rick?" Maggie calls softly, and the Alpha turns to look at his pack where they're gathered at the bottom of the steps, their faces turned up toward him and their uncertainty palpable. "Rick, what's goin' on?"

Taking a deep breath, Rick makes his way down the stairs, stepping carefully to avoid making too much sound. The last thing he needs is Daryl waking up and finding himself alone. Something already tells him that won't end well.

Once he's on the ground floor, the pack presses in close, all of them seeking comfort and understanding as they look between him and Carol, and then up past them to where Daryl sleeps. Taking another deep breath, Rick draws himself up and tries to figure out how to start explaining something he's not even entirely sure about.

"Merle is dead," he finally begins, and there are mixed reactions to those words, just like he knew there would be. "Whatever happened, whatever Daryl had to do... He's not handling it well. At least, he's not handling it in a way I've ever seen."

"Is he okay?" Hershel asks, and the older Alpha's words are quiet and gentle, his tone calm, like he already understands the gravity of the situation.

Rick sighs and rubs at his face, feeling tired and helpless. "I don't know," he whispers, and he can hear how lost and confused he sounds. The pack whimpers, pressing closer, and he shakes his head without dropping his hand. "I don't know," he says again. "I don't know how to fix this. I don't know what he needs."

"Start at the beginning," Hershel suggests. "Start at when he came out of the woods. We'll figure this out, Rick. All of us. Just start at the beginning."

Putting his hand on his hip, Rick looks at all of them, at their worry and determination to help the omega that has come to mean so much to all of them. Inhaling deeply, he pulls in their scents, pulls in a faint hint of the woods, and follows Hershel’s advice.

“He wasn’t acting right as soon as he came out of the woods…”

--

"He's acting like a cub?"

Glenn is frowning thoughtfully, and Rick watches his First as his mind works. The way the beta has said it, the slight hitch of surprise-scent, makes the Alpha focus more on him than the murmurs of the others. No one can really dispute what Rick has told them, not when they've seen and heard the evidence themselves – Daryl's frantic crying outside and then his delighted laughter with Rick once he'd calmed down. It's more emotion than any of them have ever seen from the omega, whose default reaction to most situations is quietness or anger. What just happened was nothing like that, and Rick is desperate to figure out what it is.

"Have you heard of something like this before, then?" He moves a bit closer to Glenn, giving the younger man most of his attention. He's still listening for Daryl, making sure the omega is sleeping peacefully.

Glenn chews his lip, frowning in concentration. His dark brown eyes are slightly unfocused, like he's somewhere else. "You said he already had the bear, right?"

The Alpha nods. "Yeah. I don't know how long he's had it, though. I've never seen it before."

"He got that rabbit for Judith awhile back," Maggie puts in helpfully. Rick smiles when he thinks of how much his daughter loves the soft blue rabbit with the floppy ears Daryl had brought back for her from a run. He'd been so shy when he'd handed it to her, like he was afraid she would ever reject any gift she got from the archer. "Maybe he got the bear then."

"Why would he have it, though?" Carl asks. Rick glances at his son and sees Carl's confusion. The young Alpha doesn't sound disgusted or derisive, just honestly confused. It's an emotion most of them seem to be stuck on, their minds whirring as they try to find the missing pieces they'll need to form the complete puzzle.

"Oh!"

Glenn's exclamation is quiet, his eyes lighting up when he snaps his fingers and grins. "It's age play!"

"It's what?" Rick frowns, trying to remember if he's ever heard of anything like that before. Everyone else is staring at Glenn as well, waiting for an explanation, and the beta looks sheepish at being the focal point of so much intense focus.

"Age play," he says again. "We studied it for a bit in this one Psych class I took. We were reviewing different types of alternative sexual interests and what draws certain people to those particular things."

"So what's age play?" Beth wonders, her eyebrows drawing in as she tries to figure it out. She's a smart girl, but even Rick isn't entirely sure if what he's thinking it could be is correct. There's certainly an age aspect to how Daryl is acting – it's almost like he's reverted back to a cub. That can't be all there is to it, though.

"Generally, people involved in age play take one of two roles – either as the little or as the more dominant role." Glenn looks excited, almost bouncing as he explains it to them hurriedly. "The little is the one who kind of goes into this child-like mindset. Their speech patterns change and they're a lot more open than they would be when they're 'bigger'." He uses air quotations for bigger, and Rick tries not to snort. "In non-sexual age play, it can just be the little acting out a childhood they might not have been able to have because of certain reasons. They play games generally thought of as being for cubs, draw, play with stuffed animals – whatever makes them happy and helps them get that feeling."

"You said non-sexual age play," Hershel points out quietly. "There's a sexual aspect to it, too?"

"Oh, yeah," Glenn nods. "That's usually when the whole Daddy and Mommy kink comes into it."

Several of the pack, Rick included, mouth Daddy kink, but Glenn clearly isn't finished.

"That's a whole other side of it, and it's pretty well known in the BDSM community. It was kind of fascinating to learn about. Basically it's still the little bein', y'know, little, but they engage in sexual acts with their dominant partner too. Sometimes age play doesn't even have to be involved. Some submissives just enjoy Daddy kink without the rest of it being brought in."

When he's finished, Glenn beams like he's just passed a test he wasn't fully prepared for, and Rick closes his eyes as he breathes and tries to sort through everything he's just been told.

"So is Daryl little right now?" he asks, and when he opens his eyes Glenn is shrugging helplessly.

"He could be, man. We won't know without asking him, probably. I mean, he already had the bear, but I've never seen him with a coloring book or anything like that. Have you?"

Trying to imagine Daryl laying in a patch of sunlight coloring does things to Rick that he's not sure how to deal with right now. It's a strange flutter in his stomach, something that aches sweetly at the thought of seeing his Second so care-free and unrestrained.

"No," he mutters tiredly, feeling exhausted beyond all measure and more than ready to sleep. After the Governor’s assault and their victory, after hours spent tense and waiting for Daryl to come home – praying that he would – and seeing the state he was in when he finally did, Rick is ready to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. "I've never seen anything to even hint at it."

"It's not hard to figure out why," Carol cuts in quietly. She's sitting on the third step up behind him, her elbows on her knees as she cups her chin and rubs a finger over her mouth thoughtfully. "Look at the life he came from. Look at how Merle was. Being an omega, especially with that upbringing, would have been hellish enough for him. Could you imagine what Merle, or what their father, would have done if they'd known?" The Den Mother shakes her head angrily, her tail lashing. "I'm not surprised he hid it. He spent his whole life proving he was stronger than what his biology dictated he should be, proving that he could handle himself against anything anyone threw at him. This is just one more thing he would have had to hide. One more thing he would have been ashamed of, because it made him weak."

"Daryl is not weak!" Maggie growls. Rick rumbles in response to her surge of aggression, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. She barely lowers her voice when she hisses, "That's not a weakness!"

"To us, maybe not. To Daryl, it is," Carol sighs. "Anything like that is a weakness in his mind, I guarantee it. He probably hid it at all costs, so he wouldn't have to face whatever judgement he thought he might get if we ever found out."

"We would never judge him," Beth protests. "He should know that!"

Rick is too focused trying to restore the peace, because they're all tired and tempers are flaring more than they normally would. When he hears the whimpers, he realizes that he stopped listening to try and maintain order, and now it's going to cost him.

Daryl's terrified whines are already getting louder, and by the time Rick gets to the top of the steps he's outright screaming, the sounds of his thrashing followed by a hollow clunk and a louder wail when some part of him hits the metal frame of his bed. Rushing into the cell, he sees his Second still caught in the grips of his nightmare, his eyes clenched shut tightly and blood around his mouth. At first, Rick thinks he bit his tongue, but then he realizes that the archer has bitten his thumb when he sees it smearing streaks of red against the blankets as he tries to claw himself free.

“Hey,” he croons, letting his voice dip into that tenor only Alphas can achieve as he comes closer. He catches Daryl’s hand when it raises to smack at something, placing the clammy palm to the side of his throat and letting the vibrations of his rumble reach the omega just in case his voice can’t. “Hey now, sweetheart, none of that. I’m here now, I’m here. C’mon, Daryl, come on back. I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’m here.”

He keeps up with much of the same calming words, talking softly and coaxing Daryl from the grips of his nightmare. The horrible screams taper off, but when he finally opens his cloudy, dazed eyes and looks around, he sees Rick and bursts into tears. He’s already trying to kick the rest of the blankets away, reaching out with both arms because his bear has fallen off the bed during his tossing and turning. Rick catches him easily and hauls him into his arms, lowering them both to the ground and letting Daryl hide his face in his shirt and sob as the Alpha rocks him back and forth and presses kisses against his sweat-damp hair and his trembling ears.

“You’re okay, baby boy, you’re okay. I’ve got you, and I’m never gonna let anything bad happen to you, okay?”

“He was tryin’ ta chew me up!” Daryl whimpers, his voice so wrecked from his screams and his lingering terror that Rick almost can’t decipher what he’s saying. He doesn’t play stupid and ask who he is – considering everything, the Alpha is pretty certain he knows exactly who the omega is talking about. “He wan’ed me ta help ‘im, an’ I was tryin’, an’ den he grabbed me an’ tried ta chew me!”

This sends him into another round of hysterics, his fist pounding against Rick’s shoulder but hardly hurting at all. It’s like all of his strength has been sapped from him, and all of his control. Rick tucks his Second’s head under his chin and lets Daryl press his tear-streaked cheek there, still rumbling softly and rocking him and ignoring the spreading warmth along his thighs. He’ll deal with that in a second. Right now he’s more focused on making sure Daryl gets calmed.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart, that’s a good boy,” he croons, cupping the back of the archer’s head and massaging gently. The newest bout of sobbing slowly dwindles until Daryl is sniffling wetly and squeezing the fistfuls of Rick’s shirt he’s grabbed, feeling so small despite being nearly the same size as Rick. He curls around the omega, rubbing his ears and carding fingers through his hair as his rumble tapers off. The calmer his Second becomes, the quieter Rick’s croon gets, until finally there is just silence between them aside from the occasional sniffle and the slow sweep of Daryl’s tail against the ground.

“M'wet,” the omega finally whispers, his voice hitching like that might be enough to start the crying all over again. “M’sorry, Alpha, m’sorry, pwease I didn’ mean ta.”

“I know,” Rick promises between quick kisses against Daryl’s temple. “I know you didn’t. C’mon, little guy, let’s get you up and get you cleaned off, okay?”

“I don’ wanna. Dey’re gonna chew on me. S’not safe.”

“No one will chew on you, baby, I promise.” Shifting a little bit, Rick wraps his arms around Daryl’s broad shoulders and tries to coax him into getting up. The omega just holds on harder, whimpering and shaking his head and trembling harder until the Alpha runs a hand soothingly up and down his back. “Hey, it’s all right. I’ll come with you. I’ll be right there beside you, I promise. No one will chew on you. You’re safe here, Daryl, remember? There’s nothing bad.”

“… Dey’s gon’ laugh,” he hears, the words so quiet he almost doesn’t catch them. Daryl presses his face even harder against Rick’s neck, his breath coming out in hot, frightened gasps.

“No one will laugh at you, Daryl. If they try, I’ll take care of them. Don’t you worry your cute little head though, okay, baby? We all love you, and none of us would ever laugh at you.”

“They wouldn’t do that, Pookie,” Carol agrees from the doorway, and Daryl sniffles again before looking up at her. Rick takes the opportunity to clean his face with the closest corner of the blanket he can reach, smiling when Daryl’s runny nose scrunches up and he tries to squirm away.

“No, don’ wan’ it!”

“Be a good boy and let me clean you up a bit,” Rick scolds gently, holding Daryl’s chin gently and wiping the tears and mucus away. Daryl whines, his ears flattening and his tail thumping unhappily, but the omega obediently lets himself be cleaned. When Rick is done, he leans back and smiles. “There you go! There’s my little one. C’mon, up with you, sweetheart. Let’s get you to the shower and get you clean everywhere else. Sound good to you?”

Daryl bites his lip and tries to bring his thumb back up to his mouth, but he stops himself before Rick can when he sees the blood still leaking sluggishly from the bites. He makes an unhappy sound and looks at Rick, his eyes wide and sad. “I bit my fumb,” he says, his lower lip puffing out a little bit as he pouts. And the way he says thumb is just too much – Rick feels the last of his uncertainty fade away as he carefully takes the archer’s hand and examines it with wide eyes, giving his thumb a gentle squeeze and watching how Daryl flinches just a little bit.

“Yeah, looks like you did, sweetheart. You want me to kiss it better for you before we go?”

Those sorrowful eyes snap to his face, wide and hopeful and still so nervous. “You’d do dat?” he whispers. Rather than responding with words, Rick bends forward and places a tender kiss to the pad of Daryl’s thumb, feeling how it curls against his lips a little bit. He kisses again where the deepest puncture is and licks the old blood away; bathing his omega’s injury like they’re wolves instead of people and tasting the rich blood on his tongue.

“I’ll do anything to make you happy, Daryl,” he finally says as he sits back. Daryl is looking at his thumb, his mouth open a little and his scent hovering between uncertainty and happiness, like he can’t decide if he’s ready to take that final leap into the trust he’s had in Rick for so, so long. Like this, everything must be so new to him, so much bigger and more overwhelming, and Rick aches again when he cups that familiar face and gets those pale, sky-blue eyes fixed on him. “I promise.”

“But I ain’t right, Alpha,” Daryl whimpers, his ears drooping and his tail limp. He’s biting his lip in lieu of having his thumb, begging for acceptance in the way he’s leaning subtly closer but terrified of outright asking for it, in case the answer is something that will shatter him. “M’not right. Ain’t how I’s ‘posed ta be.”

“And how is that?” Tilting his head slightly, Rick ignores the wetness cooling on his thighs and the slow, too-steady breathing from Carol in the doorway as she watches them and waits. She would be doing this herself if she needed to, Rick knows that, but Daryl only has eyes for him, seeking the Alpha’s approval the way he’s always strived to, even though he never had to try to begin with.

“’Posed ta be stwong.” Daryl tries to look down in shame, but Rick will not let him. He presses their foreheads together, keeping those eyes on him, and pets down his Second’s spine over and over until the muscles he feels coiling beneath his fingers start to relax again. “Ain’t ’posed ta be dis way. Ain’t ‘posed ta be a baby. ‘Posed ta be a man.”

He sounds so unhappy when he says it, like he knows what he should be even if it’s not what he wants. Daryl has never been allowed to have what he wants, though. He’s always put his own happiness aside to focus on others, even if he might not realize that he’s doing it. Their wants and needs have always come before his own, and Rick is tired of watching his archer struggle. If this is what Daryl wants, if this is what he needs, then God damn everyone else, the Alpha is going to make sure it’s exactly what he gets.

“You’re supposed to be whatever you want to be.” Pressing a kiss to the cub’s head – because he is a cub right now, and Rick is tired of fighting his instincts – he leans over enough to pick up Triumph and place him in Daryl’s arms where the bear clearly belongs. It’s the right thing to do, because as soon as that soft fur brushes the omega’s arms, Daryl clings to the stuffed animal like a lifeline and presses his face into the thing’s chest, cheek rubbing against the faux leather of the (admittedly adorable) little jacket. “If that means you want to hug Triumph, and not be big for a while, Daryl, then you go right ahead. Besides, I think your buddy misses you when you’re not around to play with him.”

“He does,” Daryl admits, whisper-soft like a secret he’s not sure he’s allowed to tell. A blue eye peers up at him from beneath the dirty fringe of his bangs, waiting for an adverse response that will never come. Rick smiles at his omega, patting at his bottom and making him jump in surprise and wiggle like he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to do.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re here to cuddle him, isn’t it, little guy?”

“Yeah,” the omega says sweetly, his smile so small and gentle that it almost breaks Rick’s heart to think that it took the world ending and Merle dying for Daryl to feel like he could be this way without being crucified for it.

“Alright, cub, let’s get up now. You ready to go get clean?”

“But I am clean.” It’s a whine, a tactic, because Rick has come across very few cubs who have enjoyed the process of being bathed – and the fact that Daryl is actually a full-grown man probably has something to do with it.

“You really aren’t, sweetheart. You’re covered in dirt, and sweat, and lots of icky stuff.” God, when was the last time he said icky to anyone. “You’re wet, too. Don’t want you gettin’ a rash. C’mon now, up.” He pats Daryl’s bottom a little bit more firmly, and finally the cub crawls off his lap and stands up. Hugging Triumph to his chest, he slips his thumb into his mouth and starts to suck on it, either ignoring the pain or immune to it by now as he looks between Rick and Carol and shifts nervously.

Turning to the Den Mother, Rick runs a hand through his curls and smiles at her. “Can you tell the others we’re heading to the showers? I want to find some things for him to change into and dig up a few towels before we go. Let ‘em know he’s okay?”

“I can do that.” Coming into the cell, Carol cups Daryl’s face with both her hands and smiles at him. He giggles shyly around his thumb, his eyes flicking down and his body wiggling slightly, and she coos before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You be good for Rick, Pookie. Think you can do that for me?”

“I can,” he promises, his tail wagging and his ears flicking excitedly. Carol’s tail curls happily in response to the omega’s own happiness, and she gives him another kiss before leaving the two of them. Rick listens to her go, follows the light patter of her footsteps down the stairs and hears the soft murmur of her voice and the quicker responses of the pack before he turns to look Daryl up and down.

“Got anything in particular you want to wear after you’re clean?” he asks. He feels like this should be awkward, because he knows that Daryl is normally completely capable of taking care of his own needs, and he’d be furious if someone tried to help him. Like this, though, the cub looks uncertain and wide-eyed, clutching Triumph and sucking his thumb a little more insistently than he had been before Rick brought up the question. Taking that as his answer, since the omega doesn’t answer with words, he nods and turns to dig through the duffel bag he knows his friend always shoves his clean clothes into.

“Don’ wan’ pants,” Daryl finally mumbles around his thumb, and when Rick pauses to glance back he sees the archer tugging unhappily at his jeans, trying to adjust them and make the wet areas stop clinging to him so badly. It can’t be comfortable to be stuck in them, so the Alpha hurriedly pulls out an oversized white t-shirt that he remembers from a long while back. He hasn’t seen it much since the day Daryl threw the squirrels at him. Has it been with his friend this whole time?

“Do you want sweatpants, or just boxers?”

“Don’ wan’ pants,” the cub whines again, and Rick takes that as his answer. He grabs a pair of boxers and finds a clean, dry towel amongst the mess of clothing. When he stands up, he’s momentarily startled to feel fingers hooking into the back of his pants, curling through a belt loop and holding on. He smiles over his shoulder, and Daryl smiles back so shyly and sweetly before nuzzling the Alpha’s shirt and breathing in deeply.

“Come on, sweet boy. Let’s go get you clean.”

Chapter Text

Bathing Daryl is an experience Rick knows he’s not going to be forgetting for a long while.

The pack had all returned to their cells by the time they made it down the stairs, and without a group of people clustered around to stare and whisper, Daryl had been a lot happier. Rick knows none of them would have done that anyway, but the cub is so unsure of himself like this, so afraid of what the others will think when they see him acting so different from how he normally is. It tells the Alpha that he’s going to have to introduce the others slowly into Daryl’s new routine, because so far he’s shown no signs of coming out of this new headspace. If he’s going to be this way for a while, then they’ll need to take things slow with him. Everything he’s already seen has proven that much.

There’s no issue getting Daryl to the showers. He’s happy to keep his hold on Rick’s belt loop and follow him without complaint, Triumph tucked against his chest with his other arm and his thumb firmly at home in his mouth. He looks around the prison like he’s never seen it before, and Rick wonders if he’s ever let himself explore his home like this, or if he just hid in his room, too afraid of running into anyone else to risk it.

The problems start to arise when Rick tries to help him take his clothes off. At first, he tries to coax Daryl into doing it himself, but the cub just hesitates and sucks his thumb hard enough for Rick to worry that he’s going to aggravate the punctures, or cause new ones. Omegas have sharper canines that go along with their short claws and the rest of their animal characteristics. Alphas have their own formidable fangs, but those only come out when their emotions are strong enough or they're rutting. If Daryl’s already bitten himself hard enough to draw blood once, there’s nothing to say he won’t do it again.

“Do you need help, sweetheart?” Rick murmurs gently, laying the towel and the change of clothes aside and stepping closer. Daryl’s thumb finally comes out of his mouth, a blush staining his cheeks when he looks down and draws his shoulders up.

“Gots scars,” he whispers, even though Rick already knows that. “They’s… they’s real ugly. Don’ wan’ ya ta be grossed out.”

Rick pets the cub’s hair, running the dark chestnut strands through his fingers and admiring the color. He doesn’t miss the dirty blonde shade it used to be. It didn’t seem to fit Daryl, not in his opinion. This does, and it matches his ears and tail perfectly. “Nothing about you will ever disgust me, Daryl,” he promises solemnly. He needs his Second to understand that he’s not going to leave, no matter what. He swore to protect the archer when their pack truly formed – had sworn to protect everyone who chose to follow him. He’s not going to go back on that vow now, not for this reason or any other, short of Daryl trying to kill one of them. Since Rick is highly doubtful of that ever occurring, there’s nothing for the cub to fear.

Daryl chews his lip for a moment, his sharp little teeth flashing while he looks away thoughtfully. Rick watches as he puts Triumph on top of his clothes, far out of the way of where the water will splash, before returning to stand in front of the Alpha and slowly spreading his arms. Rick takes the request for what it is, crooning soothingly as he works Daryl’s vest off first and lays it to the side before coming back to unbutton his shirt and slip that off as well. There are bruises and a few scrapes that he’s not even sure the omega is aware of until Rick touches them gently. He doesn’t like seeing these marks of pain, but he knows what they’re probably from, and so he kisses each and every one of them as the shirt falls to the floor and leaves Daryl trembling from emotions he’s probably not sure how to convey.

“S’cold, Alpha,” his friend whispers, and Rick pulls him into a hug and rubs his palms against the scars that he can feel crisscrossing over his Second’s strong back. “S’cold. Wanna go ta bed.”

“And you will, sweetheart, once you’re clean and changed.” Rubbing warmth into the trembling skin, he gives Daryl a few moments to breathe in his scent and ground himself before taking a step back and looking at the next layer that needs to come off. “Do you want to take off your pants, little one, or do you want me to do it?”

Daryl is clearly fighting with himself, his uncertainty making him shake his head even as he lifts his arms in the air. His fingers clench and unclench, his ears quivering and his tail tucking between his legs, but there’s still so much pleading and hope in his eyes that Rick understands what he needs.

He thinks he’s always been able to understand – he just needed Daryl to accept it as well and ask.

The belt comes undone with a quiet clink and jangle; the soft hiss of leather against denim as Rick pulls it from the loops and lays it on top of the omega’s vest. He undoes the button with sure, steady hands, and Daryl’s blushing from nervousness and shyness, but he’s not trying to stop the Alpha.

“I know I’ve said it already, but you’ll feel much better once you’re clean and in dry clothes,” Rick says gently, keeping his voice low and soothing as he starts to rumble again. It helps Daryl stay calm, helps him not be so afraid, and that’s worth more than anything when Rick finally peels the wet jeans down along with his Second’s boxers. He has to stop when he realizes that Daryl’s still wearing his boots, and he doesn’t say anything – just kneels down to unlace them and lets the archer steady himself with a hand on his shoulder as he works the left boot off, then the right. The socks follow quickly, and he helps Daryl shimmy out of his wet things before dropping them off to the side away from everything else.

“You’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart,” he praises, and Daryl blushes and relaxes and wags his tail, giggling and wriggling like he’s not sure how else to express his happiness when Rick tells him he’s done a good job. It’s so adorable to see the cub so unrestrained, no need for him to hold back like this. It makes Rick feel like he’s doing something right as well, to see his omega trusting him with such a big thing. Daryl follows him to one of the stalls, fingers hooked in the waistband of his jeans this time, so pliant and sweet and trusting when Rick encourages him to stand beneath one of the shower heads and reaches up.

Daryl makes a quiet sound, his thumb resting against his lower lip but not pushing in yet. “S’cold,” he mutters plaintively, his eyes dropping and his shoulders curling in like he’s expecting to be scolded for being nervous. Rick rumbles a little louder, pressing the side of his face against a strong, firm bicep and nuzzling until he senses his Second calming down just as much as he sees it.

“I’m right here, Daryl. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

After a moment, he’s given a small nod and a soft, “Okay.”

Rick feels bad, because the water is cool and there’s no way for him to warm it up right away, but at least they got the generators for the bathroom working. Hot water is available; it just takes a little while to heat up sometimes. Daryl shivers as soon as the first droplets spray against his skin, his ears flattening and a noise of discomfort slipping from him as he hunches and looks miserable. Rick doesn’t want to drag this out, and he knows the cub is going to need some distracting until the water is warm enough, so he grabs for the shampoo and squeezes a dollop of it into his palm before rubbing his hands together.

“Tilt your head back, baby boy. I don’t want this goin’ in your eyes.”

Daryl obeys, almost purring when the water finally warms up enough for him and Rick starts to massage the shampoo into his hair. He works carefully, minding any tangles and smoothing through them until his fingers don’t snag. He even rubs some lather onto the omega’s ears, chuckling fondly at the way he looks when they twitch in surprise and a few specks of foam fleck against his nose. His eyes cross as he tries to look at it, and Rick wipes them away and pecks a quick kiss to the tip. Daryl giggles and does another full-body wiggle, his tail wagging hard enough to thump against the wall. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy enjoying Rick’s fingers rubbing against his scalp to make sure everything’s clean and tangle-free before he gently tips the cub’s head back and rinses out the suds. Daryl lets himself be moved with no sign of reluctance, his eyes closed and his tail still wagging as the foamy bubbles run down his body and swirl down the drain.

Maybe this should feel like a sexual thing, but for Rick it doesn’t. He’s not hard, and Daryl isn’t either – there is nothing going on here but an Alpha taking care of an omega; a Dominant taking care of his little, even if before tonight Rick had never even known such a dynamic existed in the world Before. He’s watched his fair share of porn, both before marrying Lori and even afterwards, late at night while she was sleeping. Sometimes he found himself wandering away from the more vanilla videos, looking up things decidedly kinkier than normal, sweet missionary sex, but he’d never stumbled across anything like what Glenn had described.

He wonders if Daryl has been like this with anyone before – if someone ever got to wash his hair like this, or turn him slowly and lather up their hands again to make sure his tail is clean too. It lays unresisting between his hands, still and well-behaved just like he knew his cub could be.

“Ready for me to wash the rest of you?” he asks once he’s worked the dirty suds from his Second’s tail. As soon as he lets it go, it starts wagging again. Daryl turns to face him, his cheeks still faintly pink, but overall he’s a lot more relaxed now. He’s even playing with some of the bubbles that have splattered against the half-wall on either side of him, slapping his hands against them and giggling as he makes the foam splatter from the impact.

“Yes p’ease!”

“Glad you’re havin’ so much fun, cutie.” Rick can’t help but tickle his bare sides, and Daryl squeaks as he tries to wriggle away – pouting and whining and looking at the Alpha with the biggest, saddest eyes Rick has ever seen.

“S’not p’ay time, silly!” he chides, and Rick can’t stop the warmth spreading in his chest if he tried – and he has no reason to want to. Daryl looks so happy, his ears up and his tail wagging and his grin so big his tiny fangs aren’t even hidden. There’s no threat in the display, no hint of anything but joy, and he laughs as he grabs the washcloth and the bar of plain soap, working it into a lather before he starts cleaning every inch of Daryl’s skin.

“You’re right, it’s not. So how about you stand still like a good boy and let me finish cleaning you?” He tickles the archer’s sides with the cloth just to hear him giggle and squeak in that adorable way he does, his cheeks darker pink and his hands batting at Rick like that will dissuade him at all. He’s more alive now than the Alpha has seen him ever be, even when they took the prison as their own. Plenty of things have made him content, but he’s never seen his Second happy like this before. It’s refreshing, and it makes him just as happy to see his friend let himself be free like this.

After a head-to-toe scrub, Rick lets the shower water wash away the scummy suds until Daryl is pink-skinned and clean and smiling sleepily at Rick as he sways on his feet. “Alright, little cub, time to get you out and dried and dressed,” the Alpha chuckles. He steps back so the omega can come out onto the chilly cement floor, and before Daryl can shiver too much or protest being cold again, he picks up the towel and starts drying the cub off. Daryl whines in protest and flails his hands a little – Rick can think of no other way to describe it – and when he gently towels his dripping hair and leaves it a fluffy, damp mess, he can’t stop his crooning rumble at just how adorable and tired Daryl looks. His eyelids are getting heavy and his jaw is set in a stubborn pout as he fights the sleepiness with everything he has.

“Arms up, sweetheart,” Rick coos, and when his Second obeys and raises his arms straight up, he’s quick to pull the too-big shirt into place. It hangs just about mid-thigh on Daryl, which is far more precious than it really has any right to be, and even his broad shoulders can’t keep the wide collar from slipping to one side when he tugs on the white fabric and looks down at himself. It’s even easier to get him into the boxers, and Rick eases them up the omega’s long legs and settles them into place without the slightest feeling of awkwardness – like this is something completely natural that he does every day.

“Ready for bed?” he asks as he snags Triumph from where Daryl has put him and hands the bear over. Daryl takes him carefully and hugs him to his clean shirt, nuzzling one soft-looking ear while his own twitch and droop tiredly. Even his tail is finally still, hanging behind him and swaying slowly only when he moves. Rick sees him stick his thumb in his mouth to try and hide the yawn, and the sight is too goddamn sweet for words. He wonders what Daryl would do if he tried to pick him up and carry him, but right now he’s not sure how well that would go over.

“M'not s’eepy,” the cub whines, even though he clearly is when he can’t help but rub at his eyes before hooking his fingers in Rick’s belt loops and stumbling after him. The Alpha goes slowly, keeping a close eye on his Second when it looks like Daryl is falling more and more asleep with every step they take. He’s not sure how he’ll manage to get him up to his cell, and to be honest he’s not eager to let the omega out of his sight just in case he has another nightmare.

That really only leaves one option, and Daryl makes a tired noise of confusion when Rick moves toward his own cell instead of the stairs. “Alpha, s’goin’ on?”

“Thought you might be more comfortable here, just in case,” Rick replies quietly as he quickly strips out of his damp clothes and pulls on clean, dry things to sleep in. Maybe he should feel uncomfortable or nervous about getting naked in front of his friend, but considering the circumstances and what he’s already done for the omega, he just wants to get changed and get Daryl in bed as quickly as he can, before the cub falls over on his own.

The room is a bit more open than he’s gotten used to; Judith’s crib is gone, but he can hear her little snores coming from Carol’s cell, and he silently thanks the Den Mother for having the foresight to take his daughter for the night. Daryl is looking between him and the bed, nervousness trying to overtake his exhaustion, and Rick isn’t about to let that happen. He sits down and pats his lap; coaxing Daryl closer until the archer is sitting on his thighs and curling into his chest, his thumb in his mouth and Triumph tucked securely under his arm and against his side as Rick hums.

“Sometimes, having someone else there scares the bad dreams away,” he whispers against soft, clean-smelling strands of dark hair. Daryl’s ears flick, his tail wagging, and it seems that he needs no other motivation than that, because he doesn’t squirm or protest at all when Rick lays them back and situates the cub so that he’s tucked between the Alpha and the wall, his head resting over Rick’s heart and Triumph squished between them.

“Gonna s’eep too, Alpha?” Daryl mumbles around his thumb, and Rick nods as he pets down his Second’s shoulders and spine, feeling him become a little more boneless with each pass until his head nuzzles under the man’s chin and he sighs out a slow, soft huff of air.

“Even when I do, I’ll protect you no matter what, sweetheart,” he promises, and Daryl gives one more little tired wriggle as he presses closer and tucks his nose against Rick’s Adam’s apple.

“Thanks for takin’ care’a me, Daddy,” he coos, and then he’s asleep and Rick is suddenly wide awake, his body relaxed and his hand still petting down Daryl’s back as he rumble-purrs deep in his chest, using that to soothe his omega into peaceful dreams while he stares at the bottom of the bunk above him and his mind whirrs.

The sun is already starting to lighten the sky by the time Rick falls asleep, and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he might already be in this a little bit too deep. He also recognizes that he has no problem with that, not with Daryl curled so trustingly against him and snoring softly, his fingers holding onto Rick’s shirt like he’s unwilling to let him go even in slumber and his ears twitching as he dreams. The Alpha cranes his head up a little to look at the man sleeping almost completely on top of him, his hand resting between Daryl’s strong shoulder blades, and then he relaxes back against his pillow again and closes his eyes.

He's not entirely sure how this has become his life, but he can’t even really say he’s that distraught about it – not when Daryl’s so sweet and so genuine. Not when he’s finally happy in a way that Rick has never seen before. Even the softly-whispered Daddy in a voice that was more asleep than awake rouses his instincts in a way that is leaning firmly toward protect the cub.

Like this, Daryl is a cub. He’s a cub, and Rick’s Second; his trusted omega friend. He needs someone he can trust, someone who will take care of him, and he has chosen Rick to be the one to do it. To Daryl, there was probably never any other choice.

Knowing that, knowing what he can be for Daryl, what he wants to be for Daryl, settles Rick in a way he wasn’t expecting, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face and his hand keeping the cub close.

--

No one tries to come and wake them up. When Rick finally cracks open his eyes, still feeling exhausted but otherwise wholly content, the first thing he sees is Daryl’s wide, pale eyes peering at him from beneath the soft tufts of his bangs. In the light of day, with no long shadows to hide in or make him harsh, he truly looks like a cub. He looks light and innocent and happy, his lips curling into a smile around his thumb as he sucks on it. As soon as Rick looks at him, he wiggles and his tail wags.

“Hasta potty,” he whispers around his thumb. So not a wiggle then, more of an uncomfortable squirm. He’s still smiling, though, still looking so painfully young even with his beard and moustache scraping the side of his hand when he turns it to get his thumb at a better angle.

“Is that right, sweetheart,” Rick coos. He sits up slowly when his Second scoots back, and Daryl climbs over him and off the bed to stand beside it. His ears are flicking back and forth, his attention caught between Rick and the sounds of the others as they move about beyond the curtain that someone – probably Carol – has pulled shut for them. Reaching out, he cups Daryl’s sleep-warm face and presses a kiss against his forehead, feeling the closest ear quiver against his cheek before he pulls back. “We should take care of that then, shouldn’t we.”

Daryl nods, squirming again, and takes his thumb out of his mouth to hug Triumph tightly to his chest. Rick has a feeling he’s going to go very few places without that bear, and he’s pleased by that thought. The cub clearly adores his little friend, and he can’t even imagine what it must have been like for Daryl to have to hide so much from them – how much he must have suffered to do so because he thought that this was a secret no one would ever accept.

“Come on then. We’ll go potty, and then we’ll find ourselves some breakfast. Sound good to you?” Rick hums. He sees the nod as he turns toward the door, and fingers slide into the belt loop on his left side rather than clinging to any of the back ones. It makes the Alpha smile to think that Daryl is already becoming braver about his wants, like he’s settling into what’s comfortable for him. There’s still the hesitation, but that dissolves a little faster each time when Rick shows no reaction to anything other than pressing another quick kiss to Daryl’s hair before pulling back the curtain and looking out into the Block.

His pack continues to go about their days as though nothing is the matter, although he can smell the excited spike of their scents when they see him step out of his cell with Daryl. The cub is fidgeting nervously, his head bowed forward, so he doesn’t see the look Rick gives Carl when the adolescent tries to rush over. The young Alpha falters, rocking back onto his heels and frowning.

“Mornin’, dad,” he tries, his frown turning into a smile when Daryl looks up and peers over Rick’s shoulder from where he’s moved a little bit behind him for a sense of protection. Not that he needs protecting, not from his family, but Rick can understand how nervous and overwhelmed he must already feel to be around so many others like this for the first time. “Mornin’, Daryl.”

“Hi Carl,” Daryl says softly – Cawul this time, and his son looks even happier than he had when he’d first seen them as he bounces on the balls of his feet. His scent is thick with happiness, smelling like wildflowers and cedar, and Rick can hear his Second’s tail thumping against his leg a little bit.

“We’ll be back in a little bit, okay bud?” Rick turns toward the entrance of the Block, not trying to brush Carl off but knowing that he needs to get them to the bathroom before there’s possibly an accident. He wouldn’t mind having to clean Daryl up again – he’d enjoyed seeing him so unhindered and happy while the Alpha washed him. He knows the cub will be the only one distraught by it, even though he doesn’t need to feel ashamed, nor should he – not like this.

“Can we eat breakfast together?” Carl asks, failing to hide his eager hopefulness at the thought, and Rick has to smile at the sight of his son so eager to show Daryl just how accepted he is. There’s an ulterior motive there too, probably, but nothing malicious. Carl is still so young, so eager to hold onto the cubhood he’s only just left even if he pretends otherwise. With the world being what it is, and the threats they stumble into around seemingly every corner, there was no other alternative than to grow up fast and fight, or die. Now, Carl sees a way to get some of that innocence back, and Rick wonders what it would be like to see his Second and his cub playing and laughing like there’s nothing in the world that’s more important than just being young.

It's a nice picture.

“I don’t see why not, so long as Daryl’s okay with it.” He glances back, and Daryl’s nose twitches slightly, his ears forward and alert. He smells a little nervous, looking to the Alpha for a cue, and Rick smiles gently at him. “There’s no pressure, sweetheart. No one will be mad, no matter what you decide.”

Carl goes back to his task, sensing that his friend needs time. He’s a very intelligent kid, and Rick feels a swell of pride as he leaves with one last smile over his shoulder, his eyes wide and earnest behind the wild tumble of his own bangs. He might need a haircut soon, but right now Rick has another task he has to complete, so he resumes his postponed trek to the bathroom with Daryl pressed as close as he can get, the omega’s fingers curling tightly around his belt loop and his face tucked into Triumph’s soft, fuzzy fur. The few pack members that see them call out quiet greetings, but all of them hang back for the moment, knowing that crowding Daryl never worked in their favor when he was the man they all knew.

This Daryl, this cub with the trembling ears and the wide eyes and the tail curling between his legs when he looks around, is a Daryl they are not used to, and none of them but Rick and Carol know the rules yet. The only one who looks a little impatient is Glenn, and Rick wouldn’t doubt that it has something to do with the fact that he’s really the only one who knows anything about age play thanks to that Psych class. At least, he was the only one, until Rick spent the night learning first-hand from Daryl. There’s still a lot he doesn’t understand, but he has a feeling that’s going to change very quickly.

“Alright, little one, you think you can get it from here, or do you want my help?” Rick asks once they’re safely within the walls of the bathroom. They’re in the same wing as the showers – one large room divided by a half-wall. The only privacy is that at least the stall doors close. From where they’re standing, Rick can see that someone – probably Carol again – has taken Daryl’s dirty clothes away to be washed. At least that reminder is gone, and he looks at the cub while Daryl shuffles from foot to foot and his ears flatten.

“Can do i’ m’self,” he mumbles petulantly, and Rick can already see where this is going. His Second is embarrassed, because it’s a private thing, but he’s looking between Rick and the toilet with such a lost, pleading expression, and the Alpha croons soothingly as he unhooks the cub’s fingers from their hold and moves to stand Daryl so that he’s in front of the toilet and Rick is pressed comfortingly against his back.

“No hiding, sweet boy. Not from me,” Rick whispers. He presses a kiss to the base of Daryl’s left ear and feels how it quivers as the cub presses back against him, seeking comfort and acceptance and still too afraid to outright ask for it. He’s squirming even more now, clearly uncomfortable, and Rick doesn’t wait for him to ask permission. He figures Daryl has already given it, considering the situation they’re currently in.

Reaching down, he quickly pulls the shirt up and grabs the waistband of his friend’s boxers, pulling them down out of the way and barely pulling him out in time before what little control he had left shatters completely. He’s whining and hiding his face in the Alpha’s throat, his cheek hot from his embarrassment, and that won’t do.

“Good boy,” he whispers, and Daryl shakes his head just slightly, squeezing Triumph so tightly it’s probably a good thing that the bear isn’t real. He’s trembling just a little bit, but his tail is trying to wag where it’s trapped between them. “Such a good boy, Daryl,” Rick adds, letting his omega tell through scent and tone of voice how pleased the Alpha is with him. It must be so hard for the cub, to be standing there with his penis in someone else’s hand while he pees, but this is part of what he needs, and Rick has already decided – perhaps even before now, back when he first let Daryl lean on him and showed his Second that he’s willing to take any weight he’s given if it will make it easier on the archer – that he’s determined to give Daryl whatever he needs.

Once the cub is tucked away and put to rights, his boxers in place and the shirt billowing around his thighs, Rick presses another kiss to the side of his head and rumble-purrs happily. “Such a good little cub,” he praises, and when Daryl turns to bury his face in the older man’s chest, one arm still clinging to Triumph while the other wraps around him and a hand fists the back of his shirt, Rick soothes him with gentle murmurs and slow pets until the faint trembling stops and those blue eyes peek up at him.

“Thankee fer takin’ care’a me,” Daryl mumbles. His smile is so painfully shy, a hint of the embarrassment still lingering until Rick grins and tickles his sides. It gets the desired reaction – Daryl squeals and tries to squirm out of his reach, but there’s only so far he can go with walls on either side of him and Rick blocking the doorway.

“I’ll take care of my little cub for as long as I possibly can,” he coos, grinning at the omega, because he’s not trying nearly hard enough to get free; wiggling and laughing loudly and without restriction, batting at the Alpha’s hands as always, but when it comes down to it, Rick knows he’s too happy that he’s allowed to be so free to ever try and get away from it.

When he finally decides to be merciful, he stops tickling Daryl long enough to cup his sides and feel how they heave from the force of his joy. The cub is beaming, and even in the moderately well-lit bathroom, the Alpha can see his Second’s almost ethereal glow. It’s brighter than even the sunniest day, more beautiful than any field of wildflowers, and he’s already tipping his head to press a kiss against the smooth, untroubled forehead when Daryl looks up at him and slips his thumb into his mouth.

“Didja mean it?” he whispers, still too happy and hopeful to let the nervousness cloud his mind. Rick can see it gathering at the edges, though, threatening to creep back in and block the sun like persistent storm clouds. He doesn’t have to ask what the omega is questioning – he’s pretty sure he’s got an idea what this hesitancy is about.

Cupping the upturned face, he presses their foreheads together and rubs their noses against one another in a playful eskimo kiss. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it, sweetheart. You’re my good, sweet little cub. I’m so proud of you, and I’m so happy that you trust me enough to take care of you.”

“Don’ twust no one else,” Daryl lisps around his thumb, still sucking it slowly. His smile is all in his eyes, the bright blue so clear and dazzling that it reminds Rick of undisturbed ponds dappled by sunlight. His voice is still so young, still so soft and sweet. The Alpha’s instincts croon in response, surging with the same desire they’ve been cycling since the second Daryl looked at him last night and everything about the archer had screamed cub.

Protect the cub. Protect him always. Make him happy. Nothing else matters.

“You can trust them. They’re your family.” Stroking through the shaggy, soft hair, he rubs one flicking ear between his fingers and marvels again at just how soft and silky it is. “None of them would ever do anything to try and hurt you, Daryl. They all just want to help.”

“Don’ twust ‘em wiff dis,” his Second clarifies quietly, and Rick’s Alpha brain reacts to that with a pleased, possessive rumble.

My omega. My cub. No one else’s.

“To take care of you?” Stepping back, he holds out his hand and waits for Daryl to take it – not that he has to wait long. The cub grabs for him quickly, squeezing Rick’s fingers and giggling around his thumb. Triumph is tucked close against his chest, right where he belongs, and the Alpha looks his friend over quickly before nodding and turning to lead the way back to the Block.

“Iunno. None’a dem is wight. Don’ feel wight. Don’ feel wike-” He stops there, making a quiet sound that Rick determines to be shyness. With him facing away from Daryl, the omega doesn’t catch the small, fleeting smile that passes over his lips. He can’t say for certain, but he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what Daryl was about to say before the sunlight and his alert mind had cut him off, not quite ready to take that last step without the safe shroud of exhaustion leaving him compliant and unfettered.

None of them feel like Daddy.

Breakfast is an interesting affair, to say the least. There are no moments of panic, no fear-scent or anything alarming, but it’s clearly uncomfortable for Daryl when he sits down beside Rick, pressed close to the alpha’s side, and clings to Triumph like someone is going to try and take the bear as soon as he loosens his arms. He’s looking at the rest of the pack with wide eyes, and he’s not sucking his thumb, but he is chewing his lip so hard the surrounding skin is white.

“Good morning, Pookie.” Carol is the first to say anything, her eyes warm and gentle and her tail twitching happily behind her as she sits across from them with her bowl of reheated stew. Rick eyes it and wonders if Daryl will even eat something with chunks of meat that size when he’s in this headspace, but before he can try to puzzle out an alternative, Maggie carries a pot of grits into the common area and sets it on one of the tables. Usually they don’t make such drastically different options, but clearly he wasn’t the only one uncertain of what Daryl may or may not choose to eat now.

“Want me to get you a bowl, Daryl?” the woman offers. She stops what she’s doing long enough to come over and run her fingers through his hair, going slowly so as not to startle him and cooing low in her throat when she pets his ears. Rick watches them twitch with a pleased smile; watches Daryl’s tail start to wag a little as he pushes his face against the back of Triumph’s head and looks up at his packmate. She coos a little louder, the sound sweet and melodious, and the omega looks at Rick. The meaning isn’t lost on him, and when he looks at Maggie she’s already waiting for him to answer for his Second.

“Do we have any honey to put on it?”

“I think we just might,” his packmate replies. She can’t seem to resist petting Daryl one more time before she goes to fill a bowl and grab a plastic spoon. The cub leans against Rick, breathing calmly while still eyeing the others like he’s expecting someone to turn around and start shouting at him or throwing things. Aside from a few smiles and one or two murmured good morning, guys, no one reacts to their presence. It’s almost as if this is an every-day occurrence for the rest of them – seeing Daryl dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt and boxers, clinging to a teddy bear. Maybe Glenn is watching him a little too intently, but there’s nothing threatening about his curious stare or the smile on his face.

Maggie sets the bowl in front of Daryl, steam rising in pale wisps that dissipate well before reaching the Second’s face. He looks down at it, his nose scrunching and twitching as he sniffs the air, and Rick wants to tell the cub that he’s supposed to eat his food, not stare at it, but then Daryl is turning to look at him and squeezing Triumph’s sides nervously as he sits the stuffed animal on his lap.

“S’got no honey,” he whispers, and his expression is almost too adorable for Rick to handle.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” the Alpha agrees, looking up at Maggie and winking when she giggles. The sound draws Daryl’s eyes back to her, features hopeful and searching.

“Can I have da honey, Maggie?”

“You absolutely can, sugar,” she giggles, and she pulls the bottle from where she’d been hiding it behind her back with a flourish and sets it on the table right beside the bowl. “Don’t overdo it though. Don’t want you gettin’ a tummy ache.”

“Don’ wan’,” Daryl agrees solemnly. Rather than grabbing the squeezable bottle himself, he looks at Rick again and waits with quivering ears. When Rick just smiles indulgently at him, waiting, his lower lip puffs out in a pout and he whines softly. “Can has honey on da food, Alpha?”

“Yes, little cub, you can.” Kissing the top of Daryl’s head quickly, he watches the dark, silky tail wag happily as he pours honey over the grits. When he hears his Second make a quiet sound, he recaps the bottle and puts it to the side before mixing the honey in so the flavor is blended as evenly as he can manage. Sitting the bowl directly in front of the omega, he leaves the spoon in it and leans against the table slightly, glancing over at the two pots that contain breakfast and trying to decide what he’s in the mood for. He’s distracted enough that it takes Daryl tugging gently on his sleeve for him to realize that the cub hasn’t started eating yet.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

The archer bites his lip and squirms in his seat, looking between Rick and the bowl. His shoulders tense slightly, hunching up toward his drooping ears, and one sharp little canine digs hard enough into the flesh that Rick’s afraid he’s going to draw blood. He brushes his thumb against Daryl’s mouth, gently freeing the abused lower lip.

“S’hot,” he whispers bashfully, flexing his fingers and scratching at Triumph’s jacket with his claws when they curl against the material. “Can’ eat ‘f s’too hot, Alpha.”

“What if you blow on it?” Rick suggests, scooping up a spoonful of the grits and bringing it up to his own mouth to demonstrate. He has no doubt that Daryl knows how to blow on his own food to cool it when he’s in his adult mindset, but his Second isn’t an adult right now. He’s a cub, with a cub’s mindset, and Rick recalls all too well innumerable mornings reminding Carl to do exactly this and watching his pup burn his mouth because he was too impatient to listen.

Daryl watches him with a focus that is surprisingly intense for such a mundane action, his nose twitching when he sniffs and his body shifting closer. His eyes flick from the spoon to Rick’s face, and then back. He presses even closer, until they’re touching from their shoulders down to their ankles, not even a slip of paper able to fit between them. When the Alpha motions like he’s going to hand the spoon back over, the cub responds by opening his mouth.

For a moment, Rick is too stunned to do anything but stare, and Daryl’s ears start to droop. He leans away, blue eyes darting off to the side, and the Alpha recovers swiftly enough to save the situation before everything goes downhill. Crooning, he gets that nervous attention back on him and rumble-purrs as he slips the filled spoon into Daryl’s mouth and watches the omega’s pale lips close around it eagerly. There’s no hesitation anymore, no fear of rebuttal. Daryl is happy to eat what Rick is giving him just like this, and only when the spoon has been licked clean does the nervousness begin to brew.

“Think you’ve got it from here?” the Alpha asks with a smile, and he doesn’t miss the way his Second’s shoulders slump just slightly. The thumb Daryl prefers to suck on presses against his lower lip, his uncertainty making him look so painfully young. He’s still so afraid to ask for what he wants, even though Rick has tried his best to show that he’ll give Daryl anything he asks for if it is within his power to do so.

“S’too hot,” the omega murmurs, plaintive and sullen. His eyes are pleading again, his tail still and his ears trembling. He’s hugging Triumph to his chest like he’s afraid someone’s going to try to take the bear away, or he fears that maybe Rick will have tired of this new him and demand he go back to the way he was before.

It’s not going to happen, and Rick doesn’t care if anyone is watching them, because none of them care either. Every single member of the pack only wants Daryl to get the happiness he struggled to find for so long, and so none of them will ever deny him anything that makes him smile or light up like the sun after a storm they never thought would end.

“Don’t want you to strain your neck,” Rick says, and maybe it’s not the best excuse he could come up with, but he’ll do better next time. When Daryl looks at him with the kind of innocent confusion only a cub could have, the Alpha smiles and turns himself a little before patting his lap. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Daryl’s eyes widen, his ears flicking forward and straining like he’s trying to hear something that’s far away. He sucks harder at his thumb, looking around at the others and seeing that no one is paying any unnecessary attention to them. The only one looking is Carol, and when the cub looks at her she smiles tenderly and returns to her meal, the tip of her tail twitching back and forth as her scent conveys her contentedness.

“Can feed m’se’f,” he says very, very quietly, but he’s squirming just a little, his hips wiggling against the bench and his eyes constantly darting between Rick’s face, the bowl, and the Alpha’s lap. He wants to, that much is clear, but his fear is holding him back – the last of his pride fighting tooth and nail even though there is no need for him to keep any kind of guard up. Not while he’s here, not with his true family.

“Maybe I like doing it,” the Alpha counters, and Rick already knows he’s won when Daryl’s breath hitches in surprise and his pale blue eyes get even wider. Just like that, the battle is won. The cub’s thumb pops out of his mouth and he climbs onto Rick’s lap with a soft giggle. It takes a bit of rearranging for them to both fit, but finally Rick has the omega curled against his chest, sitting sideways on his thighs with his feet braced on the bench beside them and his tail wagging against the Alpha’s leg.

He doesn’t ask again; doesn’t try to insist he can do it himself. The last of his hesitation bleeds away and he opens his mouth without prompting for Rick to feed him. His head is resting against Rick’s shoulder, and Triumph is a soft, squishy comfort pressed against Rick’s belly. He takes great pains in making sure no food drops on either of them as he spoons the grits into his Second’s mouth and waits for him to swallow each bite before offering more.

If someone had told Rick when he’d first met the wild spitfire of an omega that they would ever get to this point, or even anything close to something so obviously trusting, he’d have thought they had stolen some of Merle’s cocaine. Now that he’s here, though, with his omega – his omega, his loyal and trusted friend – sitting on his lap and chasing the empty spoon a little each time Rick takes it away, the Alpha still almost can’t believe it. Daryl had insisted that he didn’t need anyone for so long, even as he clung to those who had showed him just how much they needed him. He’d longed to find a place, and had accepted his rank in Rick’s pack with such painful eagerness and wary hope warring within him that it was clear no one had ever thought he'd be worth anything like what he’d been offered by the Alpha.

There’s no battle now, no constant fight between should be and want to be. Daryl is happy to curl up on Rick’s lap, his head tucked beneath the man’s jaw and a soft, satisfied purr vibrating from his chest as he finishes the last few bites of his sweetened grits and licks the spoon clean. He’s a cub, a precious soul that is still so strong it’s breathtaking, and as Rick strokes up and down the long, relaxed curve of his Second’s spine, he vows to himself once again that he will never let anyone take this from Daryl.

He’ll rip their throat out himself first.

Chapter Text

Judith squeals as soon as she sees Daryl, and the omega nearly trips over himself to get to the little girl’s side. His tail is wagging so emphatically it’s a wonder he doesn’t hurt himself; his free hand reaching out in offering for the cub to grab his fingers and play with them while she giggles and coos and smiles wider than she ever has for anyone else but Rick.

“Thank you, Beth,” the Alpha murmurs, letting the girl know that he’s got things from here. She bites her lip and hesitates like she wants to say something, her pretty eyes darting from him to Daryl and then back to him. The omega is completely oblivious, laying flat on his belly and making babyish sounds to the cub while she tugs on his ears and uses him to bounce herself. When she opens her mouth but doesn’t manage to say anything, he prompts her with a gentle, “Yes?”

She blushes, and Rick feels an answering rumble building when she looks at his Second and her scent dips into something that makes the possessive part of Rick want to bare his teeth and warn her off. It’s a completely unprompted reaction, because he’s never dictated who his pack could and could not be with. They are not actually a wolf pack – his family is allowed to mate and love freely, with no fear of retribution. Not all packs run the way Rick runs his. There are Alphas who are very strict about who gets the right to mate.

He’s never been that kind of Alpha.

Still, seeing Beth smiling at Daryl like that makes him want to growl, even if the archer isn’t looking at her; smelling her soft, sweet interest-scent when the beta watches her packmate wiggle against the courtyard patio and slap his palms down with a giggle that makes Judith babble happily in response. She starts smacking her own tiny hands against the cool, shaded concrete, and Rick cannot hold onto anything but his fondness and his love for his cub and his Second when he sees them so unburdened and joyful.

“He looks so happy now,” Beth finally says. Rick glances at her and smiles, feeling the last ebbs of his tension fade away. Even if she was interested in Daryl, something tells him the archer would gently but firmly turn her down. He’s never showed any kind of interest in any of his packmates like that, although for a brief time Rick had wondered if his Second might try to pursue Carol. They had stayed very close friends in the end, much to the surprise of more than a few of them.

“Yeah,” he agrees, turning his attention back to the two cubs currently rolling around. Daryl is on his back now, his shirt bunching up a little bit, and the Alpha can see the scars on his lower belly. The placement of them is too precise, too deliberate, and he feels his eyes burn as they turn silver. His canines thicken, his control slipping for a moment, and Beth breathes in sharply beside him at the same time that Daryl’s eyes snap to his and widen.

“Alpha?” he whispers nervously; wiggling a little and making his shirt ride up further to expose more of his belly as he tips his head back to offer his throat. The omega is whining softly, making sweet little submissive coos that are instinctively meant to calm an angered Alpha. That, combined with the cub’s body language, sends the anger right out of Rick.

Rumbling soothingly in response to his Second’s distress, he crouches down and holds his arms out. Daryl wastes no time in rolling to his knees and crawling to him, fitting himself against Rick’s chest and hugging him tightly while the ear brushing against the Alpha’s bearded cheek quivers.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Rick croons. “It’s okay.”

“Was jus’ p’ayin’, Alpha,” Daryl whispers nervously, and Rick could honestly kick himself in the teeth for making the omega think he was angry at him. “M’sowwy.”

“No, no, baby boy, you’re okay. It wasn’t you, I promise. It was… somethin’ else, but it wasn’t you.”

It’s not like Rick doesn’t know that Daryl has scars. He’s seen them a few times, like on Hershel’s farm after Andrea mistook him for a walker and tried to put him down. Thankfully she hadn’t succeeded, but getting the omega out of his filthy clothes and seeing the full extent of the damage for the first time had nearly sent Rick into a feral rage. Only the knowledge that Daryl needed help, that the archer needed an Alpha to keep him steady – and like fuck Rick was going to let Shane be the one to calm him, even if the man was like Rick’s brother – had kept him calm and level-headed.

He’s seen the scars a few times since then, when he interrupted Daryl taking a shower or the Georgia heat got bad enough that even his Second couldn’t stand his normal sleeveless shirts and hid somewhere that no one would find him. Rick always managed to, though, and he always marveled at how slowly Daryl would pull his shirt back on; like he was ashamed of the damage, but he trusted Rick enough not to lash out and make a big deal of it if the Alpha wasn’t going to.

Last night was his first unhindered view of them, but time and exposure does not make seeing them any easier for Rick. Not when he knows why they're there to begin with.

Judith makes a muffled babbling sound, and he looks over Daryl’s head to see her hugging Triumph and chewing on one of the bear’s ears. She smiles at him around it, eyes bright and untroubled, and he can’t help but chuckle softly.

“Looks like Judith likes your friend too, sweetheart,” he murmurs. It’s enough to distract Daryl and make him look back, and the omega gasps when he sees his teddy bear being gummed at by the cub.

“No! Don’ chew on ‘im!” Wiggling free from Rick’s arms, he scrambles to free Triumph from Judith’s clutches and pulls back with the stuffed animal once more safely clutched in his arms. He sits with his legs spread out and his thumb in his mouth, his ears flattened and his scent unhappy. Judith smells just as unhappy at having lost her chew toy, and her whines start off quiet but don’t stay that way for long. They get louder and morph into wails, and as Rick moves to pick her up and offer her comfort, Daryl makes a sound that stops him cold.

The omega whines again, looking lost and confused and overwhelmed, and as the Alpha looks between the two cubs, his Second starts crying just as piercingly loud. Rick is too shocked at the double meltdown, his instincts howling for him to fix it but his mind startlingly blank.

“Sounds like someone needs a nap,” Beth chuckles, and Rick watches as she scoops Judith up and bounces the bawling cub on her hip, tickling her sides and cooing. Knowing that his daughter is being calmed, the Alpha turns to soothing Daryl. He sits down behind the sobbing omega and pulls him against his chest; pressing his nose behind one soft ear and rumble-purring as he rocks the distressed cub.

“There, there. You’re alright, sweetheart. Triumph’s okay, see? No harm done.”

“She was chewin’ on ‘im,” Daryl whimpers, his body shaking from the force of his crying as he squirms in Rick’s arms. At first, it seems like he’s trying to get away, but when Rick lessens his hold his Second turns around and straddles his lap so he can hide his face in the Alpha’s shirt and rub his cheek against Rick’s chest.

“I know, but it wasn’t that kind of chewing, I promise. She wouldn’t hurt Triumph like that, little cub. She’s not like the walkers.” Stroking through the omega’s dark chestnut hair, Rick presses kisses against the soft strands and feels the way the cub is slowly starting to relax against him. He knows there’s no way that Daryl will be letting Triumph go any time soon, so he brings the cub’s hands up between them and looks at the bear with him. His ear is wet with Judith’s saliva, but she didn’t rip any part of him or hurt the stuffed animal in any other way. “See? No blood, no hurt. He’s just fine, sweetheart.”

“He’s no’ gon’ come back w’ong?”

“No, baby, no.”

Daryl looks up at him, the tears still fresh on his cheeks, and then looks back down at Triumph and rubs his drool-soaked ear like he’s checking to make sure there’s no bite. After a moment, he nods to himself and lays his head in the crook of Rick’s neck again, hugging the bear back to his chest and slipping his thumb into his mouth.

“Says he’s okie,” he lisps around it, the bitter edge of fear leeching from his scent and helping the tight coil of Rick’s muscles to unwind as well. Beth has already taken Judith back inside, leaving them to their quiet moment of contentment now that this new disaster has been successfully derailed. Rick has a moment of quiet gratefulness for the young beta for knowing that the less people that are around right now, the better. She’s probably already given the pack a quick head’s up and told them to stay out of the main courtyard for a little while, too. It makes the Alpha feel even worse for his momentary anger.

“Good. I’m glad he is.” Pressing one more kiss to Daryl’s hair, because he really can’t help himself when his cub is being so sweet, Rick leans them back a little and looks out over the swaying grass in the fields. He sees the leftover damages done by the Governor and his people and knows they’re going to have to fix things. They’ll have to kill the walkers stumbling around out there, get new gates up – so many different tasks to make their home safe again. He’s not worried that no one will want to. He just wishes they didn’t keep running into obstacles every time it felt like they’d finally found their footing.

“M’s’eepy, Daddy,” Daryl mumbles, and Rick looks down in surprise. His cub hasn’t called him Daddy since he was mostly asleep last night, and he’d shown no signs of remembering it when he’d woken up, either. The omega looks like he’s almost asleep again now, which is probably the reason for his slip-up, and it makes him smile tenderly as he gathers his Second closer to him and nuzzles one soft, fuzzy ear.

“Yeah? You think you want to try and take a nap? Little cubs like you need all the naps they can get.” Sitting upright, Rick cups his hands against Daryl’s shoulder blades to steady the cub when he leans back a little. He’s in that middle place between sleep and wakefulness, his eyes struggling to stay open and his head drooping to the side before jerking back up again when he tries to fight his tiredness.

“Don’ wan’ nap,” his cub huffs. He’s clearly lying and he knows it; his lower lip starting to puff out beneath his thumb as he pouts. Rick never thought he would see Daryl – motorcycle riding, crossbow-wielding, walker killer Daryl – so completely adorable. It makes his heart thump in his chest; makes him smile and kiss his Second’s forehead. He doesn’t pull back right away, whispering against the smooth, tan skin instead.

“What if I want to nap? Would you lay down with me?”

The omega’s ears twitch, his tail wagging once. “Ya wan’ nap, Alpha?”

“I’m pretty tired, yeah,” Rick agrees, and he can’t bring himself to feel too bad about a little lie, because it’s not entirely a fib. He is tired, but all of them are these days. The exhaustion of trying to stay alive when everything dead is trying to eat you weighs on every member of the pack. Running into problems around every corner makes weariness ache in their bones, but they’ve all taken to enjoying the small things that bring them joy. It’s what’s kept them sane. “I wonder if Triumph is tired, too?”

Daryl looks down at his bear, meeting the chocolate brown glass eyes and sniffling quietly. Rick waits patiently for him to come to his decision. He knows sometimes it’s easier for cubs to get their needs across by using other things, and he’s already seen Daryl use Triumph to express himself.

“Says yesh,” the omega finally admits, glancing up at Rick and waiting to see if he’ll be believed. When the Alpha nods and smiles, he relaxes and smiles too. “Wan’s nap, Alpha. Wan’s me dere, too.”

“I would never try to suggest otherwise. Alright then, little cub. Up we go.”

Alphas are physically stronger than betas and omegas – a physical manifestation of their rank aside from their eyes and their canines when they trip too close to feral, or their knots when they’re mating. It’s nothing at all for Rick to stand and pick Daryl up too, because even though his Second is almost as tall as him and broader in the shoulders, he feels like he weighs surprisingly less than he probably does. The sudden shift makes him yelp in surprise and wiggle a little bit. His legs instinctively tighten around Rick’s waist as he settles in against him, one of the Alpha’s hands dropping to cup his bottom and support him while the other stays warm and soothing between his shoulders.

“I won’t drop you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Daryl wiggles a little bit more and then sighs happily, pressing his face against Rick’s shoulder and nuzzling as his body goes limp. He really doesn’t weigh nearly as much as Rick was expecting. It’s easy for him to shift his Second just a little bit so one strong arm can hook around his neck and hold on, the other keeping Triumph safe between them. The cub isn’t sucking his thumb right now, but that’s probably because he can’t get to it easily like this. His nose tucks against the collar of Rick’s shirt, warm breath fluttering over the Alpha’s skin as he breathes in and sighs out happily.

“Fankee, Alpha.”

Rick croons and nuzzles the omega in his arms, carrying him through the prison and not even being looked at twice as he walks. The pack acts like he carries their archer around with him every day – like it’s such a common occurrence that they have no need to double-take or look twice to make sure what they’re seeing isn’t some hallucination.

“Such a good boy,” he murmurs. “My good little cub. So polite, so sweet.”

He smells when Daryl’s scent changes, musky woods turning sweet like ripe fruit and wildflowers to convey his happiness. The cub squirms in Rick’s arms, his swaying tail bumping against the Alpha’s legs and tickling him faintly through his jeans. He giggles softly, a sound laced heavily with tiredness, and after he settles again he’s still.

By the time they make it to Rick’s cell, Daryl is almost completely asleep again, his breathing deep and slow. He snuffles every once and a while, the sound soft and adorable enough to make the Alpha smile lovingly. It’s a challenge to get them on the bed without waking his omega or disturbing him too much, but he manages. Once his ass hits the mattress, he turns slowly and lays down; rolls to tuck Daryl between himself and the wall. That rouses his Second enough for him to blink his eyes open and smile up at Rick. The sight makes his breath catch and his eyes widen, because he has never seen Daryl look so happy.

“You’s so good ta me, Daddy,” his cub whispers, and his lips brush against Rick’s shirt – a sleepy nuzzle or a barely-there kiss, but there’s so much affection and tenderness that it makes Rick’s heart ache in the way he’s become so familiar with when it comes to Daryl. He presses a kiss to the omega’s forehead; to his ears and his hair and both of his cheeks, and he rumble-purrs when the body against his wriggles closer and Triumph’s soft fur tickles the underside of his jaw.

“That’s because you’re my darling baby boy,” the Alpha murmurs back. “Daddy’s good, sweet boy,” he adds. It’s a risk, but it’s one he’s willing to take right now, and if he’s lucky Daryl will remember it when he wakes up. If not, then there’s always another time.

On his terms or not at all, Grimes.

Daryl sighs happily, his thumb in his mouth again and the soft sounds of him sucking it lulling Rick into something that isn’t quite a doze, but is close enough to drifting peacefully. He doesn’t fall into slumber, not the way Daryl already has. It’s restful, though, and that’s all that matters. He hums low in his throat, the notes of a lullaby his mother used to sing him when he was a cub himself, and Daryl relaxes the last little bit against him.

Beyond the quiet safety of his cell, Rick can hear the rest of the pack going about their business. He hears them talking and laughing and enjoying the peace they’ve managed to come by, even if it was hard won. He smells Michonne when she walks by, and when she pauses just outside of his cell he glances back at her.

“I’m glad he’s okay,” she whispers. “Whatever he needs, let me know. I can get it.”

“Glenn goes on runs,” Rick points out quietly. And Daryl, he doesn’t add, but Michonne must sense it anyway. She smiles, tipping her head slightly to show a hint of her throat through her swaying dreadlocks.

“So did he,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible even to Rick. “Don’t think that’s gonna work for now, though. So, I’ll go. If there’s anything you want, or anything he wants, let me know. I’ll find it.”

Gratitude fills Rick to the point that his throat feels tight and his eyes prickle from the surge of emotion. Daryl senses it even in his sleep and whines softly, so the Alpha shushes him gently and pets down his spine – probably his favorite way to soothe Daryl so far, because it works so well. Sure enough, the cub relaxes back into his peaceful dreams with a quiet sound and turns his face to press the side of his curled hand to Rick’s collarbone.

“Thank you,” he says, and the woman nods. She turns like she’s going to leave but hesitates again, looking back at him before her dark eyes slide to the tip of Daryl’s ear she can probably see over Rick’s shoulder.

“Glad he can be happy for a change. That boy deserves it more’n anyone else I’ve ever seen.”

With that she’s gone, her near-silent footsteps fading away as she heads out of the Block. Rick smiles and presses another kiss to Daryl’s temple before he rests his head on his lumpy pillow. He watches Daryl sleep, still petting slowly up and down his Second’s spine and feeling the way his back moves with his breathing.

You deserve this happiness more than anyone I’ve ever seen, he thinks fiercely. You deserve it all, and I will give you every scrap.

Rick doesn’t fall asleep, but he still feels rested enough that it doesn’t matter. His mind wanders while Daryl naps, thinking over everything that’s happened, everything he’s thought and feared and felt in such a short amount of time. By the time he feels his omega start to stir, Rick knows he’s come to a decision.

Going beyond the gates isn’t an option for him anymore. Not with Daryl like this. Not when Rick was already cracking before his cub ever went after Merle to try and coax his brother home. Something has to give, and Rick cannot be an Alpha to his entire pack when Daryl needs him so singularly. He’s not willing to place the burden solely on their shoulders, though. His nature will never allow such a thing.

Perhaps it is time to talk to Hershel about his options. He trusts the older Alpha’s judgement, and in this, Rick knows he needs an Elder’s guiding hand. He needs to provide for his pack and care for Daryl, and if anyone knows a way for him to do both, it will be Hershel Greene.

--

Hershel is a stoic, patient man, and Rick has very rarely seen him lose his temper or be blindsided by anything. The last time he can remember seeing such a stunned expression, the man had watched Shane rip down the barriers holding back his undead family and had killed them again in front of him. That had been a horrible moment – both to witness, and to participate in once Sophia had stumbled out and their hopes had shattered with the realization that the little girl they had been trying so hard to find had not survived.

This is nothing like that, thankfully. This is shock, and something else Rick isn’t quite sure how to name. He’s smiling though, because the older Alpha may look a little like he’s been hit upside the head with a two-by-four, but his scent is thick with his affection and the smile slowly spreading across his face points toward a joy they have all struggled to find for a long, long time.

“Want to run that by me again, son?” he chuckles quietly. Daryl, who is curled up on Rick’s lap with his back pressed to the Alpha’s chest, wiggles a little bit and giggles. He’s still hugging Triumph, his hair fluffy and mussed from his nap. Rick can’t help but run his fingers through it every now and again, trying in vain to flatten it into something a little more presentable. Every time he does, Daryl purrs and nuzzles into the petting, his ears twitching and his tail wagging hard enough to make Rick puff out a short huff every time it thwaps him on the thigh.

“Tell me a stowy, G’ampa?”

Grandpa. Not derisive or insulting at all, but full of warmth and childlike glee as his cub leans a bit closer to Hershel and reaches out like he’s going to try and grab onto the Alpha’s shirt. The distance between them is a bit too much, but Hershel senses the intentions behind the questing fingers and comes close enough for the omega to play with his suspenders without risk of falling. His face goes from befuddled to so open and gentle that Rick can’t really feel bad for catching him off guard. He’d known this was going to happen when he’d told his Second they were going to go and see the former farmer. Daryl had wiggled out of bed and fidgeted through the Alpha getting him dressed, demanding they go and see G’ampa and that no, Alpha, he didn’t need a belt, because belts were stupid and pointless.

Daryl is still wearing a belt, whether he likes it or not – it’s the only thing keeping his pants up. He doesn’t seem to notice it anymore, not when he’s got Hershel crooning over him and resting a large, weathered hand on the cub’s head to pet through the mess of it.

“I’ll tell you what, kiddo. You let me and Rick talk about whatever it is he needs first, and then I’ll sit with you and tell you a story my mother used to tell me when I was just a pup myself. Sound good to you?”

It’s so cute to see Daryl acting like he’s thinking the prospect over, his lips pursed and his eyebrows drawn in as he hums quietly. He’s playing with Triumph’s ears, his fingers rubbing circles into the soft, peach-pink fur, and he leans back against Rick again. Now that the offer has been made, he won’t be still unless he’s on the Alpha’s lap. When Rick had tried to put him down when he first found Hershel and tried to talk to him, Daryl had started fussing and whining and gearing up for a tantrum until he’d told the cub in no uncertain terms that bad boys would never be allowed to sit on laps. That had stopped the omega in his tracks, and once he’d been calm and had asked nicely, Rick had patted his thigh. They’ve been like this ever since.

“Otay,” his Second finally decides, nodding once and sticking his thumb in his mouth to suck on it while he waits for the adults to finish talking.

“Thank you, Daryl.” Hershel gives him one last gentle pat before his twinkling blue eyes meet Rick’s and he smiles. “Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about?”

“Once we repair the fences and clear out the field of the walkers that are still out there, how long do you think it would take to make part of it ready for planting?”

If the older Alpha is surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. Rick has always admired Hershel’s calm, unwavering regality in the face of any obstacle. He gives the question the serious consideration it’s due, his hands tucked into his pockets as he turns his head to look out the closest window. Rick waits patiently, rubbing Daryl’s hips and pressing a kiss to the back of his head that makes the omega squirm and giggle sweetly.

“That would depend on how much of an area you wanted to clear, and what you planned on planting,” Hershel finally replies. Rick looks at him with a contemplative frown.

“We’d need enough variety to keep us healthy. Things we might not be able to find on runs, or maybe sometimes just something fresh that isn’t from a can that expired over a year ago. We’ll need to figure out a way to bring in meat, too.”

“There are plenty of wild boars in the forest,” the older Alpha agrees. “We could try to catch a few and domesticate them. We can set snares as well, for other options. I have a feeling we’re going to need to for a while.”

It’s not a jab at Daryl’s current state, but more a common-sense statement. With Daryl like this, Rick will not risk him leaving the safety of the fences. He’s not even sure if the cub will be safe enough handling his crossbow, and he’s more than a little relieved that his Second hasn’t asked where it is. Rick is pretty sure Carol has confiscated it for now – it wasn’t with the omega’s things when he went to find him clothes. Most of Daryl’s wardrobe is now in Rick’s cell. The Alpha has a feeling his cub will be staying with him for quite some time, and this way is better than Rick running up and down the stairs every time he needs to get fresh clothes for his friend.

“In the meantime, we can try to get started on clearing the field and fixing the gate,” Rick nods. His Second is still leaning against him and waiting so patiently, and when he glances down he sees that Daryl is looking between both Alphas like he’s trying to follow the conversation. He doesn’t seem to be having much luck, but he’s clearly making a bit of a game out of it. Whatever the rules are, only he knows, but every now and then he’ll giggle around his thumb and squeeze Triumph a little harder.

“Who’s going to tend to the crops, Rick? I can’t, not without part of my leg.” Hershel leans back against the windowsill and sets his crutches aside. Rick can still see the strength in him that he must have carried when he was in his prime – the broad span his shoulders must have had before age and circumstances curled them inward. He’s traded the fire of a youthful Alpha for the serenity of an Elder, hard muscles made softer by time but still formidable enough. Men like Hershel do not demand respect. They have no need to. They earn it by simply being the wise leaders that others look to in times of hardship. He’s never fought Rick for the right to lead the pack – has accepted his place among them with gracefulness and trust and only questioned the younger Alpha when his feral side threatened to take over too much.

“It’s a full-time thing, right?” Pressing his nose against the back of Daryl’s head, Rick breathes in the omega’s scent and feels how it steadies him. The cub nuzzles back against his nose with a purr, his relaxed-scent reminiscent of clover and sweet grass. Everything about Daryl speaks of nature in some way, from the bitter leaf-rot scent of his unhappiness to the sweet, fruity crispness of his joy. It fits him so well, tells exactly the kind of soul he has, and the Alpha hums quietly. “Can’t slack from that. Gotta make sure things are growing right. Gotta keep ‘em healthy.”

“It’s not your average work shift,” Hershel agrees. He’s looking at Rick, something in his eyes that matches the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knows where this is going already, but he’s letting Rick lead him to the answer regardless. “Can’t really see Glenn getting up at the crack of dawn every morning or spending hours weeding. I don’t think he has the patience for it.”

“We could set up rotating shifts, like with guard duty.” Even though they both know that’ll never happen. Even though Rick has already made up his mind. Daryl makes a curious sound and tilts his head back to look up at Rick from where he’s slouched down a little, his blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. The Alpha smiles and rubs his cub’s belly, rumble-purring low in his chest.

“And what? Have to worry about everyone switching shifts when they’d decide they’d rather not do it that day? This is dedicated, hard work, Rick. Some extra help now and then is fine, but it takes someone who’s willing to do all of it, all the time, with no breaks or whining.”

“Guess that just leaves me, then.”

Hershel smiles, his scent a mixture of honeysuckle and lemon. “Yeah, I guess it does. Will you be okay with that, though?”

Closing his eyes, Rick takes a deep breath. “I can’t keep going this way,” he admits, and the heaviness of the words leaves him feeling lighter once they’re out in the air between them, tangible and revealing. He’s not ashamed that he needs to ask for help – he can’t be, not after everything they’ve all been through together. The others have followed him faithfully, even when he all-but took the choice away from them. They have relied on him, have buoyed him when he needed their strength when his own vanished after Lori’s death.

“No, you can’t. No one can be that strong all the time, Rick. Maybe in the world Before, but not anymore. It’s too much for one person. We’re here to help, to share the burden so that you don’t drown. That’s what pack is for. We’re family.”

“Yeah, I know. Just had to get my head clear so I could see that.”

“And now that you have?” Hershel prompts.

The younger Alpha takes a deep breath and bounces his knees just to hear Daryl giggle. It goes a long way to lightening his heart and solidifying his decision. “I need to take a step back. I need to take care of my pack, of him, but I can’t do it the way I have been. He can’t go beyond the fences, not like this.” Daryl looks up at him, wide-eyed and trusting. He knows they’re talking about him, but he doesn’t react other than tilting his head slightly and cooing. “We need crops, Hershel. We need somethin’ substantial to support us, and if it means I can be involved without directly making decisions, I’ll do it.”

“So you’ll be our farmer, then.” The Elder shakes his head fondly. “You could have just said that right off the bat, you know.”

Rick chuckles and shrugs one shoulder sheepishly – his way of apologizing for leading Hershel in a game they both already knew the ending to. “That wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.” Giving them a moment to settle into something a lot more comfortable now that the last of the tension has seeped away with their new decision, he pats Daryl’s hip to get his attention from wherever it’s started to wander to. “Alright then. Now that that’s settled, I think someone has been waiting very patiently for his story. Isn’t that right, little cub?”

“Mhm!” Daryl sits upright, his ears quivering as he leans forward and looks up at Hershel. His thumb pops out of his mouth, the same hand reaching out, and Hershel says nothing about saliva or germs when Rick’s Second grabs for his suspenders again. “Can has stowy, G’ampa? P’ease? I’s been good!”

“Yes, you have been.” Hershel pats the cub’s head again, scratching behind one of his ears, and Daryl coos as he tilts his head to welcome more of the affection. “I think I know just the story, too. It’s about a little lost wolf pup. Would you like to hear it?”

Daryl chews on the tip of his thumb. Rick reaches over to stop him, not wanting the omega to hurt himself. “Why’s he wost?” he asks unhappily. “Is i’ a sad stowy? I don’ wike sad stowies.”

“It is a little sad at first,” Hershel admits. “But I promise you it has a happy ending.”

“Otay den,” the cub says. He glances from Rick to Hershel, and the Alpha is only somewhat surprised when the weight on his lap shifts. His Second looks like he wants to sit on Hershel’s lap while the story is being told, but the older man is still standing, so he can’t. Eventually he settles again, once Rick starts rubbing his sides and crooning softly. Once he’s relaxed against the Alpha, his head tucked under Rick’s jaw and Triumph secure against his chest while he sucks his thumb, Hershel begins the story.

“Once upon a time, there was a little wolf pup.”

“Wha’ was ‘is name?” Daryl whispers.

Hershel smiles. “Dakota.”

Rick tries very hard not to chuckle, because he can tell that the older Alpha just thought that name up on the spot. He wonders if this story was actually one his momma told him when he was a cub, or if he’s making it up now for Daryl’s benefit. Either way, the omega is already fascinated; leaning forward slightly and waiting for more.

“One day, Dakota was playing with his brothers and sisters when he heard a sound. He was a very curious pup, and very brave, so he went to investigate while his siblings ran back to their momma. Now, he was just a young pup, so his sense of direction wasn’t very good. There were things he didn’t know how to do yet, like tracking or following scent trails, so he just wandered around in the forest trying to find the source of the sound he’d heard.

“Dakota wandered for quite some time, but he was never able to find what had made the noise. When he finally gave up looking, he realized that he was in a part of the forest he’d never been in before, and he’d crossed over his own trails so many times that he couldn’t even follow his paw prints back home. He was all alone, and night was starting to fall. He was getting cold without his brothers and sisters to snuggle up to, and his belly was growling with hunger.

“‘How am I supposed to get home?’ he wailed, and so great was his misery that he woke a rabbit who had been sleeping in her burrow. She came up to see what was fussing so just beyond her door, and when she saw the wolf pup, she was curious. He looked at her, and he did not try to hurt her. He just cried and cried and smacked a paw against the ground.

“‘I want to go home!’

“‘Where is your home?’ the rabbit asked.

“‘I don’t know!’ Dakota cried. ‘I want my momma!’

“‘You should call for her, then,’ the rabbit told him. She was a very wise rabbit, and she knew that if the pup would call for his mother, that she would hear him and come running.

“‘What if she doesn’t hear me?’ By now, Dakota had curled into a tight ball amongst the tall grasses and was sniffling and feeling very sorry for himself. ‘What if I never find her again!’

“‘You will,’ the rabbit promised. ‘She loves you very much, and I bet she’s very worried. I bet you she’s running all over the forest looking for you, little lost pup. Why don’t you call for her and help guide her?’

“‘How am I supposed to do that?’ Dakota asked. He was the bravest of his siblings, but right then, he didn’t feel very brave. He felt very scared, and alone, and he looked at the rabbit with tearful eyes. ‘How do I know she will hear me?’

“‘She is your mother,’ the rabbit replied. ‘She will always hear you. You just have to call out first. Sometimes we cannot always find the thing we want, just because we want to find it. Sometimes, we need help. So, help her. Tilt your head back, summon all of your courage, and sing the song of your kind. She will hear you, and she will come.’

“Dakota thought about what the rabbit had said, and he decided that she was right. If his mother was going to find him, then he needed to help her do it! He did as the rabbit had said and tipped his head back. He thought of the songs his momma and his poppa had always sung to one another when his poppa was out finding food for them. He’d always wanted to sing the songs too, but he’d never quite managed it. To find his momma, though, he was willing to try again.

“‘Sing, little pup,’ the rabbit urged him. ‘Sing as loud as you can!’

“Taking a deep breath, Dakota howled as loudly as he could, putting into it all of his nervousness and his fear, as well as his love for his momma and his poppa and his littermates. ‘I’m here, momma!’ he howled. ‘I’m here, waiting!’

“Immediately, he heard his momma howl back to him. Her song was full of fear and joy, for she had indeed been looking for her lost pup for quite some time, and to hear him calling to her filled her heart with pride.

“‘I hear you, baby! Stay where you are, I’m coming!’

“Dakota was overjoyed! He’d sang for his momma and she had heard him! He turned to the rabbit excitedly, but she was nowhere to be seen. When he tried to see if she’d returned to her burrow, he couldn’t find it anywhere. There was no trace of her scent on the grass, either. It was like she’d vanished into thin air!

“When Dakota’s momma came crashing out of the underbrush, she bowled into her pup and began to groom him vigorously. She hugged him and kissed all over his face, and she didn’t even reprimand him for wandering away, because she could see her brave little pup had had quite a fright. She picked him up by his scruff and carried him home, and Dakota had never been so happy to relax and let himself be taken back to the den.

“As his momma trotted away, he saw a tan flash from the corner of his eye. When he looked, he saw the rabbit watching him with a smile on her face. She wriggled her nose at him, twitched her ears, and then vanished again.

“And so Dakota was reunited with his family, and he’d learned quite a valuable lesson about being brave even in the face of fear. He was still the bravest pup in his litter, still the most likely to explore, but he never forgot the lesson the rabbit had taught him, and he always sang to his momma so she would know where to find him when he wandered too far from home.”

Rick almost feels like he could cry just from that story. When he looks at Daryl, the cub is wiping at his running nose and smiling through tears. The Alpha would be alarmed, but the omega doesn’t smell distressed. He looks too happy to be upset – these are good emotions, and seeing him able to express them so freely is something none of the pack ever thought they’d get to witness. Hershel smiles and reaches out to scratch Daryl behind his ears again, and the cub’s tail wags a little.

“Did you like that story, son?”

“Yesh,” Daryl nods, sniffling a few more times before Rick uses the corner of his own shirt to wipe his Second’s face and nose. The body on his lap wriggles, the cub making unhappy sounds as he tries to squirm free, but a short rumble from the Alpha stills him until his face is dry and slightly pink.

“There,” Rick chuckles, patting one warm cheek and kissing the tip of his friend’s scrunched-up nose. Daryl looks too adorable, so young even despite his facial hair, and the Alpha can’t help but rub his thumb against the cub’s short beard thoughtfully.

“Fankee for da stowy, G’ampa,” his Second murmurs shyly, and Hershel’s answering smile is warm enough to make the day seem even brighter.

“You’re very welcome, little buck. I’m glad you enjoyed it. If you want to hear another one later on, I’ll be happy to share. For now, though, I think that’s enough.”

“M’not a deer,” Daryl huffs, squeezing Triumph tightly to his belly. Rick can see his pout. “M’a cub.”

“But you’re so sweet,” Hershel replies seriously, although his eyes are twinkling. “You’re sweet, and shy, and gentle. You’re just like a little fawnling buck. All you’re missing is the spots.”

“M’not,” the omega whines. “Ya don’ call no one else a buck.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” the elder Alpha agrees. He’s smiling outright now; reaching out to rub one of Daryl’s ears. The effect is instantaneous – Rick’s Second relaxes with a sound that’s close to a purr. “I don’t go around calling the others bucks. Just you. I have no other deer but this one.” He tweaks the omega’s nose playfully. “So get used to it, little buck.”

If Daryl really didn’t like the nickname, Rick has a feeling he’d be throwing a tantrum about it. Instead he’s nuzzling Hershel’s hand, a small, sweet smile softening his lips. Patting the cub’s bottom, he gets him to stand up so that Rick can stand as well. He needs to stretch his legs and get the feeling back in them, and as soon as he’s on his feet he’s surprised when Daryl reaches out to him with a soft whine.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he croons.

“Can has up, Alpha?”

Smiling, he picks Daryl up and feels the omega’s legs wrap around his waist to keep him from tumbling to the ground. It takes them a minute to get situated, because Daryl is still a fully-grown man even if his mindset isn’t matching up with it right now, but once they figure it out it feels more natural than Rick was expecting it to. It’s just like the last time he carried Daryl, only this time there’s no meltdown to accompany the action. Daryl snuggles close to him, his head on Rick’s shoulder, and the Alpha nuzzles his soft hair.

“You hungry, baby?”

After a moment, his Second nods. “Mhm.”

Looking at Hershel, Rick smiles. “What about you?”

The older man tilts his head thoughtfully. “Will I get to sit next to my little buck?”

“Yesh!” Daryl agrees readily. Rick laughs warmly, and Hershel pretends to think it over for another minute until the cub is squirming before he finally nods.

“Then yes, I think I’m pretty hungry myself. Shall we?” He motions for Rick to lead the way and follows them out of the room. Daryl wriggles into a more comfortable position, wrapping one arm around Rick’s neck and sucking on his thumb with his bear squeezed firmly between them to keep him from falling. Rick nuzzles him again, pressing a kiss to his Second’s temple, and once more silently thanks his Alpha strength for giving him the ability to carry his omega like this, without any discomfort. Daryl may be almost as tall as he is, but he’s light enough in comparison that it doesn’t pose a problem.

“Wanna sit on my lap while I feed you?” the Alpha whispers playfully, and he’s treated to the sight of Daryl’s ears quivering happily.

“Yesh p’ease,” the cub lisps around his thumb. He bounces a little, but settles quickly enough when Rick taps his hip.

“Sounds like a plan to me, then. Let’s go find you somethin’ to munch on, sweetheart. Can’t have my little cub gettin’ hungry. That’s just not acceptable.”

He tickles Daryl’s side and smiles when the omega giggles and squirms closer, feeling more content like this than he has in longer than he can feasibly remember.

Chapter Text

It’s a blisteringly hot day, now that mid-summer is in full swing. Maybe it’s edging closer to fall, but with how hot and humid the days still are, it’s almost impossible to tell the seasons at all until they start waking up shaking from the chill that heralds the cooler months.

Right now, Rick’s abandoned his shirt, his skin slick with sweat and his chest hair matted and itchy as he methodically brings his hoe up and plunges it back into the soil. His muscles are already burning after days of the same monotonous movements, his skin reddened by the sun and already faded to a dark tan in some spots. His curls are plastered to his forehead, his cheeks, his nape – clinging stubbornly and making him feel even hotter as the sun beats down on his bare back and paints trails of warmth down his spine that tingle and edge into the familiar sting that precedes another layer of sunburn.

The hoe slams into the loose soil he’s already overturned, hooking in thick clumps that he drags away from the row he’s been working on since just after the sun lit the horizon. Moving with the motion, he rises into a standing position and wipes the sweat rolling into his eyes with his filthy gloves, smearing dirt that becomes mud in broad streaks over his cheeks and forehead. He glances up at the sun to check its position, even though that tells him nothing about what time it might be. Daryl would know, he always did, but right now he doubts the cub can even remember what day it is, much less what time.

To be fair, the only reason the rest of them have some approximation of the days is because of the calendar Beth has hanging in her cell. Rick can’t tell if it’s Sunday or Tuesday, and he doesn’t really give much thought to it either way, but the others cling to that slice of normalcy with tooth and nail.

Glancing toward the nearby tree, the Alpha checks on his Second and sees that Daryl is still sleeping peacefully. It’s a relief, because his dreams are usually plagued by nightmares now. It’s caused a few accidents in the middle of the night, and they usually leave Daryl in tears and frustrated, but Rick has become quite adept at soothing his distress and getting him clean and back into bed. He knows it can’t keep going this way – if the nightmares continue, they’re going to need some kind of barrier to protect their clothes as well as the cot. The Alpha doesn’t want to go as far as even thinking about how Daryl would react to being told he needs diapers, but he’s running out of ideas, and if the cub stays wet for too long, the chance of him getting a painful, irritating rash is high. Rick would like to avoid anything that might cause his little one discomfort, and if that means that he’s going to need to make a decision that his Second might fight, then he’ll make it.

Right now, the cub is curled into a relaxed sprawl, Triumph tucked against his chest and a thumb in his mouth as he sleeps peacefully on the ground beneath the tree. He never seems as relaxed inside as he does when they’re outside, but the threat of walkers had been too great until they’d cleared the fields and dragged the bodies behind the main building to burn them. Glenn and Michonne had come back from a run with news of a long-abandoned steel factory almost fifty miles from the prison, and they’d taken Maggie with them to haul back two very heavy slabs that they’ve set up as the new gates. Michonne has even set up stakes on either side that the walkers frequently catch themselves on – a trick they’d learned from Morgan after they’d run into him in King County while looking for weapons. It feels like so long ago now, and Rick had never been so thrown by another Alpha’s decent into something approaching a feral state until he’d seen Morgan’s wild, unfocused silver eyes.

The prison is reinforced once again, maybe even more so than it was with just flimsy chain-link gates protecting them. With the fields clear and Hershel’s guidance, Rick has started his little farm just like he’d wanted to. He’s stepped back from making most of the decisions, passing it onto a few of the others. They’ve set up a sort of council-like democracy, with Hershel as the main chairman in Rick’s stead. He’ll have nothing to do with it, not like this. His attention is split between tilling the land and getting it ready for planting and taking care of Daryl.

It’s been a week, and the omega has shown no sign of coming out of the little headspace. If anything, he’s regressed further. His speech is completely altered, and he refuses to eat until Rick is feeding him and he’s on the Alpha’s lap. If Rick is out of his sight for more than ten minutes, the tantrums he throws are loud enough to bring walkers to the fences. It’s almost like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t see the Alpha then he’s been abandoned; that they’ve decided enough is enough and they’re trying to force him to be something he doesn’t know how to be anymore. It’s heartwrenching to see, because Daryl used to be so independent and self-reliant, and now he can’t stand being by himself or else he dissolves into hysterics and it can take the better part of an hour to get him calm again.

Everyone has stepped up to help where they can, but the main bulk of the omega’s care is handled by Rick. It’s something he does gladly, eagerly, because Daryl is so unhindered in his newfound needs. He’ll demand affection without even uttering a single word, purely just from how wide and sad his eyes get – how frightened he looks when he searches for Rick amidst the bodies of the rest of the pack. Maybe it’s a little bit too co-dependent, but none of them know what else to do right now. Children should never be left unattended, and Daryl may be physically almost as old as Rick is – or at least a few years younger, since none of them really know how old he is – but mentally he can’t be more than four. Maybe not even that.

Rick goes back to carving a furrow into the dirt, sweat making his jeans cling to his legs and his shoulder blades itch every time he shifts and droplets bead down his spine. Shaking his head like a dog might to get the excess water from his curls, he rumbles quietly as he works. The tone is low and deep, crooning like a work melody that he falls into easily, his body moving and shifting with every deep, vibrating tenor as he brings the tool down again and again and works his way down the row. Three others stretch off to his left, and Hershel estimates that they’ll need at least two more after the one Rick’s working on now. That’ll give them plenty of room to plant a variety of vegetables, and maybe even a few rows of corn later on.

The elder Alpha has been nothing but patient and accommodating, getting up even before Rick and having breakfast waiting when he comes into the common room with Daryl in his arms. The cub barely rouses enough to eat, and as soon as Rick has him settled under his tree most days he’s asleep again. Out where the wind can tease through his hair and make his ears twitch, he seems to sleep undisturbed. If it was safe enough, the Alpha might try to set up a place for the cub to sleep whenever he needed the security he could never find within the walls of any building. It hasn’t happened yet, and Daryl will not sleep without Rick. The threat of the walkers, even blocked by the fences, is still more than enough to fuel nighttime terrors, and so that’s a thought he hasn’t put into practice yet.

Licking the sweat from his upper lip, Rick keeps up his wordless song and feels the shocks vibrate up his arms. Even after a week, he can already see the difference in himself that comes with working the land as he is. His muscles are tight and solid, his stomach stripped of any trace of fat. He’s lean and corded, dangerous in the right circumstances, but never anything but gentle and soft with his Second when Daryl needs him the most. The pack takes turns bringing them food and drink, trying to coax Daryl into playing with them, and sometimes they can distract him for long enough for Rick to rest a few moments. He doesn’t like being too far from his cub, and he knows what it must say about their co-dependency that he’s just as frantic when he can’t see his Second if too much time passes, but he can’t really bring himself to find it too problematic. Daryl needs him, and he needs the innocence and freedom he can get from having the omega curled up on his lap or pressed against his hip as he carries him.

“Daddy?”

The hoe sticks in the ground when Rick brings it down again. He leaves it there, uncurling his cramping fingers from the handle and standing fully upright to look at his cub. Daryl is rubbing the sleep from his eyes, making quiet little sounds as he drags himself from his slumber and blinks blearily. He’s looking around, his eyes still a little hazy, but they clear and sparkle as soon as he sees Rick approaching quickly.

“Hey, sweet boy,” the Alpha croons as he kneels at Daryl’s side and cards his messy bangs back from his head. Pressing a kiss to the soft skin there, he nuzzles his Second and nips playfully at one warm, twitching ear. It makes Daryl squeak softly, a hand coming up to bat at his face and leave his nose stinging.

“Stahp! S’not fer chewin’!”

“What about kissin’?” Rick chuckles. “Kisses all over your sweet little face, maybe a few tickles? What d’you think of that, baby boy?”

Daryl squirms, pushing himself up until he’s sitting properly and resting Triumph on his lap as he looks up at Rick with an expression that can only be described as adoring. “Wike Da’ee’s kishes,” he lisps around his thumb. Suddenly something in the air changes, his posture shifting as he looks shy and blushes a little. His pale eyes drop away like he’s embarrassed, and the Alpha rumbles soothingly as he cups one warm, clean cheek and tilts Daryl’s head up until they’re looking at each other again.

The omega looks even more painfully young without the familiar presence of his facial hair; his soft skin rasping slightly against Rick’s palm where the stubble is growing back in. After the fourth or fifth time Daryl had gotten frustrated with it, Rick had taken him to the bathroom and sat him on a chair by the sink, and he’d shaved his face for him. The look on his face when he’d touched the smooth skin, playing with his chin and rubbing at his beauty mark, had made Rick smile.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks as he rubs at the edge of his Second’s jaw. Daryl is still shy about some things, and the Alpha wonders if that’s when his “big” mentality is closest to the surface. Most of the time, his cub is sweet and little and so desperate for affection it almost hurts to see, because even through the enthusiasm there’s the flicker of fear and apprehension in his eyes, like he’s reaching out and expecting to be slapped away.

“Ya don’ min’?” Daryl whispers, looking up at him from beneath the fringe of his bangs and chewing on his thumbnail before slipping it further into his mouth and sucking nervously. He hugs Triumph tighter against his belly, eyes flicking between the bear and Rick. “Ain’ yer baby f’r weal, an’ I know dat.”

“You’re not my baby?” Rick repeats, and he can’t help how sad he gets at the thought that maybe Daryl is finally coming out of his little headspace. Not completely, but enough to question things in a way he hasn’t yet. “Why aren’t you my baby?”

This can’t be a permanent thing, and he knows that. Eventually, Daryl will come out of his grief over Merle, and things will go back to the way they were before. He has no idea what the omega will do once he’s in a different mindset, but Rick knows what it will do to him. He loves taking care of his Second, loves how free and almost selfish Daryl is like this – never malicious or cruel, but unafraid of what he wants until his insecurities get the best of him. He’ll miss this when it’s gone, but he can’t force his friend to keep being something he’s not. For now, he can enjoy the peace that caring for Daryl like this brings him – the trust between them that his Second only wants him at the end of the day; that no one else can bring him the kind of safety that Rick does.

“Wanna be,” the cub admits so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear it at first. Daryl bows his head and leans forward to rest it against Rick’s chest, nuzzling and seeking comfort even as his shoulders tense and his ears droop. “Wan’ be yer baby. Wan’ be yers, Daddy, bu’ I can’ be.”

“Why not?” Rick pets down Daryl’s spine and catches sight of Beth coming down the driveway from the corner of his eye, a sweating pitcher held carefully in both hands. When she sees Rick looking at her, she hesitates and tilts her head. He shakes his head once, and she understands immediately; turns and heads back up to the courtyard to wait until Rick has had a chance to calm down the meltdown he can already sense building within Daryl’s trembling body. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he croons, sliding an arm around the omega and pulling him onto his lap. Daryl nuzzles closer immediately, unaware or uncaring of the sweat that Rick is drenched in. “C’mon, little cub, can you use your words for me? Why can’t you be my cub?”

“’Cause ain’ a cub,” Daryl sniffles. His ears are flat against his hair and his tail is limp behind him. “Ain’ a baby weally, an’ I ain’ ‘posed ta wanna be. ‘Posed ta be big an’ I don’ wanna be. Wanna be widdle, wanna be yers.”

“You are mine, Daryl,” Rick promises seriously. He tucks the cub’s head under his chin and starts to rumble soothingly, petting the omega and trying to dispel his unhappiness. “For as long as you want to be. I made that decision, and I’m not goin’ back on it now. You chose me, and I swore to protect you no matter what, and I’m sticking by that.”

“Bu’ wha’ ‘bou’ when ya don’ wanna no mo’e?” his Second sobs, and with that first sob comes more until he’s crying and adding his tears to the sweat rolling down Rick’s bare chest and stomach. His arms wrap tightly around the Alpha, clinging to him like he’s afraid he’s going to be ripped away and cast aside. Rick has a feeling he knows where this is coming from, because throughout his entire life Daryl was never allowed to have the things he needed or wanted most. They were taken by his father, by Merle, and maybe even by his mother. He was forced to grow up at a painfully young age, to be bigger and better because it was the only way he could survive. Merle had said it himself, once – Daryl had always been the sweet one. He’d always been gentle-natured beneath the mask of toughness and open hostility. The entire pack had seen glimpses of it, throughout the time they’ve known him. Daryl showed his true colors when Sophia went missing – showed the depths his pain went to when the cub turned out to be beyond their help. He threw his lot in with them, chose them over his brother more than once, and dealt with Merle’s backlash even when his brother tried to do the right thing in the end.

Daryl has spent his entire life hurting, with no one to comfort him or shoulder some of the burden of his life. His last name is as much a thing of pride for him as it is a shackle, because being a Dixon means he’s tough and unstoppable, but it also means that he’s never been out of the shadow of that curse whenever anyone heard the word Dixon and thought of rough natures and brittle bitterness. Of heavy hands and bruises that needed no explanation, because everyone already knew exactly what they stood for. Daryl’s father was a loveless man, his mother an empty shell, and her death probably burned away more than just her physical body.

For Daryl, love can only come through pain – it’s all he’s ever known how to handle. After a week of tantrums that were handled with gentleness instead of slaps – of nightmares that left him wet from his own fears made physical that were washed away and left him in fresh, soft clothes with gentle hands wiping away his tears – after day after day of compassion and understanding and never once a derisive snarl or careless fist, something in him is pushing. He’s testing the waters, trying to see if it’s all real, and Rick sees it now. His little cub has been so good for him, so sweet and gentle, and now he’s sobbing and beating his fists weakly against Rick’s chest, fighting everything he knows about nature versus nurture, and it breaks Rick’s heart to see it.

“I’ll always want you right here, as you are,” Rick murmurs. He’s not sure at first if Daryl can hear him over his own wails and screams, or the snarl of walkers as they bang against the outer fences, but something must get through, because the sobs soften slightly even if they don’t lessen in intensity. “However you want to be, Daryl, that’s exactly how I’ll have you. I kept you by my side before, through everything. I put my faith and my trust in you, and you did the same to me.” Slowly, he begins to rock them back and forth, crooning and feeling his eyes burn from the tears he’s trying to hold back. “I asked so much of you, and you gave even more than that back. You went above and beyond, even when you didn’t need to. You fought harder, went hungry longer, and trusted even when the others started not to. You’re my friend, my family, and even if you no longer want to be my cub that will never change. While you’re a cub, though, I’ll be happy to have you as mine. That’s not going to go away.”

“Pwomise?”

The sobs are subsiding to sniffles, the wetness drying in the heat as they curl around one another and Rick presses kisses against every inch of Daryl’s face he can reach. He kisses the tip of his cub’s nose and is rewarded with a watery giggle. When he tickles the thin, strong sides he feels the squirm and hears a breathy huff he takes for what it is.

“With my whole heart, sweet little cub. I know feelings are hard. They’re big things, and they’re really overwhelming, but you don’t ever have to worry about me leaving you. I’m not going anywhere, baby boy. I promise. Can you promise me something too?”

Daryl looks up at him, his cheeks still wet with the last of his tears and his nose red and dripping. “Wha’?”

“Promise that even when you don’t want to be a cub anymore, that you’ll still be my friend?”

“Bu’ wha’ ‘f I a’ways wanna be a cub?” his omega asks nervously, his chin trembling.

Rick brushes the sweaty bangs back from Daryl’s face and rubs their noses together. “Then you’ll always be my cub,” he vows. “No matter what.”

“Den I’s a’ways gonna be yer fwiend,” Daryl replies with more surety than Rick has seen in him all week. The cub grabs his hand and hooks two fingers around Rick’s pinky and ring finger, his hold gentle but firm as he brings their hands up between them and looks at the connection, and then at Rick. He smiles, and it’s still a little wobbly, but his eyes are shining like the cloudless sky after a storm, when peace and order are resumed after a torrential rain. It leaves everything fresh and clean, the filth washed away and the leaves reaching for the warmth unobstructed, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Rick has ever seen. Daryl is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, and he smiles as he presses a kiss to his cub’s cheek and breathes in his scent.

“Daddy’s glad to hear that,” he murmurs, and he knows he’s taking a dangerous shot into an uncertain dark here, but it’s worth it for the way Daryl lights up like he’s just been given the greatest gift anyone could ever hand him.

“Fankee, Daddy,” the omega whispers, and when he presses a clumsy kiss against Rick’s cheek the Alpha rumble-purrs louder than he thinks he ever has before.

“Anything for you, sweet cub.”

Just like that, the crisis is over. Daryl follows him back to the rows and sits to watch as Rick grabs the hoe and gets back to work. His Second doesn’t see the need to fill the comfortable silence with inane chatter, but then, Daryl has never been that kind of person. His quiet spells are peaceful, his breathing steady and his eyes bright as he watches Rick and plays with the clumps of dirt the Alpha has overturned and scattered. It’s so good to see the omega in nature where he belongs – even if this nature is surrounded on all sides by thirty-foot-tall chain link fences. To see him with dirt on his hands and smeared on his face and arms – already decorating the front of his sleeveless shirt and his baggy jeans. Sometimes Rick wonders what the cub would look like cleaned up and dressed in clothes that aren’t torn and old, but there’s something wrong about that mental image. Adorable, undoubtedly, but it doesn’t fit Daryl. Not the Daryl that Rick knows.

“Havin’ fun, little cub?” he chuckles when he stops for a moment to give his back a rest and watch the omega as he starts tossing clods of dirt into the air and catching them again. Dirt sprays his face, landing in his hair and tickling his ears to the point they twitch wildly to free themselves of the debris.

“Yesh!”

“Daryl Dixon, you’re gonna need such a bath when you’re done,” Beth chuckles. Rick looks over at her, glad she waited for so long to try and approach again. She’s got the pitcher still, with an empty cup tucked into each front pocket. One of the cups is smaller, and it has grooves around the top that makes Rick think it’s got some sort of lid. He eyes Daryl, wondering what his Second will do in reaction to what he’s pretty sure is a sippy cup.

“Den Da’ee will baff me,” Daryl retorts primly, and Rick chokes on his next breath, caught between surprise and a laugh at the boldness of the statement. Beth stares at them, her eyes wide and her mouth dropping open slightly. She looks between Rick, who smiles sheepishly, and Daryl, who is once again playing with the dirt. He’s making Triumph pick up clumps with his paws, covering the stuffed bear in the same layer of dirt he’s currently wearing. He doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with what he’s said – not that Rick sees anything wrong with it either. He thinks Beth was just caught off guard, because she’s recovering swiftly and smiling as she pours a glass for Rick and hands it to him. He accepts it gratefully, drinking the cool water and once again thanking Glenn for figuring how to get the walk-in refrigerator working enough for them to store meat and chill drinks. It’s kept them well-stocked with the little game they’ve already brought in; now that they have somewhere to keep the surplus meat they don’t have to worry about it going bad before they can figure out what to do with it. The snares Rick has set up have caught them plenty of rabbits and even an opossum or two, but so far they haven’t had any luck catching wild pigs.

“Can has dwink, Beff?” Daryl asks hopefully. He’s looking up at her from where he’s still sitting on the ground, his legs stretched out before him and a smear of dirt across his cheek from where he’s probably tried to wipe away some sweat. Rick is in the same predicament, covered in dirt and sweat and shirtless to boot. He sees the glance Beth gives him, her scent sparking shyly, and he ignores it for her benefit as she pours Daryl a drink with steady hands.

“Just one second,” she implores the omega when he reaches out eagerly for it. Daryl hesitates, looking at her with a confused scrunch of his eyebrows, and Rick watches with something like nervous anticipation when Beth pulls the lid for the cup from her back pocket and screws it on tightly. It’s dark blue, and there’s no mistaking that it’s a spill-proof toddler lid. When she offers it to Daryl, the cub looks at it with a deeper frown and wrinkles his nose.

“’Sat?”

“It’s to keep you from spillin’ your drink all over the place, puppy,” she chuckles. She picks up on Rick’s slight tension easily, her own narrow shoulders hunching up a little bit as her smile wavers slightly. “I don’t think you or yer Daddy will appreciate it if ya get sticky and wet before it’s even noon.”

“Daddy?” Daryl looks up at him, his eyes pleading and looking for guidance. He knows what this is, what the lid on his drink means, and Rick can see just how badly he wants to take it – how eager he is to cement himself in this newest facet of his littleness. To be honest, the Alpha can’t figure out why he hasn’t tried to have his Second drink from sippy cups so far. He spills more of the drinks on him than he gets in his belly, and having spill-proof lids would have saved a lot of clothes changes. Rick wasn’t lying to Daryl before, and caring for him this past week has never once been a chore, not even when the cub was in tears and screaming.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he encourages with a smile. “Bet you’ll like it.”

With the permission granted, he watches his omega eagerly snatch the cup from Beth and bring it to his mouth to drink. He sucks happily, his tail wagging and his hands clamped around the pseudo bottle as he tilts it back to help get at the liquid inside easier. None of it spills aside from a dribble that rolls down his chin when he’s a little too enthusiastic. Rick shakes his head fondly, watching Daryl as he drinks. Seeing him so content makes the Alpha think about things like bottles and formulas – something nutritional meant for adults, but still close enough to what they feed Judith to appease the cub’s mentality. Licking his lips thoughtfully, he finishes off his own drink and turns to look at Beth.

“Can you send Michonne my way when you find her?” he asks quietly. The beta gives him a quizzical look but nods regardless, her blue-green eyes darting between the Alpha and Daryl.

“I’m glad he’s so happy,” she murmurs, not for the first time. She sets the pitcher down a safe distance from where Rick is working and wipes her hands on her shirt, giving them a parting wave before heading back inside.

Me too, he thinks as he turns to look at Daryl. The cub has stopped drinking for the moment, looking down at his sippy cup and licking the last of the water from his lips. He must feel Rick’s eyes on him, and he smiles bashfully when he looks up and raises the cup for the Alpha’s inspection.

“S’all gone,” he says proudly.

“Good boy,” Rick praises, and it’s worth it when his Second ducks his head and wiggles happily. “Would you like more before Daddy starts working again?”

“Yesh p’ease,” Daryl asks, so polite and sweet. Rick refills his cup and makes sure the lid is secure before giving it back, and he presses a kiss to the crown of Daryl’s head and scratches behind one of his ears before returning to the row he’s almost finished with.

The day isn’t getting any cooler, nor will it with the sun just barely at its highest point, but at least they have something to drink now, and there’s shade for Daryl to play in if he gets too hot. If Rick is timing things correctly, the cub will be wanting a nap soon, and he knows better than to think he’ll be able to coax his little boy inside without going too. What’s more than likely going to happen is Daryl will curl up beneath his tree and nap there while Rick works, at peace amongst the tall grasses and safe in the knowledge that his Alpha is watching him while he sleeps.

--

Michonne joins them when Rick is halfway through the next row. Daryl is playing quietly in the dirt, amusing himself with rocks and twigs. He seems to be intent on building something, but before he finishes his masterpiece he ends up knocking it down and giggling when the rocks roll away and the weaker twigs snap. His sippy cup is just out of the danger zone, but still close enough for him to reach it if he gets thirsty.

To be honest, Rick would probably be a lot farther along if he didn’t keep pausing to watch the cub enjoy himself the way only children can. His eyes are sparkling, his grin so wide his adorable little fangs are visible, and the Alpha feels a warm pulse in his chest with every giggle and quiet squeak.

The younger Alpha comes up to them with a smile already brightening her face, her eyes fixed on Daryl the way Rick’s constantly are. She’s managed to find a strip of leather strong enough to pull her dreadlocks back from her face aside from one or two tendrils, and in the sunlight she looks beautiful and deadly in a way that makes him smile. He feels no attraction toward her – not because she’s an Alpha, because there are plenty of mated Alpha pairs. It’s more because he already looks at her as a sister, someone who he trusts to have his back no matter what. It feels like she’s been part of the pack for a lot longer than she actually has, and he doesn’t regret his decision to invite her to join them.

Her katana clacks quietly when she crouches down at the end of the last row Rick finished, her fingers digging into the loose soil and sifting through it. She has a thoughtful look on her face, the silence that often follows her calm and stoic instead of crackling with tense agitation. She knows she’s not here for anything that might threaten herself or the others, so she’s content to wait until Rick breaks the comfortable quiet between them that is only broken by Daryl’s happiness.

“I was wondering if you’d be able to look for a few things on your next run,” he starts, and she finally meets his eyes. One eyebrow rises curiously, her eyes wandering from him to sweep over the rows he’s already completed before coming back around to him. Rick doesn’t shift beneath her assessing gaze; waits calmly with an arm propped on the end of the hoe for her to make her own assumptions.

“I’m guessin’ it ain’t for vegetables and fruits,” she hazards. Rick shakes his head and glances toward Daryl. His omega has abandoned his makeshift toys for the moment and is drinking from his cup, his attention on the swaying treetops of the forest beyond the fences. Rick detects a hint of longing in his face, which is mirrored by his scent, and he wonders if Daryl spent all of his time amongst the trees when he was an actual cub. Judging by what he knows of his friend’s childhood so far, he’d say it was a legitimate possibility – pretty much an absolute certainty. His Second has never been comfortable tucked away behind walls. He’s always the happiest when he’s out where he can feel the sun and the breeze. Nature is an integral part of Daryl, and Rick would never be cruel enough to try and keep him from it.

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”

“For him, then?”

They both look at Daryl, who sets his sippy cup aside while they watch and starts to play with Triumph. He’s talking to the bear, but he’s being so quiet that Rick can’t pick out what he’s saying. He can hear the low, soft cadence of his voice, but the syllables bleed together into something that will make no sense unless he decides to move closer.

“He’s having accidents,” he murmurs, even though he doesn’t really need to specify. They’ve all heard Daryl’s nighttime bouts of terror, and more than one of the pack members have seen Rick leading the sniffling omega to the showers to clean him off in the darkest hours of the morning.

“They make them adult diapers, don’t they?” Michonne rocks back until her ass hits the ground, her fingers twisting together in front of her and her arms resting on her bent knees. “Would probably help with that.”

“That’s what I was thinkin’. He really likes that sippy cup, too. Maybe we can get him a few more, and…”

“Bottles?” she guesses. Rick tries not to look too guilty, and luckily the other Alpha has not once tried to judge any of them for anything. She reads his hesitation easily, her intelligent eyes missing nothing and her brain quickly supplying the answers he can’t quite bring himself to say. “Think it might come to that?”

“I have no idea,” Rick admits as he rubs at his mouth distractedly. “I just want to make sure I’ve covered all my bases. He hasn’t really refused food too much yet, so long as I’m the one feeding it to him and he’s on my lap.”

“I’ve noticed,” the woman says, and when he glances at her sharply, she’s smiling. “Relax, Rick. You’re good with him. You’re a hell of a lot more patient with him than some would be.” Her eyes darken briefly, and Rick gets the feeling that she’s thinking of something he has no business asking about. When she comes back to the present, she picks distractedly at some dirt on her pants. “Anything else besides that? Want me to look for some kind of nutritional powder, in case the bottles become necessity?”

“If you could. Anything else is entirely up to you.” Gratefulness for his pack fills him to the point that Rick’s throat feels somewhat tight from all of the emotions. Not one of them has tried to cast Daryl aside. Instead, they’ve all stepped up to be whatever the Second needs them to be; showing their support in whatever way they can and letting him no without any hesitation or uncertainty that there’s nothing wrong with him.

“’Chonne?”

Daryl’s small voice gets their attention faster than if a walker had run into the fence. They both look over at the omega, who has rolled onto his belly in the dirt. Triumph is on his shoulders, leaning against the back of his head in a way that makes the stuffed animal appear to be looking at them from between Daryl’s ears. It should be impossible for him to get any more adorable, but he still managed to.

“What’s up, little bee?”

Aside from the slightest scrunching of Daryl’s dirt-smudged nose, the cub shows no reaction to the nickname. He seems to have become used to all of the endearments the pack showers him with. Everyone has their own little nickname for him – from Hershel constantly calling Daryl his little buck to Glenn calling him bup. What that even means, none of them are sure, but Daryl seems to like it, and so none of them voice their confusion around him. When Rick had managed to ask Glenn during one of his omega’s naps, the beta had shrugged sheepishly and muttered something about his father always calling him buppy.

“You’s goin’ ou’ dere?” the cub whispers, his eyes wide and frightened as he glances toward the fences. There are walkers too close for Rick’s comfort, but Daryl seems to know that he’s as safe as he can be with two fences between himself and the undead. That’s a relief, because Rick wouldn’t know what to do otherwise.

Michonne twitches, her teeth biting into her lower lip, and Rick scrambles to try and think of a way to avoid another meltdown if Daryl gets distressed at the thought of his packmate going out into the dangers beyond their home. Never mind that she is more than capable of taking care of herself, and she’s gone out several times already since That Night, but every time Daryl hears about one of them going on a run, or realizes someone is missing, he becomes panicked and restless until they’re home safe again. It breaks Rick’s heart to see his little cub so distressed, but there’s not much they can do about it. There are things they need that they cannot get without going out and searching.

“Just for a quick run,” the other Alpha promises, crouching down and opening her arms for the omega. He’s quick to scramble to his knees and into the comfort of her embrace, tucking his head beneath her chin and whining quietly. She pets his shoulders and back the way Rick often does, and he watches them with a gentle smile. He wants so badly to comfort Daryl, but he recognizes that he’s not always going to be able to do it. That doesn’t change the fact that he wants to take all of the bad things away so that Daryl never has a reason to be sad, but for now he'll take what he has and do his best with it if it means his Second has plenty of reasons to smile and laugh.

“Bu’ s’dang’ous ou’ dere,” Daryl whines. Rick bites his lip hard, his heart clenching.

“Michonne is a lot stronger than the walkers,” he finds himself saying, and Daryl turns to look at him from beneath the messy fringe of his bangs. Rick smiles and crouches down as well, wondering if he should just stop his work for the day and take Daryl inside. It seems to be shaping up into a day where everything triggers a fit of hysterics, and if he can keep the cub calmer inside, where he doesn’t have to see the walkers and he can bask in the protective comfort of the pack, then that is a decision Rick will have no trouble making.

“You know they aren’t a match for me, little bee,” Michonne adds. Daryl’s attention returns to her, the hunched line of his shoulders easing back down again. Rick reaches out to pet down his omega’s back, feeling him relax further under the combined comfort of the two Alphas.

“Don’ wan’ ya comin’ back w’ong,” his Second murmurs. His ears droop, his tail limp in the dirt, but he no longer smells like the bitter swell of fear that had started building the second he’d realized his packmate was planning on leaving their sanctuary.

“I promise you that I won’t, bumble bee.” Michonne leans back and taps Daryl’s dirty nose, smiling when he sneezes in response. “I have too many important people waiting for me here. Especially you. Gotta bring my little bee back some treats, don’t I?”

“Tweats?” Daryl’s eyes grow wide, his tail twitching before it starts to wag, and Rick hides his smile behind his hand. It’s just like a cub to be thoroughly distracted from any brewing tantrum by the thought of presents.

“Yep.” The Alpha gives him one more squeeze and tickles his sides while he’s distracted, and Rick has the delight of watching from the sidelines as Daryl’s cheeks turn pink and his eyes sparkle while he squeals and squirms and kicks his feet happily.

“No! No tickles!” he shrieks through his bursts of laughter. As adorable as he looks, as much fun as it is to watch him so open and unafraid of smiling and showing his happiness, Rick can hear the walkers building along the fence line and he knows he either has to quiet the omega or take him inside. Before he can say anything, Daryl’s eyes land on one of the bodies ramming repeatedly into the fence near them. His giggles cut off in the middle, the sudden silence startling enough that both Rick and Michonne twitch. It’s heartbreaking to see him curl into himself and turn quiet, his thumb shoved roughly into his mouth and his eyes downcast. He reaches for Triumph with his free hand, snagging the bear from where he’s laying in the dirt and hauling the stuffed animal close to him. The flood of distress-scent blurs Rick’s vision and makes his eyes burn before he blinks away his instinctive reaction and croons deeply.

“I think it’s gettin’ toward lunch time,” he decides. Daryl glances up at him with the kind of fixation that tells Rick that he’s trying as hard as he can not to let his gaze wander. “You hungry, little cub?”

“Mmm,” Daryl mumbles back, and it’s neither a yes or a no, but Rick has a feeling that once they’re inside and his Second is calmer, he’ll be a lot more open to the idea of food. Before the man can ask, he opens his arms awkwardly. He’s not willing to take his thumb out of his mouth or stop clutching Triumph like the bear will run toward the fences if he relaxes his hold, but the request is easy to read in every line of his cub’s face. Daryl wants comfort, wants to be held and told everything is okay, and Rick is quick to pick him up and brace him with an arm around his shoulders and a hand cupping his thighs to keep him from tumbling down.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. I wonder what Beth and Carol are making.”

“Somethin’ yummy, I bet,” Michonne chimes in. She falls into step beside them, looking back at Rick’s handiwork and the rows ready for seeds before turning back to them. “You’re doin’ good work,” she murmurs. Rick nods at her, smiling gratefully. Daryl nuzzles up under his chin, licking at his Adam’s apple the way a wolf cub would seek comfort and defer to their Alpha. He croons soothingly, shifting his arm so it’s under Daryl’s armpit and wrapped around him. It’s a better angle for him, and it helps keep Daryl’s arm up at an angle so he can reach his thumb better. His omega coos quietly, just the barest whisper of a sound, but it’s a good start.

The farther they get from the fences, the calmer he becomes. By the time they’re at the inner gate, the cub isn’t sucking on his thumb as harshly. Rick holds him and waits for Michonne to drag the chain link panel out of the way so they can slip through. She shuts it behind them and hesitates, so Rick tilts his head slightly.

“Be safe,” he instructs quietly. The other Alpha may be part of his pack, may defer to him and follow his decisions, but Rick has never wanted to be the kind of leader that took the choice away from others completely. His slip into grief-driven darkness over the winter was the closest he ever got to taking away the free will of his family, and he never wants to go back to that. He remembers every time Daryl flinched away from him when his emotions got the better of him – when Rick gave into his anger over failing to find a safe place and Shane’s betrayal just a little bit and threw a can or smashed a piece of rotting furniture. Each time was a horrible reminder of the kind of life the omega had been forced to live, and the guilt had eaten away at him even more every time his trusted friend recoiled like he was expecting the next blow to be aimed at him.

“Always am,” the woman replies, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her dark, gentle eyes drop to Daryl, who is laying his head against Rick’s shoulder and looking at her with nervous eyes. “You be good for him, bumble bee. If I come back and hear about any kind of mischief, then no treats for you.” She wags her finger playfully, and Daryl’s nod is slow but emphatic. Rick presses a kiss to his hair, smiling against the dark chestnut strands and feeling one soft, furry ear tickle his cheek when it twitches.

“Will be,” the cub promises, the soft words lisped around his thumb. “M’always good f’r Da’ee.”

“I know.”

After watching Michonne walk away to join Glenn, who is carefully checking over the saturn they’re planning on using for the run, Rick turns and heads inside. He learned the art of holding onto a cub and getting through closed doors when Carl was big enough to require both hands but still young enough to want the comfort. Daryl is a lot bigger, but he’s also more inclined to hold onto Rick with arms and legs and brace himself with his own strength, so the Alpha gets them inside with no mishaps and presses a grateful kiss to his Second’s damp temple.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re such a good boy.”

“M’yer goo’ boy,” Daryl agrees, managing a small smile around his thumb and looking just as sweet and shy as he always does when Rick praises him. The Alpha has to kiss both of his pink cheeks and rub their noses together, breathing in deeply with a smile. Two steps down the dim hallway, he pauses and inhales deeply again.

Daryl always smells like the woods somehow, but there’s another scent just being hinted at; one that makes Rick flare his nostrils and fill his lungs to capacity. It pings in a way that makes his instincts rouse and his eyes widen, and he’s quick to drop his head and breathe in quick, short huffs against the offered line of the omega’s throat.

The last time his Second went through heat, they were roaming during winter. They’d woken up one morning to find Daryl furiously stripping sticks to make arrows, his skin sheened with sweat and his eyes glassy. He’d been panting and shaking, but his hands had been quick and steady. The ripe scent of fertility and pheromones had swelled around him, thickening in the air and calling with a siren song that Rick’s biology had responded to on principal, because he’s an Alpha and Daryl is an omega and their instincts have always responded to one another on a deeper level than anyone else could ever hope to understand or match.

It doesn’t matter that Daryl has never shown any interest in another person in even a vaguely romantic way – didn’t matter that Rick had been faithful to Lori even though he knew the cub swelling her belly didn’t belong to him. It’s the bond of Alpha and omega, and he’d been drawn to the archer’s side helplessly.

Daryl had snarled at him, shoulders tight with tension and sharp teeth bared as his eyes glittered bronze and his tail had hung stiffly behind him. He’d been gearing up for a fight, ready to rip Rick’s throat out if he tried anything, but the Alpha hadn’t. He’d stuck close to Daryl, but he hadn’t attempted anything untoward or sexual at all. After the second day, his friend realized that he was in no danger from Rick or his drive to claim and mate, and he’d relaxed enough for them to interact without fear of bloodshed.

“How ya feelin’, baby boy?” he murmurs unevenly. The realization hits him like a punch to the solar plexus, his arms tightening a little bit around the cub snuggled against his chest until he takes a slow, even breath and forcibly calms himself before anything leaks into his scent. He should have been prepared for this – should have realized that just because Daryl’s headspace was different didn’t mean his body would completely reflect that. He’s still a fully-grown man, in person if not in mind at this exact moment. He’s still a mature omega physically, and with the end of the world screwing with everyone’s senses of time and making any kind of suppressants hard to get a hold of, there’s things they could control Before that are completely out of their hands now.

“M’warm, Alpha,” Daryl slurs a bit thickly, sounding like he’s caught somewhere between contentment and tiredness. “C’n we lay down af’er lunch?”

Rick breathes in again slowly, carefully, and he bites his lip at the teasing hint of the one thing he doesn’t know how to deal with when Daryl isn’t big enough to care for himself the way he will need to.

“Sure thing,” he mutters as he slowly starts walking again, his mind racing as he tries to come up with ways to approach this newest problem.

How is he supposed to take care of Daryl when the cub is in the grips of his heat without jeopardizing everything they’ve already worked so hard to establish? How can he help Daryl and still have his cub trust him afterward, if things go wrong?

For the first time since this whole thing began, Rick feels the cold tendrils of fear and apprehension curling in his stomach.

He doesn’t know if he’s equipped to handle this.

Chapter Text

“No!”

“Daryl, please, just-”

“NO!”

Rick ducks to avoid the plate of food thrown his way, and feels a few kernels of sweet corn bounce off his shoulders. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs and tries to take several slow, deep breaths. He needs to be patient, and usually, that wouldn’t be an issue. With the new hint of sweetness in Daryl’s scent though, and the way the pre-heat warmth is already starting to make him cranky and irritable, the Alpha is beginning to wear thin. He knows the cub doesn’t fully understand what’s going on when he’s like this – Daryl has gone through plenty of heats before, yes, but Rick doubts he’s ever been little while they happened. It’s got to be a lot more overwhelming for him, and the cub is handling it poorly.

Not that Rick is handling it much better.

“Daryl,” he says quietly. The omega is red-faced and tense, tears sparkling in his eyes. His nails are digging into the top of the table, dragging piercingly against the metal.

“Don’ wan’ it,” he spits. “Don’ wan’ none’a it, Daddy. Is gwoss!”

“You love green beans,” Rick argues, even though he knows it won’t do any good right now. Daryl had seemed perfectly happy and content until they’d gotten to the cafeteria and Rick had set him down. After the Alpha had gone to fill their plates, he’d come back to this, and he’s been trying to manage the situation ever since.

“No I don’!”

“Daryl Dixon,” the Alpha growls, and his tone is enough to cow his Second slightly, but not enough for that fire in his pale blue eyes to completely diminish. “Are you sassing me?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, and it’s clearly a lie. Rick doesn’t need to scent the air – not that he particularly wants to right now anyway – to tell that much. “Jus’ don’ wan’ no gwoss food!”

“What if you sit on Daddy’s lap and he feeds you?” Fisting a hand in his curls, Rick tugs at them in frustration and licks his lips. He was going to do that anyway, but once Daryl’s tantrum had started, the cub had refused to see reason. He’s ready to call for Carol or even Beth to see if they’ll have more luck, because he’s running out of ideas that don’t involve giving the bratty omega a swat on the rear. Considering Daryl’s history of being abused, Rick is not at all sure that that will be a good way to deal with untoward behavior.

“No!” Banging his fists against the table, Daryl shrieks loudly enough that the Alpha winces. A headache is blooming behind his eyes, his instincts are at war, and the heat trapped in the thick walls of the prison is possibly more stifling than being outside right now. At least out in the yard there’s a breeze going, instead of just stale, dead air hanging heavy and stagnant until he feels like he’s choking on each breath.

Rick hears the rush of footsteps coming toward the cafeteria, and looks up to see Carl hurrying into the room. He’d probably heard Daryl from wherever he may have been and has come to see what was the matter, and as soon as he breathes in he presses the back of his hand against his nose and looks at Rick with wide eyes.

“Sounds like someone needs a nap,” he jokes weakly. Daryl turns his glare to Carl, his mouth pinched in a tight line and his expression scrunched up like he’s about to start screaming.

“Don’ need no nap!” he shouts. Carl twitches in surprise, clearly not expecting that kind of retaliation, but to his credit he recovers a lot quicker than Rick currently can. His grin is light and easy when he comes to sit beside the distraught cub.

“Is that right?” the young Alpha-prospect chuckles. As Rick watches, his son pulls the remaining plate over to his side of the table and scoops up a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes. Carol had worked hard to make them taste decent without any kind of milk or fresh butter, and he thinks she did a pretty good job. She’s become a bit of a cooking genius, mixing things that normally wouldn’t have gone together in order to get a flavor that was appetizing to most of the others. The Den Mother takes pride in what she does, and Rick has to smile to himself when he thinks about how far they’ve all come since the quarry.

“Ain’ tired,” his Second mumbles angrily. “Ain’ tired, ain’ hun’gy, ain’ nuffin’.”

“Oh, you’re something,” Carl replies. He looks at the mashed potatoes, then at Daryl, and Rick sees his mind working. He’s so pleased with how strong his firstborn has become. He shares Rick’s quick mind, the two of them able to see problems from every angle and strategize for every possible outcome. Right now, they’re tackling a man-sized cub who is refusing to eat his lunch, and Rick can’t figure out why.

“No m’not.” Daryl glares at the tabletop and kicks his feet angrily against the ground. Rick glances toward Triumph out of reflex and is thankful that the stuffed animal is still laying on the bench a few inches from his Second. He’s not sure he wants to imagine the kind of tantrum that would result from the bear falling.

“Says who?” Rick asks gently. Taking the seat across from his son and his omega, he leans his forearms on the table and watches them. The close proximity isn’t making his instincts any calmer, but he ignores the torn feeling of being pulled in opposing directions in order to focus on Daryl and what he needs. “C’mon, sweetheart, use your words. Can you tell me what’s bothering you?”

The cub kicks his feet again; slipping his thumb into his mouth and sucking on it while he looks down and shrugs. “Don’ feel good,” he finally mumbles. His ears flatten, his shoulders tremble, and the tantrum threatens to dissolve into tears if they can’t figure out a way to distract and redirect Daryl’s attention. His poor cub must be feeling so miserable right now, and Rick wishes that he could make it all okay, but he can’t. He can’t rewrite Daryl’s biology for him, but he can do a better job at comforting his Second through what will probably be a traumatic experience for him.

“In your tummy?” Carl asks. Daryl looks at him sideways, thumb firmly lodged behind his teeth. He shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate, although Rick doesn’t really feel like there’s a strong need to. The omega’s heat isn’t anywhere close to being in full-swing yet – that will take a few more days. If he’s already like this now, though, the Alpha dreads seeing what he’ll be like during the overwhelming grip of it. With his mind being pulled to pieces just at this moment, Rick doesn’t know if it’ll be safe for any of them if he stays by Daryl’s side for those four or so days.

From what he’d seen of Daryl’s heats in the past, they generally last for about eight days. The first two days are the lead-up for him, although before now, no one ever really could tell aside from the way his scent started to change. After that, his heat peaked for four days, and while it never really affected the Second’s ability to take care of his family, it was clear he wasn’t his usual self. Between his heightened aggression from his needs and the crippling need itself, it’s a wonder he was ever able to stay on his feet and get anything done.

That’s the incredible thing about Daryl Dixon though. He always managed to get anything done, no matter what state he was in or what the cost was to himself. If it involved the pack, he would run himself into the ground to keep the others safe and happy. Rick has tried again and again to tell him it’s okay to relax, but for Daryl, relaxing was never an option. It was either all or nothing for him, and seeing how much he’s lost just to give the rest of them everything is both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring.

There will never be another man like Daryl. Rick is certain of it. No one will ever be so strong and yet so desperate for guidance, so independent while craving the safety and comfort of others. He is an anomaly, something so rarely seen in the world even before it ended, because so few people look at omegas and see them as anything but what the laws and culture dictates them to be. Considering how far the world had come before it all went to hell, society was still very Victorian in their view on the lowest class of its citizens. Omegas were the breeders and the caretakers – the weakest link in the chain, even though they were so much more. Rick remembers all too well how some of the officers treated omega victims, especially if those officers were Alphas.

Rick has never been that kind of man. He wasn’t raised that way, and he never wanted to try to be any other way than he is. He’s a protector and a caretaker – a leader and a guider. He never tried to focus on rank, and he never treated anyone else like they were lower just because their biology wasn’t the same as his – Daryl is his proof of that. Granted, in the beginning he was blown away by the fact that the man was an omega, but as he got to know the fiery archer who fast became his confidant, and later his Second, he knew that Daryl was the proof that someone could never only be their rank. Men and woman could never be so caged in by what their biology classified them as. Alphas who believed different need only look at Daryl to see the truth of that.

“You know what might make you feel better?” Carl asks. Daryl looks at him, wide-eyed and curious. Rick watches as his omega reaches to snag Triumph from where he’s been laying, pulling the stuffed bear tightly against his chest and clinging to him with his free arm.

“Wha’?” he lisps around his thumb, the word mumbled and slurred. Rick can tell he’s getting tired already – the new surge of emotions and instincts are hitting him hard, and the cub doesn’t know what to do about them. Daryl as a man would know exactly how to handle his oncoming heat. Daryl as a cub has no idea what’s happening to him – or at least no idea what to do about it. Rick still isn’t entirely sure the way Daryl’s mind works like this, but if he’s saying he doesn’t feel good, even if it’s not in his tummy, then maybe he blocks out that part of himself when he’s in his little headspace.

With a serious face that is somewhat out of place for the situation, Carl holds up the spoonful of mashed potatoes so Daryl can see it. “Eating always helps when your tummy is twisty,” the teenager says solemnly. “Food helps us feel better faster, did you know that?”

“But I don’ wan’ it,” the omega whines softly. He looks at the food like it’s going to rear off the plate and bite him. It’s adorable and disheartening, because Daryl is stubborn at the best of times when he doesn’t want to do something. Rick doesn’t really relish the idea of holding the omega down and forcing the food down his throat, and he doesn’t think that will go over well with the cub, either.

“But sometimes, we have to do things we don’t want,” Carl explains. He glances at Rick, his eyes asking a question that he’s not willing to voice in front of Daryl. The Alpha nods slowly, smiling at his son’s determination to help. Carl smiles back before looking at Daryl again. The cub is watching them, hugging Triumph tightly against himself with both arms now and still sucking his thumb. His eyelids are drooping, his body fighting against him as a faint flush darkens his cheeks.

Rick swallows thickly and leans forward a little bit. With Daryl smiling at him sleepily from around his thumb, the Alpha cannot help but smile back. His Second is so sweet and adorable, his hair fluffing up and his ears twitching as he tries to stay awake to follow the conversation. It’s a battle he’s not going to win, but he’s trying anyway.

“Just a few bites, sweetheart?” he encourages the cub. “Just a few, and then we can go take a nap. That might help your tummy feel better, don’t you think?”

“No it won’,” Daryl mumbles. He drops his hand away from his face and opens his mouth anyway. Rick doesn’t even need to ask before Carl is already handing him the spoon. He wants to ask what Daryl means by that, but instead he feeds the cub small bites between sips of water. His Second doesn’t seem capable of complaint anymore; he eats what Rick offers and licks the spoon clean as his eyes close a little further with each passing minute.

“Time for my sweet little one to get some sleep,” Rick finally chuckles. Carl murmurs a soft goodnight to them and slips out of the room, leaving them to their moment of peace. Rick sets the mostly-empty plate aside and moves around the table so he can crouch in front of Daryl and open his arms for the cub. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s go get you tucked in for your nap, okay?”

“’Kie, Da’ee,” his omega mumbles. His arms are limp around Rick’s throat when he hugs him, with Triumph squished safely between their chests. Daryl’s long legs wrap around him, and his hands go to his friend’s strong thighs to help hold him up. He can already feel the heat radiating from Daryl, and it makes sweat prickle at the hollow of his throat. Rick does his best to ignore it, especially with his instincts so tangled up between two entirely different commands. The unmated Alpha in him recognizes the siren call of Daryl’s scent, and demands Rick claim the omega as his own. On the other hand, the protector in him sees a cub who is struggling, and all he wants to do is wrap Daryl up in his warmest, softest blankets and see him through this experience in whatever way will make it the least stressful for his Second.

None of this has been easy for Daryl – especially considering the circumstances that led to it. To be going into heat on top of it all must be screwing with his thoughts in such a bad way. It’s no wonder he’s acting out so much, although right now he seems too tired to do anything but hold onto Rick and press his nose against the Alpha’s shoulder to breathe in Rick’s scent. It seems to be helping to keep his Second calm, so he lets him have his moment of peace as he takes them back through the prison to their cell. Some of the pack are around, and they call greetings that fade into uncertainty and surprise when they breathe in and get a nose full of Daryl’s scent.

Carol is there before Rick has even set the cub down on his bed. The Den Mother hovers in the doorway, fingers pressed against her mouth and her ears flattened from nervous distress as she watches Rick lean over Daryl and press a kiss to the omega’s forehead. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she whispers. Rick shares in the sentiment, but for now he focuses on soothing Daryl into sleep rather than lamenting on this newest way fate and circumstance has decided to fuck them over. The silver lining is that Daryl is just so tired now that he doesn’t even fight sleep, and Rick counts his blessings where he can as he sits on the edge of the bed and pets the cub’s hair until his breathing has completely evened out and his grip on Triumph is slightly slack. Once he’s sure his Second won’t wake up, the Alpha lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hand down his face.

“I can’t stay near him when he’s like this, Carol,” he murmurs. It hurts to say, kills him to think, but he has to do what’s best for Daryl. Right now, staying around the omega when he’s in the middle of his heat might be more than Rick can handle. The man is too much of a temptation normally, even with the addition of his little headspace. He checks every fucking box Rick has when it comes to a partner, and he may have been able to hold himself back before, but now? Now that he’s spent every night with Daryl in his bed, when he’s claimed his Second in every way but that purely because of how Daryl’s mindset has made him? He’s going to have to burn his sheets anyway, because with Daryl curled up in the middle of his bed, nuzzling into the Alpha’s pillow and whimpering softly in his sleep, his scent is sinking into the fabric. It’ll be there any time Rick lays down now, and it’s only going to get stronger.

“What do you propose we do?” Carol asks. Rick rumbles in frustration, and Daryl whimpers a little louder - like he recognizes Rick’s distress even in his sleep. Rick strokes down the line of his spine, soothing him back into more peaceful dreams, and looks at Carol with helpless tears burning his eyes.

Every decision he’s made since they left Hershel’s farm has been about keeping everyone safe. They might not have always agreed with what he decided, but in the long run it was better for the whole group. When he decided to start growing their crops, it was because he needed to stay close to Daryl. He needed to protect the cub, and going out on runs or leaving the safety of the fences to thin the walkers wasn’t going to do that. And now he’s got to make another decision, and it’s going to take him away from the packmate he’s been doing everything in his power to protect. Daryl won’t understand, not when he's like this. He won’t see that Rick is trying to keep him safe - safe from his heat, and from the Alpha who wants nothing more than to see him through it as painlessly as possible. He can’t do it like this though, not when Daryl’s mentality is that of a child. His only decision is to leave, and Daryl won’t understand that. He’ll just see it as Rick abandoning him after everything he’s done, after everything they’ve been through, and that makes Rick want to throw himself off the fucking roof. It makes him want to leave and slaughter any walker in his path until the roiling emotions in him are calm and Daryl no longer smells like a temptation he’s dying to indulge in; like a man who’s spent months with barely any food suddenly finding a feast.

Rick wants to gorge himself on Daryl, and he can’t, so he has to leave. For his Second’s safety, and his own sanity, he has to remove himself from the picture. Carol can see his decision, and she whines softly as she watches his determination harden to resolve. This is the shittiest of situations, and everyone is going to suffer because of it, but none of them will suffer even half as much as Daryl is about to when he wakes up and realizes that Rick is gone.

“There has to be another way,” she implores, coming into his room and resting gentle, worried fingers on his bare forearm. She must be able to feel his tenseness, how his muscles have hardened to steel beneath sun-darkened skin. He can see the shimmer in her eyes and smell the faint trace of salt from the tears she’s trying to hold back as well. “Rick, there has to be another way.”

“I’m willing to listen to whatever you come up with,” he rasps. His voice is thick and deep, his Alpha instincts roaring at him to stay, but his rationality is winning the battle and it makes him want to gut himself with his machete. “Carol, if any of you can think of any way for me to stay with him through this, then trust me, I’m all ears. Otherwise, this is the only way. I will not jeopardize everything just because my dick wants to get wet and he’ll be too out of his fuckin’ mind to know better. I’m not doin’ that to him.”

Ricks’ words are tinged with a rumbling growl, his emotions edging into the more unstable swirl of his mentality. He can feel his eyes burning and knows it’s not from tears this time, and he watches as Carol takes a nervous step back; her eyes darting to Daryl like Rick’s momentary slip will have a negative effect on the cub. She’s probably right, just not in the way she’s thinking, because Rick would never do that to his Second. He would never take away Daryl’s ability to choose, especially when he’s not fully aware of himself to do so - whether from his little headspace or his encroaching heat.

Daryl whines in his sleep, and Rick turns away from the Den Mother. He leans over his cub and presses his nose into the omega’s sweat-damp hair, breathing in deeply and rumbling to settle his friend. Everything in him is screaming to protect, although the pieces of him roaring at him to Claim are getting louder, and he knows he’s in trouble. Daryl’s scent isn’t even that strong yet, but they’ve sunken so deeply into each other in the past weeks. They're so wrapped up in each other that his instincts can’t differentiate between platonic protection and romantic claim. Rick loves Daryl with every fiber of his being, and his primal brain is twisting that into something that makes his eyes silver and his canines ache. He noses gently at Daryl’s cheek, smiling when his Second coos in his sleep. He nuzzles down the sweaty line of the cub’s throat, breathing in where his scent is stronger and rumbling again before Carol makes a soft sound and he jerks back with a wounded, garbled noise of horror.

“I can’t stay here,” he says again, repeating what they both already know. He tastes blood in his mouth and can’t tell if it’s because he bit his tongue, or if his gums are bleeding from him fighting himself. His canines want to grow, want to thicken and make it easier for him to bite and hold as he mounts, and Rick drags his nails down his own throat to use the hot lines of pain to try and ground himself with a low, dark growl. “Carol, can you see him through this?”

“You know I can,” the Den Mother whispers. “But Rick, where will you go?”

“Somewhere.” Laughing bitterly, Rick yanks at his own curls and squeezes his eyes shut. He refuses to breathe, holding it in until his lungs burn, and turns to walk out of his own cell with Carol sticking at his heels. “I’ll stay up on the fuckin’ roof if that’s what it takes, Carol. Or I’ll bunk in the guard tower. I just... For his safety, I can’t stay here.”

“We’ll keep him as safe as we can,” his friend promises. Her ears are flat against her hair, her tail limp and lifeless behind her. She doesn’t like this - hell, it’s fucking destroying Rick already and he hasn’t even left yet - but there’s no other choice. It’s better if he leaves now, when Daryl’s sweet, addictive scent is still faint enough for him to keep most of his wits about him. If he tries to leave later, when his Second is futher into the unrelenting grip of his mating instincts, Rick won’t be able to do it. He’ll break, and it will ruin everything.

Daryl means too much to him for Rick to destroy what they have just because their instincts are trying to persuade him otherwise.

“Thank you, Carol,” he whispers, and then he’s striding away and feeling his soul tear and bleed, stretched by a distance he has no choice but to put between himself and the man he’s come to love more than almost anything else.

It’s for the best, he tells himself firmly as he slams his way through the door of the common room with a loud, echoing bang and stalks toward the courtyard for some fresh air that will hopefully help clear his mind. It’ll all work out in the end.

His silent words sound weak even in his own head.

---

“Alpha! Please!”

Rick curls over himself and jams his palms harder against his ears; bites his lips so hard that thick, hot blood drips down his chin. He’s shaking like a leaf being whipped around in a hurricane, his emotions roiling as bad as one and his stomach cramping so painfully from hunger and holding himself back that he knows he’d be throwing up - if there was actually food in his stomach. He’s up on the roof, the door between himself and the rest of the pack locked and fucking chained from the inside thanks to Glenn and Hershel. Rick knows that eventually, his instincts will try to take over in a way he can’t fight, and he’d wanted to make sure they were adequately prepared to deal with the fallout should his Alpha side overpower his reason.

That doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t chase Daryl’s screams from where they’ve burrowed so deeply into his conscience that he feels like they follow him into his dreams - hot, heavy dreams where the agonized wails turn to beautiful moans and howls. Where Daryl is wet and tight and hot around him as Rick mounts the omega and sinks his knot so deep into his Second’s willing body that he feels like they’ll never fully be apart again. God but the dreams are just as bad as Daryl’s frantic sobs, filling him with shame every time Rick wakes up and sees his cum cooling on his chest and his knot hard and locked within a phantom apparition.

It’s been three fucking days, and he barely sleeps. He hardly eats what Michonne brings him. It's always her, because she’s the strongest Alpha next to him, and the one who interacts with Daryl the least. He’d almost ripped Glenn apart when the beta had showed up the first day of his self-imposed exile, covered in Daryl’s scent and carrying a tray of food. Daryl hadn’t even been like this then, but his scent, his need, was so sweet and so powerful already that Rick's vision had gone red and his eyes had burned silver. It had taken Maggie and Michonne to bring him down, with the silver gleam of Michonne’s katana at his throat when he’d regained enough of his mind to realize what he’d almost done. He’d been horrified, and they swore they didn’t blame him, but that’s not going to be nearly enough to stop Rick from blaming himself.

“Alpha!” Daryl sobs again, and Rick bites through his ruined, bleeding lip as he curls further into himself. He’s covered in sweat, his curls dripping and his muscles spasming as he fights himself on every front. He wants it, that damning voice whispers greedily. He needs it. Listen to him. You’re letting him suffer. What kind of Alpha are you, to deny your omega?

One with some fuckin’ morals, he thinks back savagely. One who knows what’ll happen if I do this. I will not live the rest of my life seein’ him look at me like I’m a monster because I couldn’t control myself. I will not become his father in his eyes.

Rick knows he’s arguing with himself - with his instincts and the part of his genetic makeup that determined his rank before he was born. His mind is a fractured, frantic mess of jumbled pleas and snarled declarations. The psychosis that took him after Lori’s death, the dark part of him that rose after Shane’s betrayal - it’s all combining to rip him apart from his atoms outward, and Rick knows that something is going to eventually give, but he’s fighting it as hard as he fucking can. He will not ruin one of the greatest things that’s ever happened to him outside of Carl’s birth and Judith’s. He will not destroy his best friend, his Second, his incredible, strong omega, because of this. He will not break Daryl, possibly beyond saving, because of this.

“Rick?”

Carol’s voice filters softly through the reinforced door, and he snarls in warning as he retreats across the roof. He’s trying to move farther from the sound of Daryl’s cries, but that’s an impossible task. His cub is tucked away somewhere in the prison, probably as far from Rick as they can get him, but it doesn’t matter. It bounces off the walls and echoes up through the roof, zinging up through Rick’s soles and tumbling around in his chest to wreck havoc on his heart before searing its way up into his brain.

It was never this hard when he was mated to Lori. She was a beta, and he’s been around omegas in heat before thanks to being a cop, but it never felt like he was ripping himself apart because he was denying his nature the thing it wanted more than anything else. He watched those omegas writhe and sob with impartial eyes, solemn and serene in the face of their need unless he could help ease their distress in a clinical way. None of them ever unmade him the way Daryl is so thoroughly doing now. Rick would be tempted to actually throw himself off the roof and let the ground take him from this torture, but he knows what it will do to his family. He knows what it will do to Daryl, when the man comes back to himself and realizes everything that’s happened.

He’ll never forgive himself. And it will be Rick’s fault.

“I’m fine, Carol,” he snarls. It’s a lie, and everyone knows it. Shit, the walkers slamming themselves against the fence in a frenzy at the smell of his blood probably know it too, but that doesn't change the fact that this is how it has to be. Rick snarls again, purely because he doesn’t know what else to do, and drops his hands. He digs his claws into his bare thighs, gritting his bleeding teeth and watching the red well up as he flays his own skin from his bones. The pain grounds him slightly, clearing some of the Alpha fog from his brain, but it’s not enough.

“Rick!” Carol says frantically. She can probably smell the heavier scent of his blood now. She’s pounding on the door like it will do anything - like it will bring Rick some measure of clarity rather than winding him tighter as Daryl’s sobs increase in pitch. It’s like his omega can sense his turmoil, like Daryl knows that Rick is hurting and he wants to ease the Alpha’s anguish. The only way he can is for Rick to knot him and end this, and the victory will be sweeter when paired with Daryl’s relieved, desperate noises. He’ll be so sweet as he begs for Rick, so fucking perfect in every way, and he’ll swell so beautifully with Rick’s pups. They’ll be strong, like their parents, and Daryl will carry them so naturally. He’ll be Rick’s, his submission will be so pure and gorgeous, and--

“GOD DAMN IT.” Rick slams his fist into the shingles hard enough to crack and dent them. Agony vibrates up his arm in crippling waves, and he barks out a louder, angrier sound as he cradles his broken hand to his chest and spits out snarls that crack through the air and seem to split it beneath the force of his fury. “Go away, Carol,” he snarls. “Just go.”

He can smell the sharp scent of her fear and apprehension, and it’s not fucking helping right now. He unravels enough to roar, and he knows what he would look like if anyone were to throw open the door and see him now - bloody saliva dripping from elongated fangs, his lips peeled back and red and his eyes a glowing, marbled silver that would overtake everything to show just how far into Feral he’s tipped. His claws are dripping blood, his thighs torn open and his bare skin streaked with red and pink as his sweat cuts trails through it.

Daryl howls with him, so beautiful and desperate to help and to be helped, and god, Rick is the worst fucking Alpha in existance for denying him. For denying them both honestly, because Daryl needs just as badly as he does right now, but he can’t let himself break. He can’t fix this right now, not in a way that will make them okay when the dust settles and Daryl comes out of it.

"Rick!" Multiple feet pound up the stairwell, and he hears the rattle of the chains - the snick of the key sliding into the padlock as Glenn fumbles with it. He hears the rasp of Michonne drawing her katana just to be safe, and he knows it won't do a damn bit of good if they come through that door.

Drawing every scrap of rationality he's clinging to by the skin of his bleeding teeth, Rick digs his claws deeper into his thighs and feels the slick blood bubble up against his dirty palms.

"Go," he orders them. His voice resonates with power, his Will rolling over them as his Alpha Voice settles into their psyches like a thick, oppressive blanket. They feel his battle in a way he would never have wished upon them, but more than that, they feel his command all the way down deep in their marrow. Carol whimpers and Glenn whines - Michonne hisses through her teeth as she tries to fight it. Rick snarls, pouring everything he can into his next words and barely holding back the Alpha in him screaming Give me Daryl. "Leave. Now. Do not come back."

"We can't just leave you sufferin', Alpha," Michonne whispers through the door. He hears the heavy thump of her palm when she smacks the heavy metal, her frustrations making her scent bitter and pinging in Rick's primal brain as a challenge. He snarls and rises to his feet, blood splattering to the ground beneath him from wounds that are deep enough to bleed profusely but will heal quickly enough that he can't bring himself to worry.

"You will do as I say," he rumbles. His Will is something he rarely imposes, and for good reason. It's hard enough to see them react when he has some measure of control over himself. Now, like this, they're lucky there's a door between him and them. His power is unchecked, rolling over them with the force of tsunami waves. Glenn buckles beneath it; he can hear his First's knees hit the hard landing. Carol is mute, trapped fully in his command until they're far enough away and his order is obeyed.

"Go."

They leave - he can hear Michonne picking up Carol to carry the Den Mother. Once their scents begin to fade, his pleased rumble makes the air around him tremble. Daryl is quiet for now, but not completely silenced. Rick's Will reached his omega as well - he can hear the cub mewling pitifully and flares his nostrils to drink in the addictive scent of the omega’s heat. He's almost at the peak, lost completely in his biological drive, and Rick growls quietly as he prowls across the roof and leaves trails of blood and red, tacky footprints everywhere he steps. He crosses his own trails, leaving a macabre picture painted across the shingles. The walkers are insistent, building up in a way that promises trouble if they're not dealt with soon. When Rick comes close enough to the edge, he hunkers down on the thin ledge and digs bloody claws into the concrete lip. He roars his challenge at them and sees Maggie and Glenn hurrying across the field toward the fences to try and cut down the numbers. They glance up at him and he cocks his head to the side, his satisfied rumble vibrating from deep in his chest.

The sound softens and becomes something pleased when a scent tickles his nose. It’s light and sweet, but also musky and alluring. It calls to his instincts as well as his soul, and Rick’s low growl is layered with many different responses to that scent. There’s possessive pride and protective love. There’s strength and sorrow and sweetness, and a bond that reaches deeper than any other he’s found in his life. It’s love and lust and mate, and it’s all wound into a single word:

Mine.

“Alpha?”

Rick’s head snaps toward the door, his nostrils flaring as he blows out a punched-out growl and sucks in a whine past bloody, gleaming teeth. He turns away from the edge of the roof and prowls toward the scent that gets stronger with every passing second; his muscles rippling under his skin and his shoulders rolling like he’s a wolf stalking his prey. Daryl’s voice is so rough and desperate, so sweet to his ears, and the Alpha fog settles heavily across Rick’s mind like the blanket he just shrouded his packmates in, command and instinct driving him as reason flutters out the window; chased away by the needy whimper of his omega.

“Daryl,” he purrs, and he hears the cub whine in response to his voice. He smells the slick pouring from the unmated omega’s hole - the desperation and sweat beading across his Second’s skin and the rustle of his loose clothes as he squirms in response to Rick’s low voice.

“Alpha, please,” his omega cries so beautifully, low and pleading and begging for Rick to open the door, to help him. “It hurts, Daddy. It hurts. Ya wen’ away an’ it hurts.”

“I know, sweet little one,” Rick rumbles. He paces in front of the door, dragging his nails across the surface and hearing daryl whimper and shiver in response to the quiet screech it makes. “You need me to make you all better, don’t you.”

“Yes,” Daryl whimpers. His body hits the door with a thump, like if he throws himself against it enough he’ll find a way through it and into Rick’s arms. The Alpha will curl around him and scent him, will rub his claim so deeply into Daryl’s skin even the most thorough showers will never remove it. He’ll carve his mark into his omega’s skin and sear it into his soul, so that no one, no matter who they are, will ever try to dispute that Daryl belongs to him.

“Daddy’s here, sweet one,” the Alpha croons. “He’s here.”

Part of Rick is screaming, clawing at the heavy cloak of the fog and fighting to break free of its hold. This isn’t how this should be! the voice is shouting. This isn’t right! He doesn’t understand like this! The rest of him is gathering like an oncoming storm, his clawed hands splaying over the sun-heated metal of the door. His claws tap across the surface, his head cocked like he’s listening for a weakness in the structure that he can break his way through with enough force and determination.

“Daddy, m’scared,” Daryl says softly. He’s so small, so frightened and sweet and completely naive to what’s happening around him right now. He’s just a cub, for all that his body is that of a full-grown man. He can barely dress himself without help, and he won’t eat unless Rick is holding him and controlling the spoon. HIs nightmares terrify him to the point he wets the bed, and Rick cleans him off in the aftermath the way a parent would care for their cub - the way an Alpha should care for a packmate. There’s so much love and affection and trust between them, and the realization strikes Rick with the crack of a thunderbolt, banishing the fog and leaving him feeling violently nauseous.

He jerks away from the door like it’s burned him. “Daryl, little one, I need you to go,” he rasps. Daryl’s whine is loud and frantic, and his whole body hits the door again with enough force to make it rattle in its frame.

“No! Please don’ send me away!” his Second begs. “Please, I’ll be good! Please, Daddy, it hurts!”

“I know it hurts, baby,” Rick moans. He digs his nails into his scalp, fisting his curls and pulling so hard he feels the pain of them ripping out of his head acutely. “God, Daryl, I know, but… Daddy’s sick right now, angel. He’s really sick. He can’t be around you right for a little while, or you’ll get sick too.”

“M’a’ready sick!” Daryl protests, his voice high and shrill. He sounds so confused and so hurt, and his pain tears Rick apart anew until he’s amazed there’s anything left of him after everything he’s already carved away himself. HIs wounds throb painfully, his cock jerking and leaking between his legs. Through all of this, all his revulsion and disgust with himself, he’s still hard enough to cut diamonds - still leaking at the tip as he smells the slick painting down Daryl’s legs and the pheromones that come with it. “M’sick too, Daddy! Wanna stay wiff you! Please! I’ll be good!”

“You're always good, sweetheart,” the Alpha swears. He presses his wrist across his nose, breathing in his own scent to try and combat the siren song of Daryl’s. “You’re my best cub, Daryl. My favorite boy. Daddy can’t hold you right now though, and I’m so, so sorry for that.” He sounds like he’s been gargling rocks and barbed wire, his voice hoarse and raw as the words spill from his aching throat. His eyes burn with the silver, and tears cut paths down his cheeks; dripping from his jaw to splash against the blood on his collarbones and dilute it. “I’m sorry, Daryl, but Daddy needs to get better, and so do you. Once you’re better, I’ll give you all the cuddles you want, baby, okay?”

“Promise!” Daryl demands. He’s a cub demanding a declaration, selfish and greedy the way all youngsters are. Just the fact that he hasn’t run away gives Rick a glimmer of hope that he hasn’t ruined this beyond salvation, and he takes that weak strength and builds upon it until it’s a solid foundation he can find footing on. “Promise you’s not gon’ leave me!”

“I will never leave you, Daryl. I promise,” Rick whispers. As hardened as his resolve is becoming, he’s still so weak to his instincts with Daryl so close. He can feel the fog trying to wrap around his mind again, and he fights it with everything he’s got. “I’m with you forever, little cub, and that’s a promise. Now, Daddy needs you to go, okay? Go to auntie Carol; I know she’s waiting for you. See if she’ll give you a bath. Ask her to read you a nini story. Can you do that for me, baby boy?”

“I miss ya,” Daryl whimpers. “Why can’t I see ya?”

God, this is so fucking hard for him to do, but Rick has no choice. He can’t let Daryl convince him to open the door. “Because Daddy’s sick, sweetheart. I’ll be better soon though, and then we can spend all day long together; every day if you’d like. I’ll hold you as long as you want, and cuddle you, and you’ll sleep on my chest, okay? Daryl, please, you need to go. You need to go get better, and Daddy will get better too.”

“I love ya, Daddy,” his cub whimpers, and Rick closes his eyes tightly as hot, shameful tears burn down his face. “Feel bett'r soon, otay?”

“I will, sweetheart. I promise. You feel better too. Rest a lot. Can you do that for Daddy?”

“Can,” Daryl promises, sounding miserable and wretched even through the intense, crippling waves of his heat. He’s so fucking strong, so much more than anyone thought he’d ever be. Rick has never been more proud of his Second, and he chokes down his sob because if Daryl hears it, he won’t leave. He’ll stay and beg until Rick rips the door right off its fucking hinges and destroys them both.

“Thank you, baby. Go to auntie Carol. Be a good boy and listen to Daddy.”

Daryl’s miserable, “Kie,” makes Rick feel like the worst kind of person, but the cub turns around and leaves with a quiet snuffle. There’s a soft, “Hi, auntie Carol,” that twists like a shard of glass in Rick’s heart, but at least he knows Daryl will be safe now. Carol has been waiting at the bottom of the stairs nearly the whole time. He’d heard the frantic slap of her shoes against the ground, and the shocked, agonized punch of her breaths as she’d stood and waited, ready to call for backup or try - and fail - to subdue Rick on her own if it came to that.

As soon as she’s got Daryl in her arms, Rick can hear his omega start sobbing against her chest. He’s so confused, and so weak from his heat. Rick would bet his life his Second hasn’t been eating or drinking like he should, no matter how much the others have tried to cajole and plead. He’s suffering just as bady as Rick is, the two of them torn apart by the instincts that protected them for so long - their souls screaming for one another as their current situation forces them to stay apart until Daryl no longer looks at the world with the wonder of a cub, but instead the age and experience of the man Rick knew and fell in love with - probably before he ever realized doing so.

“Thank you,” he hears Carol whisper as she leads the cub away. Rick rolls onto his knees, doubling over until his forehead is nearly touching the ground and baring his fangs in a silent, broken scream as his cock jerks between his thighs and streaks of white paint the black shingles. He’s got nothing but the memory of Daryl begging him for something that wasn’t even sex - the fading scent of the desperate omega filling his nose. It’s enough to make Rick’s back heave as he gags and spits out bitter-tasting bile and saliva, his empty stomach cramping painfully and his soul twisting in disgust even as his body responds and his knot swells like he’s inside of Daryl, saving them both and killing everything they have simultaneously.

Rick hasn’t once been foolish enough to think that Daryl would be okay when he came out of littlespace and realized what Rick had done, if the Alpha was weak enough to mate with him even knowing that his Second wasn’t in his right mind. There would be no more trust. No more love. Daryl would have every right to put him down like a rabid beast, and Rick would welcome the bolt between his eyes without hesitation. Michonne would lead the pack, or maybe Maggie. Maybe even Hershel. Life would go on, but Rick would be dead, and Daryl would probably never be the same. Rick isn’t a monster though, for all that his Alpha instincts are demanding he take what has been so freely offered by an omega who has no clue what he’s offering. He’s not a monster, and he’s never going to betray his Second like that. He’ll never betray Daryl, who is his best friend and whom Rick loves more than he ever realized a single soul was capable of.

The sun beats down on his bare back, but Rick is so cold that he’s shivering. He’s covered in blood and his own cum, and his clothes are in shreds near the door where he’d left them when he’d first ripped them off himself because they felt too tight. He pushes himself to his feet with a low, mournful whine and limps over to the pile of rags. He’s healing well from his self-inflicted damage, but he needs water and food, and he has no idea if anyone will try to disobey and bring him something when he told them not to come back.

It’s hard to clean himself off, but he manages it. When the blood is just a faint stain on his skin, with a few mostly-dried smears here and there that he didn’t have enough saliva to wipe away, Rick sits down and leans back against the hot door. He stretches his legs out in front of him, closes his eyes, and drown himself in his feelings of worthlessness and self-deprecation. There’s only the faintest glimmer of pride in himself that in the end, he beat his instincts and sent Daryl away. It tore him apart, and he knows he’s going to be facing the repercussions of this day somewhere down the road. For now, the Alpha breathes slowly and tries to block out the faint sounds of Daryl sobbing somewhere below him - probably curled up in the Alpha’s bed with Triumph squished against his chest while Carol struggles to soothe him from his anguish. Cubs always feel things so much stronger than adults do. His poor baby boy must be hurting so badly, and his heat just has to be making it worse.

Cracking his eyes open, Rick squints out toward the forest, and for a second, he swears he sees a flash of a white dress through the trees before he closes his eyes again and thunks his head back against the door. He falls asleep like that, with the haunting echoes of Daryl’s misery following into his dreams; all of it tinged by the stark disapproval of his dead wife. Disapproval at what though, Rick doesn’t know - and he can’t bring himself to care. He has no idea if it’s real or a figment of his psychosis brought about by the stress of the last few days.

He can only hope tomorrow will be better.