Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dallis didn’t know how long her dad had been gone. Days, probably. Maybe more. Time didn’t mean much when you couldn’t see the sun move across the sky. It only existed in the steady rhythm of hunger in her belly and the soft, worried whimpers of Bemo, her service dog.

She sat curled up in the corner of the small wooden cabin, her knees tucked to her chest. The air smelled like damp wood and the faint, lingering scent of her father’s jacket that still hung by the door. He had told her to stay put, that he would be back soon. But “soon” stretched longer and longer until it felt like a word that didn’t mean anything anymore.

Bemo pressed his big, warm body against her side, his breath steady, reassuring. She buried her fingers into his thick fur, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He was the only thing in the world that felt real.

She had been blind since birth, or at least that’s what her dad told her. She never missed sight because she had never had it, and the idea of colors or faces was something she only half-understood through her father’s careful descriptions. “The sky is blue, Dally,” he would say, “but not just blue. It changes—sometimes it’s soft like your blanket, sometimes it’s deep and endless like the lake at night.” She didn’t know what the lake looked like either, but she could hear it when they used to walk together down the dirt path, her father’s steady hand in hers, Bemo leading the way.

Before the world fell apart, she had a good life. Her dad had always made sure of that. He was her whole world; the one who taught her how to find her way by touch, how to count her steps from the front porch to the mailbox, how to listen for the sounds that meant something: the crunch of gravel under boots, the rustle of wind in the trees, the soft snort of a deer passing through their yard. He taught her how to use her hands, to feel the shape of things, to know them without seeing them.

“Being blind doesn’t mean you’re lost, Dally,” he would say. “It just means you see different.”

She had gone to school for a little while, but it was hard. The other kids didn’t know what to do with her. Some were nice. Some weren’t. She mostly stuck close to Bemo, tracing the hallways with her fingertips, memorizing the way the lockers felt, the way her classroom smelled like dry paper and pencil shavings. But it never felt like home. Home was where her dad was.

And now, home was quiet.

Empty.

Her stomach growled, sharp and hollow, but she ignored it. There was still a can of something on the shelf, but she wasn’t sure if she could open it without help. Her dad had always handled that part.

The world outside had changed. She knew that much. Even before her dad stopped coming home, things had been different—his voice tighter, the radio murmuring in low, urgent voices. Then one night, the gunshots. Far off at first. Then closer.

Then just silence.

Dallis didn’t like the silence. It felt too big, too hollow. Like something was waiting inside of it.

Bemo suddenly lifted his head, ears twitching. A low, warning growl rumbled in his throat.

Dallis reached for his collar, Dallis’s fingers tightened in Bemo’s fur as he let out another low growl. Something was outside, no, someone.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to think. Her dad always said fear would only make her slower. She had to move. She had to hide.

The closet.

She knew exactly where it was.

Dallis had mapped out the cabin in her mind long ago, memorizing every inch with careful steps and fingertips brushing over walls. She could see it in her own way; not with her eyes, but with her hands, her ears, the way the air shifted between rooms. The closet was five steps to the right, then two forward.

She moved quickly, Bemo staying close as she pressed herself into the small space, pulling the door shut just as the front door creaked open.

Footsteps. Slow, heavy. Boots on wood.

Then voices.

“Well, well,” a man drawled, his voice rough, amused. “Ain’t this a nice little place? Ain’t been ransacked yet neither. We hit the jackpot, little brother.”

A second voice answered, lower, quiet. “Feels like someone’s been here.”

“Course someone’s been here, dumbass. That’s why we’re here.” The first man laughed, the sound sharp like a knife’s edge.

Dallis pressed herself further into the closet, her hands shaking as she held onto Bemo. The dog was stiff against her, ears alert. The men moved through the cabin, their boots thudding against the wooden floor. She could hear them rifling through drawers, shifting things around. A can clattered onto the floor, rolling.

“Somebody was stayin’ here,” The first man mused. “Maybe still is.”

A pause. Then the quieter one spoke again. “If they are, we ain’t gonna hurt ‘em.”

Merle snorted. “Yeah, yeah. If they don’t give us a reason to.”

Dallis squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming fast. She didn’t know if these men were bad, but her dad had warned her about strangers. Told her not to trust just anyone.

Bemo let out the softest whimper.

Dallis’s heart stopped.

The voices outside went silent.

“What the hell was that?”

The closet door ripped open, and rough hands grabbed her. Dallis screamed, kicking and thrashing as hard as she could. She had never fought anyone before, but her dad told her to never go without a fight. She clawed at the man’s arms, biting at his wrist, twisting like a wild animal.

“Jesus Christ!” Merle swore, yanking her out. “Little hellcat, ain’t ya?”

Bemo barked, deep and furious, lunging for Merle.

“Whoa, whoa—call off your damn mutt!” Merle snapped, twisting away from the snapping jaws. Dallis twisted harder, trying to break free, but Merle held on. “Let me go!” she screamed.

“Bemo, heel!”

Bemo hesitated at her command, growling low in his throat but not backing down.

“Merle,” the other man finally spoke.

Merle grunted, barely paying him any mind. “What the hell’s a kid doin’ out here all alone?”

The quiet one didn’t answer. Dallis felt him staring at her, his presence heavier than Merle’s. Then his voice came, quieter than before.

“Look at the dog.”

Merle scoffed. “What about it?”

“Service dog.” The man’s tone had changed, something softer creeping into it. “She’s blind.”

Silence.

Dallis panted, still struggling, but Merle’s grip loosened slightly. “The hell you talkin’ about?” he muttered.

“She ain’t lookin’ at us,” Daryl said. “She’s listenin’. Tryin’ to feel where we are.” A pause.

“Let her go.”

“Like hell I will—”

“Merle.”

Something passed between them; something Dallis couldn’t see, but she felt Merle’s hesitation in the way his grip eased. And then, just like that, he let her go. Dallis stumbled back, arms up, heart pounding. Bemo was at her side in an instant, his body firm against her leg, a wall between her and the men.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then the other man’s voice came again, steady and calm.

“We ain’t gonna hurt you, kid.”

-

Dallis stood her ground, fists clenched at her sides, her breath shaky but steady. She wasn’t sure what these men wanted, but she knew one thing for certain.

“I’m not leaving without my dad.”

Merle huffed, rubbing his arm where she’d scratched him. “Oh, for cryin’ out loud—kid, your old man’s probably long gone. You stay out here, you’re dead meat.”

Dallis lifted her chin, glaring even though she was probably looking at the wrong direction. “He said he’d come back.”

Merle snorted. “And? Lotta folks say things. Don’t mean shit.”

“Shut up, Merle,” The other man, Daryl, muttered. He was still watching her, and she could feel it. Not like Merle, who saw her as some lost kid, but like he was trying to figure her out. Like he actually cared about her answer.

“Where’d he go?” Daryl asked.

Dallis hesitated. Her dad told her not to tell strangers anything, but what choice did she have? They already knew she was alone.

“Town,” she said quietly. “To get food. He always comes back.”

Another silence. Then Merle sighed dramatically. “Christ, little brother, we really doin’ this?”

Daryl ignored him. “If we look for him and he ain’t there, then what?”

Dallis swallowed hard. She hadn’t let herself think about that.

“If he’s not there,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “then I’ll go with you.”

Merle groaned. “Great. Now we’re babysitters.”

Daryl didn’t argue. He probably nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll look.”

-

The town smelled like rot.

Dallis had smelled death before; sometimes it came on the wind through the trees, a warning that something had died nearby. But here, in the streets of what used to be a town, it was everywhere. Heavy. Thick in the air.

She gripped Bemo’s harness tightly, her heart hammering, but she didn’t hesitate when she heard the first walker go down. The wet crunch of a knife piercing a skull. The body hitting the pavement.

She stepped forward immediately. “Let me feel.”

Merle groaned. “Oh, come on.”

Dallis ignored him, already kneeling. Her hands reached out blindly, searching for the face.

A hand caught her wrist, Daryl she guessed. “You sure about this?” he asked.

She nodded, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat. “I have to.”

Daryl hesitated, then let go.

Her fingers found the walker’s face; cold, slack, the skin rubbery under her touch. Her hands moved over the features, feeling the ridges of cheekbones, the shape of the nose. It was wrong. The face was too thin, the jaw too small.

Not her dad.

She let out a shaky breath and stood.

“Shit,” Merle muttered. “How many we gotta go through before you’re satisfied?”

“As many as it takes,” Dallis said, voice steady.

Daryl didn’t say anything, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying her. Then another walker came, and the process started all over again.

-

The last building in town was some kind of old gas station, the shelves long picked clean, the air thick with the stale scent of decay. The only sound was the steady scuff of their boots against the grimy floor; until the growl came.

Merle didn’t hesitate. The walker lunged, and he put it down with a quick, brutal stab to the skull. The body crumpled, dead for good this time.  Dallis stepped forward before either of them could stop her.

She dropped to her knees, hands reaching out.

Her fingers skimmed over the man’s face, cold skin, sunken cheeks, until she felt it. Stubble. The rough scratch of it under her palm, just like her dad always had when he’d gone a day or two without shaving.

Her breath caught.

“Dad?”

The word barely came out. Her fingers ran along his jaw, over his nose, his forehead. It felt right. Too right. Her chest clenched so hard it hurt.

“No, no, no—”

The sob ripped from her before she could stop it. A loud, broken thing that filled the empty store.

She grabbed at his shirt, at his arms, shaking her head violently. “No, you said you’d come back! You promised! Dad, please—”

“Shit,” Merle hissed. “She’s makin’ too much noise—”

Daryl wasn’t listening. His head snapped toward the open doorway as the first walker growl echoed from outside. Then another. Then more.

They were coming.

“Kid,” Daryl crouched beside her, his hands hovering near her shoulders. “We gotta go.”

“No!” she screamed, clinging to the corpse. “I’m not leaving him!”

Merle swore again as the first shadows moved past the windows. Dallis didn’t care. She curled against the body, sobbing hard, her whole world shattering.

He was gone.

Her daddy was gone.

-

Merle had had enough.

"Alright, that's it," he grunted, grabbing Dallis by the waist and hoisting her up like a damn sack of potatoes. She thrashed in his grip, kicking wildly, her fists hammering against his back. “Put me down! PUT ME DOWN!”

Merle didn’t stop. “You wanna die screamin’ over a corpse? ‘Cause that’s what’s gonna happen!”

Dallis screamed anyway, clawing at his shirt, trying to twist free. “He’s my dad! Let me go! LET ME GO!”

Merle barely flinched as she landed a kick to his ribs. "Damn kid, you fight harder than most grown men."

Daryl was already at the door, peering outside. “Move your ass, Merle! They’re comin’!”

Growls echoed closer. The first walker stumbled through the doorway, reaching blindly toward them. Daryl buried his knife in its skull and kicked the body aside.

Merle didn’t slow down. He adjusted his grip on Dallis, making sure she couldn’t wriggle free, and barreled through the door with Bemo barking frantically at his heels. Dallis was still screaming, her voice raw and wrecked, her sobs shaking her whole body. “We can’t leave him! We can’t!”

Daryl grabbed her flailing wrist as they ran. “He’s gone, kid! You stay, you’re gone too!”

She didn’t care. Didn’t want to care. The world blurred around her in a mix of sound—boots pounding against pavement, walkers groaning, Bemo’s frantic whines.

Her dad was back there. Alone.

She didn’t stop fighting.

Not until she had nothing left.

Chapter Text

The fire crackled softly, its glow flickering against the dark silhouettes of the trees. The smell of burning wood mixed with the distant scent of rot, but the world beyond their little camp was quiet; for now.

Dallis sat on the ground, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. She hadn’t said a word since they got away. Not since Merle dragged her, kicking and screaming, out of that gas station. Bemo lay beside her, his big head resting on her lap, occasionally nudging her hand. She didn’t pet him. Didn’t move.

Merle sat across from her, sharpening his knife, pretending not to care. But every few minutes, he’d glance her way, then shake his head like she was some puzzle he didn’t feel like solving.

Daryl, crouched near the fire, finally broke the silence. “Ain’t nothin’ we coulda done, kid.” His voice was quieter than usual, rough but not unkind. “You know that, right?”

Dallis didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink.

Daryl exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Your dad—if that was him—he was gone a long time ago.”

Her jaw clenched.

Merle scoffed, flipping his knife in his hand. “Ain’t like we coulda dragged his body out with us. Hell, even if we did, what were we s’posed to do? Give him a funeral? Sing some damn hymns?”

“Shut up, Merle.”

The familiar click-click of Merle’s knife echoed through the quiet of their little camp.

He was always playing with that damn thing.

The fire popped. The silence stretched.

Dallis finally moved, but only to lower her head against Bemo’s fur. Her fingers curled into it, gripping tight. Her throat ached, her eyes burned, but no more tears came.

Her dad was dead.

And she was still here.

-

It was raining the first time Dallis truly understood what it meant to be blind. She was five, small enough to still fit on her father’s shoulders but old enough to start asking the big questions; the ones that made her dad go quiet for a second before answering.

They were at the park; her favorite place, not because she could see it, but because she could feel it. She could hear the rustling of leaves overhead, the way the wind whispered through the trees, the faint creak of the old swing set when no one was on it. She loved how the world stretched out around her, how her dad’s voice felt close and safe no matter where they were.

That day, she had been running through the grass, giggling as Bemo, still just a puppy back then, bounced alongside her. The leash was wrapped loosely around her tiny wrist, her dad keeping a close eye as he always did, but she felt free; light as air, untouchable.

Then the first raindrop hit her nose. Then another. Cool and sudden. She stopped in her tracks. The air smelled different, charged with something she didn’t have a name for yet.

The clouds had rolled in, her dad told her, blocking the sun, turning the sky gray.

"What’s gray?" she had asked, tilting her face up, feeling nothing but the soft patter of the rain against her skin.

There was a pause before he answered. "It’s… in-between," he said finally, crouching down beside her. "Not dark, not light. Just kind of… quiet."

Dallis frowned, scrunching her nose. "I don’t get it."

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "That’s okay, baby. Some things you don’t gotta see to understand."

He took her hand then, guiding it up to his face. She knew his face better than anything in the world; better than the feeling of her own hands, better than the textures of her favorite stuffed animals.

She traced his features, the roughness of his stubble, the strong line of his jaw. His skin was warm, even against the cool rain.

"Do I look different?" he asked, letting her small fingers wander over his cheeks, his nose, the crinkles around his eyes that appeared when he smiled.

She shook her head. "No."

"That’s ‘cause rain doesn’t change people," he murmured. "Just like not seein’ doesn’t change you."

She didn’t fully understand what he meant, not then. But something in the way he said it, the way he squeezed her little hand in his big one, made her feel like she was exactly who she was supposed to be.

They stayed there as the rain fell harder, soaking them both through their clothes, the world around them growing softer, muffled.

Dallis laughed, spinning in place, letting the drops cling to her skin, letting herself be part of the storm.

And her dad?

He just watched, letting her be.

Letting her exist exactly as she was.

-

Dallis woke with a sharp gasp, her chest tight, her face damp with tears. She wasn’t sure if she had been dreaming or remembering, but her dad’s voice still echoed in her ears, warm and steady, saying things she’d never hear again.

The tent felt suffocating. The air was thick, the fabric walls too close, the night too empty. Bemo stirred beside her, pressing his nose against her arm with a quiet whimper, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t him.

A sob broke free from her throat before she could stop it, then another. She tried to muffle the sound with her hands, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, her body shaking, grief clawing at her chest until she thought it might split open.

The tent flap suddenly ripped open, letting in a gust of cold air.

"Jesus Christ, girl, shut up," Merle hissed, voice rough with sleep.

Dallis only sobbed harder.

Merle let out a frustrated sigh. "You tryin’ to bring every damn walker in the woods down on us?"

She curled into herself, hands gripping the fabric of her shirt. She couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t be here. Not without her dad.

Merle lingered in the entrance of the tent for a second, clearly debating whether to leave her to it, but then he groaned and stepped inside. The space was too small for him, his broad frame crowding her in.

"Hell," he muttered under his breath.

For a second, he just sat there, glaring at her like she was some kind of broken machine he didn’t know how to fix. Then, with all the awkwardness of a man who had never comforted anyone in his life, he reached out and gave her an awkward pat on the back.

It was too hard.

She hiccupped through her crying, startled, and Merle swore under his breath.

"Alright, alright, just—shit, stop that cryin’ already," he grumbled. "Ain’t doin’ nobody any good."

Dallis only turned her face further into her arms, her shoulders shaking.

Merle exhaled, long and slow, rubbing a hand over his face. After a second, he shifted uncomfortably, then sighed. "Look. I get it, kid. You’re hurtin’. Lost somethin’ real important."

She sniffled but didn’t respond.

"Ain't a damn thing I can say that’s gonna make it better," he continued, his voice quieter now, more tired than harsh. "World ain’t fair. Never was. But you ain't gonna last long if you break down every time you think about him. That’s just how it is."

Dallis sucked in a shaky breath.

"That dog’s all you got left now," Merle said, nodding toward Bemo. "And you best believe that mutt ain't gonna make it if you get yourself killed ‘cause you’re too busy bawlin’ to keep your head on straight."

That stung. Dallis clenched her jaw, trying to shove her grief down deep where it wouldn’t make her weak. She wiped furiously at her face, hating the wetness, hating that Merle had seen her like this.

He huffed, satisfied. "Good. Now go to sleep."

He turned to leave, but just as he was about to step out of the tent, Dallis whispered, voice raw and fragile, "I hate you."

Merle smirked over his shoulder, as if she could see him. "Yeah? That’s the spirit, kid."

Then he was gone, and Dallis was left in the dark, her chest aching, her tears drying against her skin. She curled into Bemo, gripping his fur like a lifeline. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever stop missing her dad, but Merle was right about one thing.

Crying wouldn’t bring him back.

-

The woods were colder than Dallis expected. The damp air clung to her skin, making her shiver beneath her too-thin jacket. Bemo trotted beside her, his leash looped loosely around her wrist, his presence the only comfort in a world that had been ripped apart.

She didn’t know where they were going, only that Merle and Daryl had decided she had to come. She hated it; hated that she had no choice, hated that she couldn’t tell how deep into the forest they were, hated the feeling of being dragged along in a world she couldn’t see.

"Keep up," Merle barked from ahead of her.

Dallis clenched her fists but didn’t say anything.

Daryl slowed his steps until he was walking beside her, his voice quieter, softer. "We’re gonna set some snares," he said. "Trap us some rabbits."

Dallis frowned, "I don’t know how."

"That’s why I’m teachin’ ya," Daryl replied, not unkindly.

They stopped near a clearing, where the earth was soft beneath her boots. Daryl crouched down, guiding her with a hand on her sleeve.

"Feel this?" he asked, pressing her fingers against something rough and thin. A wire, coiled into a circle.

She nodded.

"This here’s a snare. When a rabbit steps into it, it tightens and traps ‘em."

Dallis ran her fingers along the wire, her brows furrowing. "That’s… kinda mean."

Daryl huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, well. It’s how we eat."

She pressed her lips together, focusing on the feeling of the wire, trying to commit the shape to memory.

"Alright, your turn," Daryl said, guiding her hands through the motion. She was slow, careful, fumbling at first, but he was patient, correcting her gently.

Merle, however, was not. "Hell, Dally, we ain’t got all day," he drawled from behind her. "Ain’t no use teachin’ a blind kid to hunt—what’s next, teachin’ a dog to fish?"

Dallis froze. Her fingers curled into fists, her face burning with a rage so sudden and hot she couldn’t hold it back.

"Don’t call me that!" she snapped, turning toward him, her sightless eyes burning with fury. "You don’t get to call me that!"

Merle paused, taken aback probably. "The hell’s wrong with you?"

"Only my dad calls me that!" she yelled, her voice cracking. Silence fell over the woods, even Bemo tensed beside her.

Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering something under his breath, and Merle—Merle just stood there for a second before scoffing.

"Fine, fine," he muttered, raising his hands. "Didn’t know it was some sacred goddamn name."

Dallis turned away, her heart hammering, her breathing uneven. Daryl nudged her arm. "C’mon," he said quietly. "Let’s finish this snare."

She swallowed hard and nodded, forcing herself to focus. She knew she wouldn’t hear that name again.

And maybe that was the worst part.

-

Dallis knelt in the damp earth, fingers hovering uncertainly over the snare she had set earlier. Her heart pounded in her chest. She could hear Bemo’s steady breathing beside her, feel the rough bark of a tree beneath her fingertips as she steadied herself.

"Go on," Daryl urged. "Check it."

Taking a deep breath, she reached forward. Her hands brushed against something soft and still warm. Fur. Small and delicate beneath her fingertips.

She gasped excitedly. "Did I—?"

"Damn right, you did," Daryl confirmed, a hint of pride in his voice.

Dallis felt along the snare, the thin wire wrapped tight around the rabbit’s neck. She swallowed. She knew what it meant; it wasn’t just some rabbit. It was her rabbit. Her catch. Her survival.

A grin stretched across her face. "I did it," she whispered, barely believing it herself. Then louder, almost laughing, "I did it!"

Merle snorted. "Well, ain't that somethin'," he drawled. "Blind kid caught dinner."

Dallis didn’t even care about his teasing. For the first time since the world had gone to hell, she felt like she had done something; like she wasn’t just a burden being dragged along.

"Nice work," Daryl said, clapping her on the shoulder awkwardly.

She hugged the rabbit to her chest, the weight of it solid and real.

She wished her dad was here to see this.

Chapter Text

Merle was already packing up when Dallis stepped toward him, Bemo padding at her side. The cool morning air clung to her skin, and she could hear the sounds of the forest waking up—the rustling leaves, distant birds, the faint crackle of dying embers from the campfire.

"Where you goin’?" she asked.

"Huntin’," Merle grunted, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

She hesitated for only a moment before squaring her shoulders. "Take me with you."

Merle let out a sharp laugh. "You serious, Mr Magoo?"

Dallis clenched her fists. She didn't know who Mr Magoo was but she guessed he was being mean, he was always being mean.

"I caught a rabbit last time, didn’t I?" she shot back.

Merle smirked. "Yeah, and ya damn near cried over it, too."

Dallis stiffened. "That was the first one," she said through gritted teeth. "I won’t cry this time."

Merle eyed her for a moment, then let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Fine. But if ya slow me down, I’m leavin’ your ass behind."

Dallis didn’t argue. She simply nodded and tightened her grip on Bemo’s leash. "Don’t wake Sleeping Beauty," Merle muttered, jerking his head toward Daryl’s tent as if she could see.

She could hear Daryl’s slow, even breathing from inside. He was still asleep; he’d been dead on his feet the past few days, pulling extra weight on hunts and watching over her more than he probably realized. If he woke up, he’d tell her not to go.

She wouldn’t give him the chance.

Merle started moving, and Dallis followed, stepping carefully but confidently. She had the map of the forest in her head, pieced together from memory, sound, and feel. She wasn’t afraid.

For once, she felt like she belonged out here.

-

The woods felt bigger today. Dallis could hear the crunch of leaves under her boots, the distant chirping of birds, and the occasional rustling of something small darting through the underbrush. She kept a tight grip on Bemo’s leash, feeling the gentle pull of his movement as he guided her along the uneven terrain.

Merle walked ahead, his steps heavier, less careful. He whistled an off-key tune, probably just to fill the silence. Every so often, he’d stop, glance around, then mumble something about tracks before moving on.

"Keep up, Mr. Magoo," he called over his shoulder.

Dallis huffed. But instead of snapping back, she kept quiet. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. Not today.

She focused on walking, counting her steps, listening to the forest around her. She wanted to prove she could keep up, that she wasn’t just some little kid slowing him down.

Then Bemo’s leash slipped from her fingers.

She sucked in a sharp breath. No, no, no—

Panicked, she reached down, feeling for the leash. Her fingers brushed against dirt, leaves, nothing—

And then, suddenly, the ground wasn’t beneath her anymore.

She let out a short, startled scream as her foot slipped, her body tipping forward. The world spun as she tumbled down, hitting rocks and roots on the way down. Her ankle twisted painfully before she finally landed at the bottom of the creek bed, the air knocked from her lungs.

Everything hurt. Her hands stung, scraped raw from the fall, but her ankle—her ankle burned. A deep, awful pain that made her stomach twist.

And then the fear hit her all at once.

"M-Merle!" she cried, her voice breaking.

She curled up, hugging her leg, her breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. It hurt so bad, and she didn’t know where she was, and she couldn’t see, and—

"Oh, for—" Merle’s voice rang out from above, sounding irritated, but also closer. "What the hell did ya go and do now?"

Dallis let out a sob, gripping at her leg. "I—I fell!" she hiccupped, her voice high and wobbly.

"No kiddin’," Merle muttered, but he was already making his way down to her, his boots crunching against the dirt.

The second he touched her, trying to sit her up, she flinched and sobbed harder. "I-It hurts!"

Merle sighed, long and heavy. "Alright, alright, just—just breathe, kid, c’mon now."

Dallis couldn’t stop crying. Her chest felt too tight, and her ankle throbbed so bad she thought she might be sick.

"Hey, quit that," Merle said, a little softer this time. "Ain’t no use cryin’. You’re alright."

"No, I’m not!" she wailed.

Her dad wouldn't have said that, he would have held her and let her cry, Merle wasn't her dad.

Merle groaned, running a hand down his face. "Well, ya ain't dead, so that’s somethin’."

Dallis just kept crying, rocking slightly, her hands gripping the fabric of her pants.

Merle let out another heavy sigh before awkwardly patting her shoulder. "There, uh—there, there?"

It didn’t help. If anything, Dallis just sobbed harder.

"Oh, hell," Merle muttered under his breath. For a long moment, he just crouched there, letting her cry, shifting uncomfortably every time her sobs got louder. Eventually, he muttered, "Alright, kid. We gotta get you up outta here, alright? Can't just sit here bawlin’ all day."

Dallis sniffled. "I—I can’t walk—"

"Yeah, no shit." He sighed. "C’mon. Up ya go."

Before she could protest, he grabbed her under the arms and hoisted her up against his chest. She let out a startled yelp, clinging onto him as he adjusted his grip, lifting her onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"There. Now quit snivelin’ before ya make me go deaf."

Dallis just buried her face in his shoulder, still sniffling, but too exhausted to argue.

Merle grumbled under his breath as he started the climb back up. "Kid weighs damn near nothin’," he muttered, shaking his head. "Shoulda made ya eat two helpings last night."

Dallis just stayed quiet, gripping onto his shirt, still hurting, still sniffling.

But a small, quiet part of her felt… safe.

-

As Merle trudged through the woods, Dallis clung to his back, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. She was still sniffling now and then, but the full-on sobbing had stopped. Her breath hitched every so often, but Merle had stopped commenting on it. Probably figured it wasn’t worth the argument.

"Ain't so bad, huh?" Merle grumbled. "Gettin' carried like some damn princess. Betcha wish ya fell sooner."

Dallis didn’t answer, just pressed her forehead against his shoulder. She was exhausted, her ankle still throbbing, but she wasn’t about to admit that being carried was kind of nice.

Merle sighed, adjusting his grip under her legs. "Daryl’s gonna laugh his ass off when he sees this. Ol’ Merle Dixon, reduced to a mule."

They kept moving through the trees, the sounds of the forest surrounding them; birds in the distance, the rustling of leaves, the occasional crack of a twig underfoot. Merle was steady, moving with the ease of someone who’d been walking these woods his whole life.

Then he stopped.

Dallis lifted her head slightly, feeling his body go still beneath her.

"Huh," Merle muttered, his voice quieter now.

"What?" Dallis asked, gripping his shirt.

"Looks like we got company, Mr. Magoo."

Dallis frowned at the nickname but didn’t have time to argue before she heard it too; the distant sounds of people. Not just one or two, but a whole lot of them. Voices carried through the trees, muffled by the wind. There was the clank of metal, the crackling of a fire.

A camp.

A big one.

Merle shifted his weight, adjusting Dallis on his back. "Well, ain't this interestin'?"

Dallis tightened her hold on him. She wasn’t sure if that was a good kind of interesting or the bad kind.

-

As they made their way back to camp, Dallis could tell Merle was getting tired of carrying her. He’d been huffing under his breath for the past ten minutes, muttering something about how he wasn’t a damn pack mule. But he didn’t put her down; not even when she loosened her grip, expecting him to drop her the second they got close.

The moment they stepped into camp, though, Merle all but dumped her on the nearest log.

"Daryl!" he called out, voice carrying through the trees. "Get your lazy ass up!"

Dallis winced, her ankle still throbbing. She reached out, feeling for Bemo, who had been trailing close ever since she fell. His wet nose pressed into her palm, and she curled her fingers into his fur, grounding herself.

Daryl came stomping out of his tent a second later.

"What the hell, Merle?" His voice was sharp, like he already knew something had gone wrong.

"Calm yer tits," Merle said with a grin. "Kid took a tumble. She’ll live."

"You took her hunting?" Daryl barked, marching over. "And she got hurt? What the hell’s wrong with you?"

Dallis flinched at the anger in his voice, but Merle just snorted. "Ain't my fault she don’t watch where she's walkin’."

Daryl crouched in front of her, voice softening. "Lemme see."

Dallis hesitated, but when he reached for her ankle, she let him. His hands were rough, but careful, pressing lightly around the swollen skin. She winced and sucked in a sharp breath when he touched a tender spot.

"You’re lucky it ain’t broken," Daryl muttered.

She heard him rummaging through his bag, then felt the cool touch of cloth against her skin as he started wrapping it. His hands moved with practiced ease, but his voice was still edged with frustration when he said, "You don’t go nowhere with him again, ya hear me?"

Dallis swallowed hard and nodded.

"She ain't a damn baby," Merle grumbled. "She wanted to go."

"You ain't got a damn lick of sense," Daryl shot back.

They kept arguing, their voices bouncing back and forth, but Dallis stayed quiet. She focused on Bemo’s steady breathing beside her, on the feel of the bandage tightening around her ankle. Then Merle’s voice shifted, more casual. "Saw somethin’ interestin’ out there, though."

Daryl didn’t answer right away, but Dallis could tell he was listening.

"Big camp, down by the quarry," Merle went on. "Real setup. Looks like they been there a while."

Dallis felt Daryl’s hands still for just a second before he finished tying the bandage. "How many people?" he asked.

"Dunno. Enough."

Silence stretched between them. Dallis didn’t say anything, didn’t move.

A bigger camp.

More people.

-

It was the next day when they left.

As they packed up their camp, Dallis stayed seated on the same log, her hands gripping Bemo’s fur. She could hear Daryl moving around, stuffing things into bags, the clatter of supplies being gathered. Merle was less careful about it, tossing things into the truck with loud thunks and muttering under his breath.

"C’mon, kid," Daryl said, stepping up beside her.

She hesitated before reaching out. He took her hand, helping her up gently so she wouldn’t put too much weight on her ankle. She winced as she hobbled forward, but Bemo stayed pressed against her side, guiding her toward the truck.

Merle was already behind the wheel, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel like he was getting impatient. "Ain't got all day, people," he grumbled.

Daryl helped Dallis into the truck, then climbed in beside her, slamming the door shut. The engine rumbled to life, and they pulled onto the dirt road, heading toward the camp by the quarry.

Dallis sat up a little straighter. "How many people do you think are there?" she asked.

"Dunno," Merle muttered.

"Do they have kids?"

"Dunno."

"Are they nice?"

Merle huffed. "Hell if I know, kid."

Dallis frowned, gripping the edge of her seat. "Are they gonna let us stay?"

"Listen here, Mr. Magoo," Merle said, exasperated. "I ain’t got all the answers, alright?"

Dallis fell silent, chewing her lip. The truck rattled as they hit a bump, and she reached for Bemo again, needing something solid to hold on to.

Her dad would have known what to answer.

Daryl sighed, "We’ll find out soon enough."

Chapter Text

As soon as the truck rolled to a stop, Merle turned in his seat and pointed a finger at Dallis.

"Stay put."

Dallis’ lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. She could hear Daryl opening his door, his boots crunching on the dirt as he stepped out. Merle followed, slamming his door behind him.

"Don’t need the damn kid wandering off," Merle muttered as they walked away.

Dallis huffed, crossing her arms. Like she couldn’t take care of herself.

She waited until she could no longer hear their voices before she reached down, feeling for Bemo’s leash. He whined softly, as if already knowing what she was planning.

"Shh," she whispered, giving his head a small scratch. "C’mon."

Carefully, she slid out of the truck, her feet landing on the warm dirt. The air smelled different here; like campfire smoke and something earthy. She could hear voices in the distance, people talking, moving around. A real camp.

Bemo nudged her leg, then gently tugged her forward. She trusted him, letting him guide her down what felt like a sloping path. The ground under her feet turned to gravel, then something smoother; paved, maybe? The quarry.

She kept moving until Bemo suddenly stopped, his body stiffening.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Hey."

Dallis flinched at the unfamiliar voice. It was a boy’s voice, young, maybe her age.

"Who are you?" the boy asked.

Dallis swallowed. "Dallis."

There was a pause, like he was studying her.

"What’s wrong with your eyes?" he asked bluntly.

She frowned. "What?"

"They’re all gray. Like… cloudy."

Dallis shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t used to people pointing it out so directly.

"I’m blind," she said, her voice quieter now.

The boy didn’t answer right away.

Then, after a beat, he asked, "What’s that like?"

The boy didn’t hold back.

"Can you see anything at all?"

"No."

"Not even shadows?"

"No."

"How do you know where you're going?"

"Bemo helps me."

"How do you know what stuff looks like?"

"I don’t. I just... feel it."

"So, if you’ve never seen anything, how do you know what they are?"

Dallis frowned, gripping Bemo’s fur a little tighter. The boy’s questions came one after another, each one making her stomach twist a little more.

"I just know," she muttered.

"But how?"

She exhaled sharply. "I don’t know, okay?"

The boy was quiet for a second,

"Why are you mad?"

Dallis groaned, dragging a hand down her face. Now she got it. Now she understood why Merle always got so irritated when she kept asking him things he didn’t have the answers to.

She sighed. "Because you're asking too many questions."

"Oh." He paused. "Sorry."

Dallis chewed on her lip. He hadn’t meant to annoy he; he was just curious. Maybe, if she were in his place, she’d be just as curious too.

She sighed again, this time softer. "It’s okay."

A voice called from a short distance away.

"Carl! Where’d you go?"

The boy—Carl—turned his head. "I’m over here, Mom!"

Footsteps crunched against the gravel, growing closer. Dallis instinctively gripped Bemo’s leash a little tighter, shifting her weight.

"Who’s that?" the woman asked, her voice now closer.

Dallis didn’t answer.

"Who are you, sweetie?" the woman tried again, her tone gentle but cautious.

Dallis swallowed, suddenly unsure what to say. She wasn’t even supposed to be out of the truck.

When she stayed quiet, Carl spoke up. "Her name’s Dallis. She’s blind."

There was a pause. The woman exhaled softly, then said, "Come on, honey, let’s get you back to camp."

A light touch landed on Dallis’ shoulder; not rough like Merle’s, not hesitant like Daryl’s, just firm enough to guide her.

For a second, she thought about pulling away, insisting she could do it herself. But instead, she just nodded, letting the woman steer her back up the path.

-

As soon as Dallis was led into the camp, a rough hand clamped around her upper arm, yanking her to a stop.

"What the hell did I say, girl?" Merle’s voice was sharp, loud.

Dallis flinched. "I—"

"Told you to stay put, didn’t I?" Merle growled. His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her feel small. "Goddamn it, you don’t listen for shit!"

"Hey!"

The woman who had brought her back stepped between them, forcing Merle to let go.

"You don’t lay hands on her like that," she snapped.

Dallis felt the shift in the air, the tension crackling like a coming storm. Merle’s voice dropped into something dangerous.

"Who the hell do you think you are, lady?"

"Who am I?" The woman scoffed. "Who are you to be manhandling a little girl?"

Dallis took a step back, gripping Bemo’s leash tightly. The camp had gone quiet. She could feel eyes on them. Merle let out a dry laugh, the kind that wasn’t amused at all. "You serious? You think I’m beatin’ on her or somethin’? Jesus Christ, woman—"

"I saw how you grabbed her," The woman cut in. "You don’t get to treat a child like that, I don’t care who you are."

"She ain’t your damn kid, is she?" Merle snapped. "I’m the one keeping her alive, so excuse me for gettin’ pissed when she sneaks out and damn near gets herself killed."

Dallis stayed silent, her stomach twisting. She could hear Merle’s breathing, harsh and uneven, the barely-contained anger in his voice. "She’s just a kid," The woman said, her voice softer but still firm. "You don’t have to scare her."

"Oh, for—" Merle dragged a hand down his face. "Lady, you don’t know a damn thing about us. This ain't your business."

"It is when a child is involved," Carl's mom shot back.

"Alright, that’s enough."

The tension shifted. Dallis could practically feel Merle gritting his teeth.

"Stay out of this, little brother," he warned.

"How ‘bout you shut up before you make things worse?" Daryl countered, his voice calm but edged with warning. "Ain’t nobody hurtin’ the girl, so let’s not start throwin’ accusations around."

The woman hesitated, but Daryl pressed on. "She’s fine. Just scared, probably," he said, and Dallis hated how true that was. "So let’s drop it before we all regret it."

A long silence. Then Merle let out a sharp breath. "Whatever."

Dallis heard him step away, his boots crunching against the dirt as he put distance between himself and the woman. Carl's mom didn’t say anything for a moment, then sighed. "Just... be better," she muttered before walking away.

Dallis stayed still, her hands curled into fists at her sides.

"You good?" Daryl asked. She nodded.

"Good," he muttered. "Next time, don’t go sneakin’ off."

Dallis swallowed hard. "Okay."

Daryl sighed, "C’mon, let’s get you somethin’ to eat."

She let him lead her deeper into the camp, pretending not to hear Merle still muttering curses under his breath nearby.

-

The night was quiet, except for the distant crackle of the campfire and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind. Dallis lay curled in her borrowed sleeping bag, Bemo pressed against her side, his steady breathing a comfort. But she wasn’t asleep.

She could hear it—shink, shink, shink. The soft, repetitive sound of a blade sliding against something.

Merle.

She sat up carefully, her fingers brushing over Bemo’s fur before she pushed the sleeping bag off and got to her feet. Bemo followed silently as she moved toward the sound, her hands trailing along the ground to guide her.

The rhythmic scraping stopped for a second, then Merle muttered, "That you, Mr. Magoo?"

Dallis frowned instinctively, "I told you not to call me that."

"Yeah, yeah." The blade resumed its steady movement.

She hesitated. "I... wanted to say sorry."

That got his attention. The knife stopped again. "For what?" he asked, his tone unreadable.

Dallis swallowed, shifting her weight. "For sneaking out. For making you mad. I... I wasn’t trying to make trouble. I just..." She trailed off, unsure how to explain.

Merle was silent for a long time. Then he let out a sigh. "Ain’t mad at ya, kid." The blade twirled in his fingers.

"Just... world’s dangerous enough without you runnin’ off and makin’ it worse. You get that, right?"

She nodded. Merle grunted. "Good. Now get some damn sleep."

Dallis hesitated again, then asked, "Can I sit with you for a little?"

Merle groaned, "Why?"

She shrugged. "Just don’t wanna be alone right now."

There was a pause, then Merle grumbled something under his breath before muttering, "Fine. But if you start cryin’ again, I’m leavin’."

Dallis cracked a small smile and sat down next to him, Bemo settling at her feet. Merle didn’t say anything else, just kept sharpening his knife, the steady shink, shink, shink oddly soothing in the quiet night.

-

The morning air was crisp, and the scent of cooking meat filled the camp. Dallis sat cross-legged on the ground, Bemo resting beside her while Daryl flipped whatever small game they’d caught over the fire. Merle was chewing on a piece of jerky, looking half-awake and already irritated with the world.

Dallis poked at her food with her fingers before speaking. "Can I hang out with Carl today?"

Merle snorted. "Who the hell’s Carl?"

Dallis frowned, "The boy I met yesterday."

Merle shifted in his seat to probably send Daryl. "This some kid we’re supposed to know about?"

Daryl sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Lori’s boy," he muttered. "The woman you nearly fought last night?"

"Ohhh." Merle smirked, tearing off another bite of jerky. "That tight-ass lady with the big ol’ attitude. Got it. So that’s her kid?"

Dallis crossed her arms. "Can I or not?"

Daryl, still chewing his breakfast, looked at her thoughtfully. "You ain't got any reason to be messin' around with some random kid?"

"He's not random," Dallis insisted. "He's nice. And—” She hesitated before muttering, "He doesn’t treat me like I’m stupid just ‘cause I can’t see."

That earned a short silence. Merle huffed. "Well, congrats to him. Kid wants to be friends with a little blind girl, good for him."

Dallis scowled. "You’re an ass."

"And you’re late to realizin’ that, Mr. Magoo," Merle shot back, smirking probably.

She huffed, turning towards Daryl's direction. "Well?"

Daryl exhaled through his nose, "You stick close, you hear me? This camp ain't as safe as people think it is."

Dallis grinned. "Got it."

Merle muttered something about wasting time on dumb kids, but Dallis didn’t care. Today, she wasn’t just stuck in camp with the Dixon brothers—today, she had a friend.

-

Carl was excited as he talked, practically bouncing on his heels. "Shane’s taking me frog catching by the creek today! We’re gonna get a ton of ‘em."

Dallis tilted her head curiously, "Who's Shane?"

"Oh... uh, he's my dad's best friend. Used to be a cop. He's kinda like my uncle, I guess."

Dallis didn’t know what a cop looked like, but she figured it didn’t matter. "Can I come?"

Carl hesitated. "Uh… I mean… I don’t know."

Dallis frowned. "Why not?"

"Well… you kinda gotta see to catch frogs," Carl said, rubbing the back of his neck probably. "You gotta, like, watch where they jump and grab ‘em real fast. It’s kinda hard."

Dallis froze.

Her throat suddenly felt tight, her face growing hot.

She wasn't stupid. She knew she couldn’t do everything sighted kids could, but it was different hearing it out loud like that. Like Carl was saying she couldn’t play with him at all.

"Oh." Her voice was quiet.

Carl must’ve noticed the change in her tone because he quickly added, "I mean, maybe next time we can—"

But she was already turning away, "It’s fine," she muttered. "Have fun."

She walked fast, keeping her head down as she made her way back toward camp, even though she had no idea where she was going. Bemo nudged against her leg, sensing her distress.

She swallowed hard, refusing to sniffle, refusing to let Carl or anyone else hear her cry.

It wasn’t a big deal.

She didn’t care.

Except, she did.

-

Dallis sniffled as she trudged back to camp, her fists clenched at her sides. She told herself she wasn’t really crying; her face was just hot, and her eyes were just… leaking a little. That’s all.

Bemo whined beside her, pressing his warm body against her leg like he knew something was wrong. She reached down, gripping his fur for comfort, but it didn’t stop the heavy feeling in her chest.

As she stepped into camp, the sound of a knife flipping through the air reached her ears. She knew that sound well; Merle was playing with his dumb knife again, probably whittling at something pointless.

"Well, ain't this a sad sight," Merle drawled.

Dallis stiffened and quickly wiped at her face. "Shut up."

Merle snorted. "Oh, real scary, Mr. Magoo. What's got your panties in a twist?"

She swallowed, trying to force the lump in her throat back down. "Nothing."

Merle let the silence hang for a moment before sighing. "Lemme guess. That Carl kid say somethin’ dumb?"

Dallis clenched her jaw. "I said it’s nothing."

Merle scoffed. "Yeah? Then what’s with the ugly cryin’?"

"I'm not crying!" she snapped, but her voice cracked, and she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone.

Merle sighed heavily, like dealing with her emotions was the biggest inconvenience in the world. There was a long pause before she felt a rough hand plop down on the top of her head. It wasn’t a gentle pat, more like a lazy "there, there", but it still surprised her.

"You gonna keep mopin’, or you want me to teach you how to gut somethin'?" Merle asked.

Dallis sniffled, her fingers curling into Bemo’s fur. "Like… a fish?"

"Fish, squirrel, walker—hell, anythin' you want, kid."

She hesitated. Her face was still warm, her chest still tight, but she hated feeling useless. And maybe… maybe she could prove Carl wrong.

"Fine," she muttered, wiping at her face again. "Just… don’t call me Mr. Magoo while you do it."

Merle chuckled. "No promises."

-

Dallis sat cross-legged on the ground, her hands outstretched as Merle plopped something small and limp into her palms. She flinched. The fur was rough, and the little body was still warm. She knew what it was before Merle even said anything.

"Alright, Magoo, time to get your hands dirty. That there’s a squirrel. Shot ‘im clean through the head—lucky bastard didn’t even feel it."

Dallis swallowed hard. She wasn’t squeamish, at least, she didn’t think she was, but she’d never held something dead before. It felt wrong. The weight of it. The stillness.

"You gonna sit there cuddlin’ it or actually learn somethin’?" Merle asked, amusement thick in his voice.

Dallis scowled, "I’m just—Give me a second."

She adjusted her grip, feeling along the tiny body. The soft belly, the stiff little paws. It still felt like something that should be alive.

Merle’s hands, rough and calloused, grabbed her own. "Alright, first thing—ya gotta cut ‘im open, right along the belly. Here—feel this?" He guided her fingers to a small knife, pressing it into her palm. "Pointy end goes in, just don’t stab yourself like an idiot."

Dallis inhaled sharply, positioning the knife where he told her. Her hands shook slightly, but Merle’s grip was firm, steadying her.

"Now, just press down and pull up a little—there ya go, now drag it down slow-like."

The blade sliced through, and warm wetness met her fingers. Dallis grimaced.

"Ew—"

"Ain’t no ‘ew’ about it, kid. This is survival."

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

Merle guided her hands through the next steps—pulling the skin back, reaching in, feeling for the right places to cut. The smell made her nose wrinkle, but she fought through it, focusing on the task.

After a moment, she muttered, "Carl said you have to see to catch frogs."

Merle made a noise in his throat. "That right?"

Dallis nodded, her grip tightening slightly on the knife. "Like I couldn’t do it ‘cause I’m blind."

Merle snorted, "That kid’s dumber than a box of rocks."

Dallis hesitated. "But… I mean, he’s right. I can’t do it."

Merle clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Y’know what we do when some jackass tells us we can’t do somethin’?"

Dallis shook her head.

"We do it anyway. Then we rub it in their damn face."

-

Merle wasn’t one to do things out of the kindness of his heart. At least, that’s what he told himself. But when Dallis sat there, picking at her food and looking more miserable than a dog in the rain, something in his gut twisted. He’d never been much for kids—hell, he barely tolerated adults—but there was something about the way she tried to hide how upset she was that didn’t sit right with him.

So, against his better judgment, he found himself standing over her, hands on his hips.

"C’mon, Magoo. We’re goin’ frog catchin’."

Dallis’s head shot up. "What?"

"You heard me," Merle grunted. "Get your mutt. We’re gonna show that little punk how it’s done."

She hesitated, then scrambled to her feet, a flicker of excitement breaking through her gloom. Bemo let out a happy chuff as she grabbed his leash. Merle led her out of camp, down toward the murky little creek that ran through the woods. He’d passed it a few times while hunting—seen frogs sitting dumb as hell along the banks.

Shouldn’t be too hard to grab one.

"You ever catch somethin’ with your hands before?" he asked as they walked.

Dallis shook her head. "I dunno. Maybe when I was little. But I probably just squished bugs."

"Figures. Alright, we’re gonna fix that."

It took some time to reach the creek, Merle making sure she didn’t trip over every damn root along the way. When they finally got there, he crouched down by the water, watching the little green bodies shift and twitch in the shallows.

"Alright, Magoo, first lesson—ya gotta be quiet. These little bastards spook easy."

Dallis nodded, lowering herself to sit beside him. She listened, tilting her head slightly, her fingers digging into the damp earth.

"I hear them," she whispered.

"Good. Now, get your hands ready."

She did as he said, her small hands hovering over the mud.

"When I say go, you drop ‘em fast—no hesitatin’, no second guessin’. Just grab."

Dallis took a deep breath, fingers twitching.

Merle smirked. "Ready? A’right—go!"

Dallis’s hands shot down. Water splashed.

"I got it! I got it!" she squealed. Merle barked out a laugh. "Lemme see!"

She lifted her hands, and sure enough, between her fingers was a fat, wriggling frog.

"Hell yeah, Magoo! Look at you!"

Dallis beamed, holding the squirming thing up triumphantly. Then, after a moment, her grin faded slightly.

"Wait… what do we do with it now?"

Merle hummed thoughtfully, "Hell if I know. You wanna eat it?"

She made a face. "No!"

"Then toss it back in the water, dumbass."

Dallis giggled and carefully released the frog, listening as it plopped back into the creek. She turned toward Merle, smiling. "I did it."

Merle smirked. "Damn right you did. Now, next time that Carl kid says some stupid shit, you tell him ol’ Mr. Magoo can catch frogs just fine."

Chapter Text

Dallis sat cross-legged by the fire, running her fingers through Bemo’s fur as she waited for Daryl to get back from hunting. She was still a little dirty from earlier; mud dried on her hands, a faint smell of squirrel still clinging to her skin—but she didn’t care.

When she heard footsteps approaching, she perked up.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah, kid, it’s me," Daryl grunted, dropping something heavy onto the ground. Probably whatever he’d killed. "You eat yet?"

"Uh-huh. And guess what? I gutted a squirrel today! Merle helped me!"

Daryl snorted as he sat down. "That so?"

"Yep! And I caught a frog, too!" Dallis grinned, clearly proud of herself. "Merle took me down to the creek. I grabbed it all by myself!"

"Well, look at you. Startin’ to sound like a real Dixon."

Dallis beamed. She was about to tell him more when she suddenly heard footsteps; not as heavy as Daryl’s, not as careless as Merle’s. She tensed slightly, and Bemo let out a small huff beside her.

"Uh… hey."

Dallis knew that voice.

Carl.

She sat up a little straighter, tilting her head in his direction.

"What do you want?" she asked, her tone cautious.

Carl shuffled awkwardly, "I, uh… I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. What I said about the frogs."

Dallis stayed quiet. Carl sighed. "It was kinda mean, I guess. I didn’t really think about how it sounded ‘til after you left." He kicked at the dirt. "Anyway… I, uh, asked Shane to take us frog catching again tomorrow. If you wanna come."

Dallis hesitated.

Then, slowly, she nodded. "Okay."

Carl let out a relieved breath. "Cool. See you then."

He turned and jogged back toward his tent, leaving Dallis sitting there, processing what had just happened.

-

As the days passed, Dallis slowly started feeling more comfortable in the camp. At first, she mostly stuck with Bemo, staying close to Merle and Daryl, unsure about the people around her. But soon, she started spending time with the other kids.

Sophia was the first to really talk to her. The girl had a quiet, gentle voice, and she never asked too many questions like Carl had. She just sat next to Dallis one afternoon and asked if she wanted to help make flower crowns. Dallis had never done that before, but with Sophia guiding her hands, she learned how to twist the stems together.

"There!" Sophia said when they finished. "You did good. Want me to put it on for you?"

Dallis nodded, and Sophia carefully placed the crown on her head.

"It looks pretty," Sophia said.

Dallis smiled. She didn’t know what pretty looked like, but it felt nice to be included.

After that, she spent more time with the other kids. The Morales children, Eliza and Louis, were always playing games, and even though Dallis couldn’t run around like they did, they still found ways to include her. Louis would describe everything happening, telling her who was chasing who, while Eliza would hold her hand and guide her when they played simple games like tag.

Carl still spent time with her, too, though he had to keep explaining things she couldn’t see. Sometimes it frustrated her, but other times, it made her laugh.

"You’re terrible at describing stuff," she teased one afternoon.

Carl huffed. "I’m trying!"

-

Carl sat cross-legged under the big oak tree, flipping through the pages of a worn-out comic book. Dallis sat beside him, her legs tucked under her, her hands resting on Bemo’s back as the dog lay beside her. She listened intently as Carl read aloud, his voice full of energy as he acted out the different characters.

"—and then he jumps off the building, lands on top of the bad guy, and says, ‘You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us!’ Pretty cool, right?"

Dallis smiled. "Yeah. Sounds cool."

Carl turned the page, skimming the next part before saying, "Y'know… this guy kinda reminds me of your dad."

Dallis froze. Her fingers, which had been absently scratching behind Bemo’s ears, went still.

“Merle’s not my dad,” she said quietly. Her voice was calm, but there was a weight to it. “My dad’s dead.”

Carl was silent for a moment. Then he said, just as quietly, “My dad’s dead too.”

Dallis turned her head toward him, her unseeing eyes blinking. She hadn’t known that.

"Oh," she said.

She didn’t know what else to say.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Carl just flipped the comic book shut, the pages making a soft rustling sound.

Then, after a long pause, Dallis whispered, “What was he like?”

Carl took a deep breath, staring at the ground. "Strong. Brave. He always protected me and my mom.” He swallowed. "I thought he’d keep us safe forever. But…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

Dallis nodded slowly, understanding more than she wished she did. "Mine was the same way.” Her voice wavered, but she didn’t cry.

"He always told me he’d come back. But he didn’t.”

Carl didn’t say anything. He just reached over and took her hand, squeezing it once before letting go.

They sat in silence, the comic book forgotten, as the wind rustled the leaves above them.

-

As the sun started to dip lower in the sky, the camp buzzed with the usual evening routine. People gathered around, finishing up chores, checking supplies, and preparing for dinner. Dallis wasn’t usually involved in the cooking, but tonight, she wanted to help.

She found Jaqui and T-Dog near the fire pit, organizing the food they had to work with. The smell of something savory filled the air, and Dallis’ stomach grumbled. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

"Need any help?" she asked hesitantly, running her fingers along Bemo’s harness.

Jaqui looked up from where she was cutting up some vegetables. “You wanna help us cook, sweetheart?” she asked warmly.

Dallis nodded. “I can still help.”

T-Dog chuckled, “That’s the spirit. We’ll put you to work, don’t worry.”

Jaqui guided Dallis’ hands to a basket of potatoes. “Here, feel this? These need peeling. I’ll show you how.”

Dallis carefully ran her fingers over the rough surface of the potato. Jaqui placed a small peeler in her hands and helped her figure out the right motion. It took a few tries, and she nicked her finger once, but soon enough, she was peeling them on her own.

"There you go!" Jaqui praised. "See? You got it."

Dallis smiled proudly. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Meanwhile, T-Dog stirred a pot over the fire, occasionally glancing over at them. "I gotta admit, didn’t think we’d have a kid helping with dinner tonight."

"I like helping."

Jaqui squeezed her shoulder gently. “That’s good, baby. We all gotta do our part.”

As the fire crackled and the smell of cooking food filled the air, Dallis felt a small sense of belonging. Maybe she couldn’t do everything the others could, but she could still be useful.

-

Later that night, after dinner had settled and most of the adults were busy with their own conversations, Glenn sat on an old crate near the kids’ section of the camp, shuffling a deck of slightly bent playing cards.

"Alright, who’s in?" he asked, cracking a grin.

Sophia and Eliza scooted closer, eager to play, while Carl crossed his arms. “I dunno how to play.”

"That’s ‘cause you ain’t old enough for the big leagues," Glenn teased.

Carl huffed. “I’m old enough for anything.”

Dallis sat nearby, listening to the sound of the cards flicking as Glenn shuffled them. She felt Bemo shift beside her, his warm presence grounding her. "Can I play?" she asked slowly.

Glenn hesitated for half a second, but then smiled. "Yeah, sure, why not? You ever played before?"

Dallis shook her head. "No, but I can learn."

"Damn right, you can." Glenn dealt the cards out, explaining each one as he went. He was patient, making sure she could follow along even though she couldn't see the cards herself.

"Here’s what we’ll do," he said, tapping the deck. "I’ll read out your cards, and you tell me what you wanna do—fold, raise, or call. And no, Carl, I’m not gonna let you cheat just ‘cause she can’t see."

Carl scoffed. "I wasn’t gonna!"

Dallis giggled. She might not be able to see Glenn’s face, but she could hear the amusement in his voice.

As the game went on, the kids got more competitive, Sophia and Eliza whispering about their hands while Carl tried to bluff his way through every round. Dallis, with Glenn’s help, was surprisingly good at keeping track of what was happening.

"Alright, final round," Glenn announced. "Everyone place your bets."

Dallis rubbed the smooth poker chips between her fingers, thinking hard. She might not see the game, but she understood the stakes.

"I’m all in," she said confidently, pushing her chips forward.

"Ohhh!" the other kids gasped.

Glenn whistled, "Big move, kid. Let’s see if it pays off."

When he revealed the hands, Dallis had somehow won with a straight. The kids groaned while she grinned ear to ear.

"Beginner’s luck," Carl muttered.

"Nope," Glenn corrected. "She played smart."

Dallis giggled, she sat a little taller, feeling proud. It wasn’t much, just a simple game of poker, but for the first time in a long while, she felt like just another kid having fun.

-

The night was thick with silence, only the occasional crackle of the dying campfire and the distant chirping of crickets filling the air. Dallis lay curled in her sleeping bag, Bemo pressed against her side, his steady breathing comforting but not enough to shake the lingering fear clawing at her chest.

Her dreams had been dark. Twisting shadows, hands grabbing at her, her father’s voice calling her name only to be drowned out by the growls of walkers. Then there was the moment she reached for him; only to feel cold, rotting flesh beneath her fingertips.

She woke up gasping, her little body trembling, a lump swelling in her throat. She hated crying, but the sobs came anyway, quiet at first, then harder to contain.

Bemo nudged her, sensing her distress, but it wasn’t enough. She needed something, someone, real.

Sniffling, she pushed herself up, careful not to trip over her blankets. She hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Bemo, find Merle.”

The dog hesitated, as if questioning whether she really wanted to go, but when she stood and reached for his leash, he obeyed, leading her carefully through the maze of tents. She focused on her footsteps, feeling the ground beneath her, mapping the path in her mind until she stopped in front of the familiar scent of tobacco and old leather.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out, fingers brushing against the canvas. “Merle?” Her voice was small, uncertain.

There was a pause, then a groggy, annoyed grunt. “The hell you doin’ outta bed, Mr. Magoo?”

She sniffled and Merle must’ve heard it because a long sigh followed. The tent rustled, and then a rough hand pulled the flap open. “Damn it, girl.” His voice wasn’t as harsh now, more gruff than mean.

Dallis bit her lip, “I had a nightmare.”

Merle grumbled something under his breath, then shifted aside. “Well, don’t just stand there like a lost pup. Get in ‘fore ya wake the whole damn camp.”

She didn’t hesitate. Crawling inside, she sat awkwardly, hugging her knees. Merle lit a cigarette, the flicker of the flame illuminating his tired, annoyed face. He took a long drag before exhaling.

“Ain’t got time for nightmares, kid. World’s scary enough awake.”

Dallis wiped at her wet cheeks. “I know. I just… I don’t wanna be alone right now.”

Merle was quiet for a long moment. Then, with another sigh, he shifted, grabbing an old, tattered blanket and tossing it over her head. “Fine. But don’t go sobbin’ all over my damn tent. Ain’t got the patience for it.”

She curled up beside him, the scent of smoke and sweat oddly grounding. Bemo settled at her feet, his warm weight making her feel safe. Merle muttered something she didn’t quite catch, but his presence alone was enough.

She finally felt like she could sleep.

Chapter Text

Dallis sat by the fire, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face set in a deep scowl. She prodded at the dirt with a stick, her jaw clenched, refusing to speak. Bemo lay at her side, head resting on his paws, picking up on her mood.

Merle sighed heavily, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Aw, come on, kid. Ain’t got time for you to be poutin’ like this.”

She said nothing.

Daryl, who had been sharpening one of his arrows, looked up and huffed. “She’s mad.”

“No shit,” Merle muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “Ain’t my fault we got things to do.”

Still, nothing from Dallis.

Daryl stood, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. “Look, it ain’t like we’re leavin’ you for good. You got the camp, the other folks ‘round here. Ain’t like you’re alone.”

Dallis clenched her jaw and gripped the stick in her hands tighter. Merle crouched down in front of her with a dramatic groan. “Oh, come on, Mr. Magoo, what’s with the silent treatment?”

She tried her best to glare.

Merle clicked his tongue. “Ain’t like I’m leavin’ ya in the woods to get eaten. Be back ‘fore ya know it. Hell, maybe I’ll even bring ya somethin’ nice.”

Dallis only turned her head away.

Merle gave Daryl a look. “She’s real mad.”

“No shit,” Daryl repeated.

Merle huffed before standing. “Fine, be that way, girl. Ain’t got time to coddle ya.”

Dallis curled her fingers into fists but stayed silent, even as Daryl gave her one last look before disappearing into the trees.

As Merle adjusted his bag, ready to head out, he paused and looked down at Dallis, still sitting stiffly by the fire. She had barely moved, her fingers curled tight into her lap, jaw clenched like she was holding back words she refused to say. Bemo nudged her leg gently, sensing her distress.

Merle let out a heavy sigh before reaching down to his belt and pulling out his knife. With a huff, he crouched in front of her and held it out. “Here,” he grumbled. “Take it.”

Dallis hesitated, her lips parting slightly.

“Ain’t no use sulkin’. You’re mad, I get it. But here—somethin’ to hold onto while I’m gone.”

Slowly, she reached forward, her small hands brushing against the cool handle before she gripped it. Her fingers tightened around the worn grip, tracing over the edges.

“You know how to hold it, yeah?” Merle asked, shifting to sit on one knee.

She nodded faintly, but when she opened her mouth to finally say something, her voice cracked and suddenly, her face twisted, and the tears started falling.

Merle’s eyes widened. “Ah, hell—”

Dallis squeezed the knife to her chest and shook her head, “You—You have to come back,” she said through quiet sobs. “You have to.”

Merle shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ain’t plannin’ on dyin’, kid.”

“Promise,” she whispered, voice trembling. Merle let out a long breath before nodding. “Alright. I promise.”

Dallis wiped at her eyes furiously, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Merle reached out, resting a rough hand on her head briefly before standing up.

“See ya soon, Mr. Magoo.”

Dallis still didn’t like the nickname, but she didn’t correct him this time. She just gripped the knife tightly and listened as his footsteps retreated until she was left alone by the fire, the warmth of his promise lingering in the cold morning air.

She sat there, unmoving, her heart twisting with anger and familiarity at the situation.

People always leave.

And they never come back.

-

Dallis sat near the edge of camp, fingers tracing over the worn handle of Merle’s knife. It was heavier than she expected, but it felt solid in her grip. She ran her thumb along the flat side of the blade, imagining how Merle must have used it a thousand times before; cutting rope, skinning game, maybe even fighting off walkers.

Carefully, she adjusted her hold, testing the weight in her palm. She wanted to feel capable. She wanted to prove that she wasn’t just some helpless kid who needed watching all the time.

She tightened her grip and flipped the blade slightly; just as her fingers slipped.

A sharp sting shot through her hand. She gasped, dropping the knife into the dirt.

Warmth spread across her fingertip. She pressed her thumb against the cut, but that only made it sting worse. Panic bubbled in her chest as she scrambled to her feet, wiping her bleeding finger against the hem of her shirt. She slide the knife back into her jean pocket.

Bemo whined beside her, nudging her knee as if to ask what was wrong.

I need to find someone…

She turned toward the heart of camp, weaving through the familiar paths she’d memorized by sound and touch. The air smelled of campfire smoke and something cooking; maybe fish. She could hear people talking, the faint sound of children laughing.

She followed the voices, her breath hitching as she clutched her hand to her chest.

Someone has to know what to do…

Finally, she stumbled toward a spot where she knew the RV was parked. She could hear the low hum of someone muttering under their breath.

Dale.

She exhaled in relief.

“Dale?” she called out, voice small.

There was a pause before his voice responded, warm and calm. “Dallis? That you?”

She nodded, stepping closer. “I—I cut myself.”

Dale’s footsteps approached, careful and steady. “Let me see.”

Dallis hesitated before holding out her hand. Dale took it gently, his fingers warm and dry against her own. He tsked under his breath. “It’s not too deep, but we should clean it up.”

Dallis sniffled, feeling embarrassed. “I was just… holding Merle’s knife.”

Dale led her toward the RV steps, guiding her down to sit. “Knives can be tricky things,” he said, pulling out a small first aid kit. “They don’t always do what you want ‘em to.”

She flinched as he dabbed something against the cut. “I just wanted to—” She stopped, swallowing hard.

Dale wrapped her finger carefully in a clean bandage. “Wanted to feel strong?” he guessed gently.

Dallis stayed quiet for a moment before nodding. Dale patted her shoulder. “Strength isn’t about holding a knife, kiddo. It’s about knowing when to use it—and when not to.”

Dallis frowned, rubbing her bandaged finger with her good hand. She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she kept his words in her mind as she sat there, letting Dale’s quiet presence settle her nerves.

-

After Dale finished wrapping her finger, he rummaged through a small stack of books he kept in the RV.

“How about a story?” he offered, his voice warm. Dallis scrunched her nose, “I dunno… I’m not a little kid.”

Dale chuckled. “It ain’t just for little kids. Reading’s for everyone. And, who knows, you might learn a thing or two.”

She sighed but nodded, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened to the sound of pages flipping. Bemo settled beside her, resting his big head on her leg. Dale cleared his throat. “Alright, here’s one. ‘Call of the Wild’ by Jack London. Ever heard of it?”

Dallis shook her head.

“Well, it’s about a dog,” he said, knowing that might catch her interest. “A strong one. A survivor.”

Dallis reached out, running her fingers along the book’s cover. The paper felt old, the corners curled. She traced the ridges of the title, picturing the letters in her mind. Dale started reading, his voice steady and even, filling the quiet between them. He read about Buck, the dog in the story, about how he was taken from his home and forced to find his place in a world that was nothing like the one he knew.

Somewhere in the middle of the chapter, Dale paused. “You know what ‘primitive’ means?”

Dallis furrowed her brows. “No.”

“It means something old, something natural. Like… instincts. The way animals just know how to survive.”

Dallis nodded slowly, thinking about that. Dale kept going, stopping now and then to explain new words; resilient, endure, formidable.

Dallis tried repeating them, rolling the syllables over her tongue. They felt big, too big for her, but Dale just smiled, probably.

“You’ll get ‘em,” he said. “Just takes time.”

By the time he closed the book, her eyelids were drooping, and her earlier frustration had faded.

“Thanks, Dale,” she murmured sleepily.

“Anytime, kiddo,” he said, patting her shoulder.

“Now go get some rest. And don’t go playing with sharp objects, alright?”

She let out a small, tired laugh and nodded, gripping Bemo’s leash as she made her way back to her tent.

-

Dallis rubbed the sleep from her eyes as Carl’s voice cut through the morning air.

“Dad?!”

She sat up quickly, her heart racing with excitement. They were back. That meant—

She scrambled to her feet, Bemo trotting beside her as she made her way toward the sound of voices. She could hear the group moving around, unloading supplies, people asking questions, catching up. Her fingers clenched around the knife Merle had given her. He had promised.

She reached the truck, her hands grazing the metal as she followed along its side. “Merle?” she called, her voice small but hopeful.

No answer.

Her stomach twisted as she kept walking, reaching the back where she knew he’d be. Maybe he was just sitting there, waiting for her like he always did when he came back from something.

“Merle?” she called again, her voice quieter this time.

Still nothing.

Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground, sitting with her legs crossed as she faced the truck bed. Bemo nudged her arm, whining softly, but she ignored him.

He promised.

She would wait.

-

Dallis sat in the dirt behind the truck, her knees pulled up to her chest, fingers digging into the fabric of her pants. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She just listened to the voices of the others, their conversations muffled and distant, like they were behind a wall she couldn’t reach past.

He promised.

The thought kept looping in her head, over and over, until it was all she could hear. The ache in her chest was unbearable, like something had clawed its way inside her ribs and refused to let go. Bemo rested his head on her lap, but even his warmth wasn’t enough to chase away the growing cold inside her.

Footsteps crunched against the gravel behind her, slow and cautious. She didn’t react, not until she heard the voice.

“Hey, kid.”

Shane.

She clenched her jaw, already knowing what he was going to say before he even said it.

Shane sighed and crouched down in front of her, resting his elbows on his knees. “Dallis, listen—”

“No.” Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the anger behind it was unmistakable.

Shane exhaled sharply through his nose. “I know this is hard—”

“No, you don’t.”

He paused. “I do. I’ve lost people too.”

“It’s not the same,” she snapped, her small hands balling into fists. “He promised.”

Shane ran a hand over his face. “I know he did, kid. I know. But things don’t always—”

“Stop it!”

She slammed her fists against his chest, her tiny hands hitting hard, but not enough to really hurt him. Still, he didn’t stop her. She hit him again, and again, until her arms ached, her breath coming out in ragged sobs.

“He promised,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “He said he’d come back. He—he gave me his knife, and he promised.”

Shane let out another sigh, his hand coming up to rest lightly on her shoulder. “I know, kid. I know.”

She shook her head furiously, her body trembling. “He’s not dead. He can’t be dead.”

Shane hesitated. “Dallis—”

“No!” She shoved at him, but he barely moved. “You’re lying. You’re all lying. He’s just lost, right? He’s lost, and we have to go get him.”

Shane was quiet for a moment, then he said, “Dallis… Merle’s gone.”

A broken sob tore out of her, and she slumped forward, her forehead pressing against Shane’s chest. He stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away. She gripped his shirt, shaking as she cried, her small body wracked with grief.

He let her cry.

After a while, his voice came again, softer this time. “I ain’t gonna tell you it don’t hurt. It does. And it ain’t gonna stop hurting for a while.”

She sniffled, barely hearing him.

“But you ain’t alone, kid,” he continued. “You got people here. You got Daryl. And I ain’t sayin’ I can replace him, ‘cause no one can replace the people we lose. But you ain’t gotta go through this alone.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming in shuddering gasps.

He stayed with her until the sobs died down, until she was just sniffling quietly against his shirt. Then, finally, he ruffled her hair a little and stood up.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get you something to eat.”

She didn’t respond, just stayed curled up on the ground as she listened to his footsteps fade away.

Bemo whined and nudged her arm, and slowly, she reached out and buried her fingers in his fur.

She still didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

She just waited.

Chapter Text

Dallis sat on the ground, knees hugged to her chest, face buried against them. Her whole body felt heavy, like all the air had been squeezed out of her. She had cried so much that her head hurt, but she still felt like she could cry more.

She heard footsteps approaching. Smaller than the adults, lighter. Carl.

He hesitated before sitting down next to her, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not touching. He was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke.

"My dad's back," he said, almost like he didn't believe it himself.

Dallis flinched. She lifted her head slightly, her lips trembling. "What?"

"He—he made it out of Atlanta," Carl said, voice filled with something between excitement and disbelief. "He's here. He's alive."

Dallis felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her. She shook her head, her breath quickening. "No."

Carl frowned. "Dallis—"

"NO!" she shouted, turning on him. "That's not fair!"

Carl jerked back. "What—"

"It's not fair!" she sobbed, voice breaking. "Why does your dad get to come back? Why does he get to be alive?!" She hit her fists against the ground, her entire body trembling. "My dad's dead! Merle's dead! I—I don't get anybody back, but you—you get your stupid dad back!"

Carl sat frozen, stunned by the sudden outburst. Dallis hiccupped between sobs, shaking her head furiously. "It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fair!"

Carl looked down, gripping his hands tightly in his lap. "I didn't—" He hesitated, voice quieter now. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

Dallis squeezed her eyes shut, biting down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. She wanted to be happy for Carl. She wanted to say she was glad his dad was okay.

But all she could think about was how hers wasn’t.

And now, neither was Merle.

-

Dallis sat alone at the edge of camp, curled up beneath the shade of a tree, her fingers absently tracing the handle of Merle’s knife. The world outside her little space felt distant; muffled voices, the occasional snap of twigs beneath boots, and the hum of a camp that was still settling after everything that had happened.

No one had come to bother her.

Not Carl. Not Shane.

Not Daryl.

She wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Bemo rested beside her, his big body warm against her side. Every now and then, he let out a soft whine, nudging her with his nose as if trying to tell her to do something. To move. To eat. To speak.

She did none of those things. Then, amidst the camp’s distant noise, she heard it.

A familiar voice, gruff and casual, carrying easily over the morning air.

“Merle!” Daryl called out, his voice sharp with expectation. “Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel!”

Dallis flinched, her grip on the knife tightening. Daryl didn’t know. He was still calling for him, still expecting him to come stomping through the camp with that lazy, cocky grin. Her throat felt like it was closing up.

She waited, heart pounding, stomach twisting.

Waited for someone to say something, for someone to tell him.

But no one did.

She heard Daryl grumble under his breath, footsteps crunching as he moved around. "Damn it, Merle—"

Then, the commotion started.

Dallis couldn’t tell what was happening, only that voices were rising, people were moving fast, and there was something tense in the air. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, pressing her forehead against them, trying to block it all out.

She didn’t want to listen. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to feel.

Then—footsteps.

Not rushed like the others. Not frantic.

Steady. Purposeful.

Coming straight for her.

“Dallis?”

She barely lifted her head, but she didn’t need to see him to know it was Daryl. He was close now, stopping just a few feet away. She could feel the weight of his stare, heavy with confusion.

A pause.

Then, softer, “What’s wrong?”

Dallis swallowed, her breath hitching. She shook her head, curling in on herself. Daryl exhaled sharply, the gravel shifting under his boots as he stepped closer. She heard him squat down, felt his presence closer now.

“Hey.” His voice was still gruff, but gentler now. “Talk to me, kid.”

Dallis opened her mouth, but nothing came out. How was she supposed to say it? Why was she supposed to be the one to tell him?

She felt her lip tremble, her fingers clenching into the fabric of her pants.

Daryl was quiet for a long time,

“…Where’s Merle?”

Her whole body tensed. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t, but she didn’t have to.

Daryl didn’t move. Didn’t say anything, but she could feel the shift in the air.

Then, without another word, he stood up and walked away.

-

Dallis sat where Daryl had left her, curled up with Bemo pressed against her side. She could hear everything from here; the sharp, angry voices cutting through the air, the sound of people moving, arguing.

Daryl had stormed off, and from the way the camp had erupted, she knew exactly where he’d gone. She didn’t need to see it to know how it played out.

Daryl demanding answers.

Rick’s steady, heavy voice trying to explain.

Shane’s sharper, more defensive tone.

Others chiming in.

The tension thick in the air, the kind that settled in your chest and made it hard to breathe. Dallis didn’t move. She just sat there, waiting.

Waiting for Daryl to come back.

Waiting for something.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, and still, he didn’t return. People moved around the camp, but no one came near her. Maybe they thought she wanted to be alone. Maybe they just didn’t know what to say.

The sky turned dark, she guessed. Bemo rested his head on her lap, letting out a soft huff. And still; Daryl didn’t come. She didn’t know how long it had been when she finally heard his footsteps.

Slow. Heavy.

He stopped just a few feet away. For a long time, he didn’t say anything.

Neither did she.

“…You eat?”

His voice was quieter than before. Not soft, exactly, but different.

Dallis shook her head.

Another pause.

Daryl sighed, and she heard him crouch down. "Should eat somethin'."

Dallis didn't respond. She waited for him to say something else. To tell her more. To explain why he'd ignored her for so long, but he didn’t and she didn’t ask.

She just hugged her knees tighter. A long silence stretched between them before Daryl finally spoke again.

“…I’m goin’ back tomorrow.”

Dallis blinked, “What?”

“Atlanta.” His voice was firm. “Goin’ to get Merle.”

She felt her breath hitch. For a second, she thought she’d misheard.

“B—But they left him,” she whispered. “They left him.”

Daryl exhaled sharply. "Yeah, well, he ain't dead."

Dallis's head snapped up. "What?"

"They left him cuffed to a roof," Daryl muttered. "Rick said he left him a bag of tools. If I know Merle, he's got himself free by now. Just gotta track 'im."

Dallis couldn’t speak. She had spent all this time thinking, knowing, that Merle was dead.

That he had been eaten.

That he had been abandoned and left to rot.

But he wasn’t.

She let out a shaky breath, trying to make sense of it. Daryl must’ve noticed, because his voice softened just a little.

“I’ll bring ‘im back, alright?”

Dallis bit her lip, nodding.

-

Dallis hesitated before speaking, her voice small. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

She expected Daryl to say no immediately.

And for a moment, he didn’t say anything at all. She could hear him shifting, probably rubbing at the back of his neck like he always did when he was uncomfortable.

“Uh…” Daryl cleared his throat. “You ain’t scared of sleepin’ alone, are ya?”

Dallis didn’t answer. She wasn’t scared, not really. But after everything; after thinking Merle was dead, after feeling so alone, she didn’t want to be by herself tonight. Merl would have let her sleep with him.

Daryl must’ve picked up on that because he let out a long sigh.

“Yeah… alright,” he muttered. “C’mon, then.”

Dallis felt relief wash over her. Bemo nudged her as she got to her feet, following Daryl toward his tent. Inside, it smelled like dirt and leather and firewood. It smelled like them.

Daryl laid down on his bedroll with a grunt, and she hesitated before carefully laying down beside him, her back turned to him. Bemo curled up at her feet. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Daryl shifted, letting out another small sigh. “You tell anyone ‘bout this, I’ll deny it.”

Dallis let out a tiny, tired smile.

She wouldn’t tell.

And she wouldn’t let go of the small comfort she felt, knowing she wasn’t alone tonight.

-

Dallis stirred as the sound of movement reached her ears. The rustling of fabric, the creak of worn boots, the quiet jangle of gear being strapped on. She blinked groggily, her body still heavy with sleep, but she knew what was happening. Daryl was leaving. Panic gripped her chest.

She reached out blindly, her small fingers catching onto the rough fabric of his sleeve. “Daryl?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

He stopped.

“Go back to sleep, kid,” he muttered.

Dallis shook her head weakly, gripping his sleeve tighter. “Promise you’ll come back.”

Daryl was quiet.

She couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t read the hesitation in his face, but she could hear his breath hitch. A long pause stretched between them before he let out a slow sigh.

“…Yeah,” he finally muttered. “I promise.”

Dallis loosened her grip, satisfied, already slipping back into sleep.

She didn’t know how much those words meant to him.

Didn’t know that no one had ever really asked that of him before.

Didn’t know that it was the first time in a long time he had someone waiting for him to come back.

-

Dallis found Shane by the trucks, rummaging through supplies. She hesitated, standing a few feet away, her fingers gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she didn’t know why.

Shane must have heard her because he straightened and looked in her direction. “Hey, kid,” he said, his voice even. There wasn’t any anger in it, but there was something careful, something unreadable. Like he wasn’t sure what she was doing here.

Dallis opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She felt her throat tighten. She had told herself she was ready to do this, but now that she was standing here, it was so much harder.

Shane sighed, like he could sense her hesitation. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

Her fingers twitched, she forced herself to take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Shane frowned. “For what?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, keeping her face turned down. “For hitting you. For yelling.” She swallowed, then added in a small voice, “I was just… mad.”

A long silence stretched between them. For a second, she wondered if he wasn’t going to say anything at all. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he was still mad at her.

Then, finally, he let out a breath. “I get it.”

Dallis blinked in surprise.

“I know what it’s like to be mad.” His voice was lower now, steady, but with something underneath it. Something tired. “I know what it’s like to lose people and feel like the whole damn world is against you.” He paused.

“It ain’t fair. None of it.”

Dallis pressed her lips together. She wasn’t sure what she had expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, but she forced them down.

She was so tired of crying.

Shane shifted his weight. “Listen… Merle’s tough. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s tough. If anyone can make it out there, it’s him.”

Dallis didn’t say anything. She wanted to believe that. She really did. But she had spent too many nights thinking about her dad, about how she had waited for him, how she had refused to leave because she was sure he was coming back.

And he never did.

What if Merle didn’t either?

But then, Daryl had gone after him.

Daryl had promised to come back.

Maybe Merle would come back too and tease her about being such a big baby.

“…Okay,” she whispered.

Shane sighed again. “You ever need anything, you know where to find me, alright?”

She nodded.

-

That night, she sat by the dying campfire, feeling the smooth handle of Merle’s knife in her hands. The fire cracked and popped, sending tiny embers into the night sky. The camp was quiet; most people had already gone to sleep.

Dallis ran her fingers over the blade, tracing the edges carefully. It was sharp, but she had learned how to be careful. Merle had given it to her before he left, and she had clutched it in her hands ever since.

She sniffled, staring into the darkness.

She hated being left behind.

Being alone.

She hated that she wasn’t strong enough to go with them, to help.

A quiet shuffling sound made her turn her head. She heard boots scuffing against the dirt.

“Hey, kid.”

Dallis blinked. It was Shane again.

She turned her head toward him, but she didn’t say anything. He sighed, like he was debating whether or not to say something. Then, he sat down on the log next to her.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally, he muttered, “Can’t sleep?”

Dallis shook her head. Shane let out a breath, stretching his legs out. “Yeah. Me neither.”

More silence. The fire crackled between them. Dallis bit her lip before mumbling, “Do you think they’re okay?”

She didn’t have to say who. Shane exhaled through his nose. “I think Daryl’s stubborn as hell. And I think Merle’s mean enough to bite through anything that gets in his way.” A small pause. “They’ll be fine.”

Dallis swallowed. “Okay.”

Another long silence. Then, unexpectedly, Shane let out a quiet chuckle. “You know, Merle would probably cuss me out for sittin’ here talkin’ to you.”

Dallis frowned, “Why?”

“Because he don’t like me.”

Dallis thought about that.

“I don’t think Merle likes anybody.”

Shane laughed at that, short and amused. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Dallis allowed herself a tiny smile. Just a small one. They sat in silence for a while longer before Shane finally pushed himself to his feet with a groan. “Alright, kid. Try to get some sleep.”

Dallis nodded, gripping the knife a little tighter. She didn’t know if she would be able to sleep.

-

Dallis woke to Bemo’s frantic barking, the deep rumbling growl vibrating through his chest. She sat up too fast, her head spinning from sleep, fingers clutching at the fabric of her sleeping bag. The night air was cold, but something else made her shiver; something was wrong.

Wet, ragged breathing.

It was close. Too close.

Her stomach twisted as her fingers dug into the dirt beneath her. She could feel the vibrations, the heavy, dragging weight of something moving outside her tent. A low, gurgling noise rattled through the thin fabric.

Bemo let out another sharp bark, his body shifting beside her, his growls turning vicious. She could tell, he was standing between her and it.

Then came the sound of tearing fabric. A rip.

Dallis barely had time to scream before the canvas of her tent shredded open. A hand, cold, rough, and wrong, swiped blindly inside, grasping at air. The smell hit her at the same time. Thick. Rotten. Choking.

Walker.

Bemo lunged, his teeth snapping with a terrifying crunch. The walker groaned, stumbling under the sudden force of the attack. Dallis’s pulse hammered, her body frozen for half a second before her instincts kicked in.

Her hands searched wildly through the blankets, the dirt, her breath coming fast and shallow. She knew it had to be here; Merle’s knife. Her fingers wrapped around the handle, slick with sweat, just as the walker let out a deep, guttural growl. It was coming for her. Bemo snarled again, lunging, but the walker barely stumbled. It didn’t stop.

Dallis moved.

She lifted the knife, her grip unsteady, her breath sharp in her throat.

Then she stabbed. The blade sank into something soft. The walker jerked violently, its groan turning into a wet hiss, but it didn’t fall. Dallis clenched her teeth and yanked the knife free. Then she stabbed again.

It twitched. Grasped for her.

Again.

Again.

She didn’t stop until the walker’s body finally slumped forward, crashing into the torn remnants of her tent. The silence that followed was deafening, except for her own ragged breathing.

Her hands were sticky. Warm. Blood or sweat, she couldn’t tell.

Bemo whined beside her, nudging her leg. She turned her head toward him, feeling the warmth of his fur, the grounding weight of him pressing into her side.

Then she heard it.

Screaming.

Not hers. The camp.

Dallis froze, her pulse pounding in her ears. There were running footsteps, frantic shouts, the unmistakable snarls and hisses of more walkers. Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming in terror.

Her breath caught.

She couldn’t see. She didn’t know where they were coming from, how many there were, who was still alive. She felt Bemo press against her, waiting, guarding, ready. But she didn’t have time to wait. Her fingers tightened around the blood-slick handle of the knife.

She had to find Daryl.

She had to find Shane.

She had to survive.

-

Dallis was shaking.

She could feel it deep in her chest, in the way her breath hitched between sobs. The air was thick with the smell of blood and rot, and even though she couldn’t see, she knew the camp was littered with bodies. Walkers groaned in the distance, but the screams had faded, replaced by quiet crying and murmured voices.

Bemo pressed against her side, his body stiff and alert, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Her fingers clenched around Merle’s knife, sticky with walker blood, but her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

Then she heard footsteps; heavy, fast, coming right toward her. She barely had time to react before strong arms scooped her up, lifting her off the ground. She gasped, heart pounding, but then a familiar voice cut through the panic.

"I gotcha, kid—just hold on."

Shane.

The tension in her body eased just slightly, but the relief was drowned out by everything else. She buried her face in his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt with shaking hands as he ran. She bounced against his chest, but his hold was tight, steady. He didn’t let go, even when she heard the sickening sound of a knife plunging into flesh.

One walker down.

A gunshot rang out. Another one gone.

Dallis pressed her face tighter into Shane’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut.

Bemo’s paws thudded against the dirt beside them, keeping pace. Shane moved fast, barely slowing as he cut through anything in his way. The fighting was still loud around them, the air filled with snarls and gunfire, but then, suddenly, it was quiet.

Not completely, but enough. The growls were gone. The screams had faded into hushed voices, uneven breathing, soft sobs. Dallis felt Shane’s chest rise and fall under her as he slowed his pace, his grip still firm.

Then; another touch.

Hands slid under her arms, larger and rougher than Shane’s. Shane hesitated for just a second before passing her off. Dallis barely had time to react before she was pulled into another chest, another pair of arms wrapping tightly around her.

This one smelled different. Not like sweat and gunpowder, but dirt and leather.

She knew who it was before he even spoke.

"Shit, kid." Daryl’s voice was rough, like he’d been running, like he’d been yelling. His arms tightened around her, his hold secure but careful. One hand cradled the back of her head, pressing her close.

That was when it all hit her.

The attack.

The fact that she had killed a walker.

The fact that people were dead.

The fear, the exhaustion, the unbearable weight of everything she had been holding in; she couldn’t stop it. A sob burst out of her, then another, her body shaking uncontrollably. She clung to Daryl’s vest, gripping the worn leather in tight fists as she buried her face against his chest.

He stiffened, just for a second, but then his hand shifted against her back. His touch was awkward, uncertain, but he was trying. He rubbed slow, uneven circles over her spine, his other arm still wrapped around her.

"You’re okay," he muttered, voice low and rough.

She wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. But she couldn’t say that. She just kept crying, shaking, pressing herself further into his hold like she could disappear into it.

Daryl didn’t pull away.

He just held her.

Chapter Text

Dallis sat on the edge of her sleeping mat, her fingers running over the worn handle of Merle’s knife. She felt the ridges in the grip, traced the dull side of the blade, but she couldn’t bring herself to hold it properly. The weight of it felt wrong in her hands today. Like she shouldn’t be touching it at all.

The camp was busy; she could hear it. People moving, talking in hushed voices. The scrape of shovels hitting dirt. The occasional sniffle or quiet sob. She knew what they were doing. Knew why Daryl had told her to stay put.

They were burying the bodies.

Dallis clenched her jaw and tucked her knees up to her chest. She felt useless. Just sitting here, waiting, while everyone else was out there doing something. She had fought last night. She had killed one of them. Why couldn’t she help now?

Bemo nudged his head under her hand, a small whine escaping him. She scratched behind his ears absentmindedly, her thoughts spinning.

The attack had taken so much. People she barely knew, gone. The camp didn’t even feel the same anymore. It felt... smaller.

She heard footsteps approaching, the crunch of dirt under boots. They stopped in front of her, and then a familiar voice spoke.

"Figured you ain't eaten yet."

Shane.

A moment later, something warm was pressed into her hands. A plate. She could feel the slight heat of it, the rough texture of bread, the weight of something heavier.

Dallis hesitated before mumbling, "Thanks." She didn’t really feel hungry, but she took the plate anyway.

Shane sat down next to her with a grunt. He didn’t say anything for a minute, just let the silence sit between them. Dallis pushed at the bread with her fingers. "How many?" she finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Shane sighed, slow and deep. "Too many."

Her throat tightened. "I shoulda helped."

Shane scoffed, "What, you wanna dig graves now?"

"I wanna do somethin’." She clenched her hands into fists, her appetite disappearing completely. "Not just sit here while everyone else—"

"Hey." Shane nudged her arm, firm but not rough. "Ain’t about what you can or can’t do, alright? Sometimes sittin’ still’s the hardest damn thing."

Dallis didn’t respond.

"Listen," he went on, "I know it feels like you gotta be doin’ somethin’ all the time, but that don’t mean you gotta throw yourself into every damn thing. Ain’t your job to fix all this, kid."

Her fingers curled around Merle’s knife. "Merle wouldn’t just sit here."

Shane let out a short breath. "No, guess he wouldn’t. But that don’t mean he was always right."

That made her pause. She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking. Merle always told her to toughen up, to keep moving, to never let herself sit in one place too long. But Daryl; Daryl told her to stay today.

Did he think she was weak?

She picked at the edge of the bread. "Daryl comin’ back soon?"

"Soon enough." Shane shifted beside her. "He's checkin’ the perimeter, makin’ sure we ain't got more of those things lurkin’."

Dallis exhaled slowly. She wanted to hear his voice again.

Shane stood with a groan, stretching. "Eat somethin', alright? Ain't gonna do nobody any good if you keel over."

She didn't answer, but she gave a small nod. Shane ruffled her hair; something that would’ve annoyed her any other day, but today, she just let him. Then he walked off, leaving her alone again.

Dallis listened to the sounds of camp, the distant voices, the steady scrape of shovels. She wasn't sure what to do with herself.

So, after a moment, she pulled off a small piece of bread and slowly started eating.

-

Dallis sat with her back against a crate, fingers running over the edge of Merle’s knife as the sounds of the camp hummed around her. She had barely touched her food, only picking at the bread while Bemo lay curled at her side. The day felt heavier than usual. Everything did.

She heard footsteps approaching and turned her head slightly. The steps were lighter than an adult’s, more hesitant. Familiar.

Carl.

“Hey,” he said, voice quiet.

Dallis didn’t answer right away. She just traced the worn handle of the knife before finally mumbling, “Hey.”

Carl shuffled closer, then plopped down next to her with a soft huff. She felt the slight shift of air when he moved. A second later, there was a faint rustling sound, like pages being flipped.

“You wanna read?” Carl asked, already opening one of his comics.

Dallis hesitated. She didn’t really feel like doing anything, but she didn’t want to be alone, either. “Yeah,” she finally said.

Carl started reading, his voice steady but softer than usual. He described the pictures a little more than he normally would, maybe realizing she needed the extra detail today. She leaned her head back against the crate, listening, letting the words pull her into a different world; one where things weren’t as broken.

But after a while, Carl stopped talking. He let out a slow breath, his fingers idly tapping against the comic book. Dallis turned her head toward him, waiting.

“I was scared last night,” Carl finally admitted. His voice was small, quieter than she’d ever heard it. “Really scared.”

Dallis tightened her grip on the knife. She knew what fear felt like. She had felt it clawing at her throat when she heard the walkers, when she swung her knife and felt it sink into something that used to be human.

Carl sniffed, then cleared his throat. “Amy died.”

Dallis swallowed hard. She hadn’t known Amy well, only heard her voice around camp, laughing with Andrea, talking with the others. But she was still... there. And now she wasn’t.

Carl shifted beside her. “I saw it happen,” he muttered. “Saw her get bit.” His voice wavered slightly, like he was trying not to cry. “She was just sitting there, and then... then she wasn’t.”

Dallis clenched her jaw.

She wanted to say something, but what was she supposed to say? That she was sorry? That she understood? She did, in a way. She knew what it was like to lose someone right in front of you, to feel the world tilt and break apart in a single moment.

She thought of her dad. Of Merle.

“I thought my dad was gonna come back,” Carl admitted. “I thought... maybe, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he was here. But he wasn’t. And I just—I don’t know.”

Dallis inhaled shakily. “He’s here now,” she mumbled. “Your dad.”

Carl was quiet for a moment. “Yeah.”

She nodded slightly, even though she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Rick came back. Merle didn’t.

Carl sighed, then flipped another page in the comic. “You wanna keep reading?”

Dallis didn’t really want to, not anymore. But she also didn’t want to sit in silence, drowning in all these heavy feelings.

So she nodded. “Yeah.”

Carl started reading again, and she listened. Not because she cared about the story right now, but because his voice made the world feel a little less empty.

-

Dallis was already half-asleep when she heard the familiar shuffle of boots approaching her tent. She stirred slightly, not fully awake but aware enough to recognize the sound. Bemo let out a soft huff beside her, his warm body curled against her side.

The tent flap rustled, and then Daryl’s voice, rough and quiet, broke the silence. “We’re leavin’ tomorrow.”

Dallis blinked, sluggish and disoriented. “Huh?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

“For the CDC,” Daryl said.

She frowned, rubbing her eyes as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. “What’s that?”

There was a pause, like he wasn’t sure how to explain it. “It’s a place... government thing. Got doctors ‘n’ scientists ‘n’ all that.”

Dallis let the words settle in her tired mind, trying to piece together what it meant. “Why?”

Daryl sighed, shifting his weight. “Think they might have answers ‘bout all this.”

Dallis frowned, gripping the blanket tighter. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Answers wouldn’t bring her dad back. Wouldn’t bring Merle back.

Wouldn’t change the fact that the world was already gone.

She swallowed, “Are we all going?”

“Yeah,” Daryl muttered. “Whole camp.”

Dallis nodded slightly, laying back down. She could hear Daryl standing there for a second longer before he muttered, “Get some sleep.”

She didn’t respond, just turned onto her side, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over her again.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted answers, she just wanted things to go back to how they used to be.

-

Dallis sat in the truck, her fingers running along the handle of Merle’s knife, tracing the worn grooves absentmindedly. Daryl had told her to wait there while everyone packed up, but she hated waiting. It made her feel useless.

She could hear the sounds of people moving around; rustling bags, quiet conversations, the clatter of supplies being loaded up. The camp was breaking apart, and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

Footsteps approached, and then Carl’s voice cut through the noise. “Dallis?”

She tilted her head toward him. “Yeah?”

He hesitated before speaking, like he didn’t really want to say it. “The Morales family… they’re not coming with us.”

Dallis sat up a little straighter. “What? Why?”

“They wanna go somewhere else,” Carl said. “They think they’ll be safer with family somewhere.”

Dallis felt her chest tighten. “But—” She shut her mouth, unsure what she was even trying to say. The Morales kids, Eliza and Louis, had become her friends. They played together, helped each other, laughed together. Now they were just… leaving?

Carl must’ve noticed her face, because he added, “I don’t think they really wanna go, but their parents do.”

Dallis swallowed hard. “Did you say goodbye?”

Carl was quiet for a second. “Yeah.”

Dallis clenched her hands into fists. She wanted to say goodbye too, but she was stuck here. Stuck in the truck like she was some little kid who couldn’t handle herself.

Her throat burned. “That’s not fair.”

“I know,” Carl murmured.

She exhaled shakily, gripping Merle’s knife tighter. People just kept leaving. First her dad. Then Merle. Now the Morales kids.

How much more was she supposed to lose?

-

Dallis sat stiffly in the truck, arms crossed tight over her chest, her jaw clenched so hard it hurt. She listened to the last sounds of camp being torn down, but she didn’t say a word. Not to Carl. Not to anyone.

When the driver’s side door opened, she knew it was Daryl by the sound of his boots scuffing against the metal floor. He exhaled as he settled into his seat, keys jingling in his hands. The truck rumbled beneath them as he started it up, but when he glanced over at her, she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Daryl tapped the steering wheel. “What’s with you?”

Dallis kept her lips pressed shut. He sighed through his nose. “Come on, what now?”

She curled her fingers into fists. Still nothing. There was a pause before Daryl scoffed. “You gonna ignore me all damn day?”

Dallis turned her face away, her head angled slightly toward the window as if she could see through it. She felt her chest tightening again, like a knot she couldn’t untangle.

Daryl groaned. “Alright, hell—what’d I do?”

That did it. The anger boiled over so fast she couldn’t hold it in. She whipped her head toward him, her voice sharp.

“You said the whole group was coming.”

Daryl blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“The Morales family,” she snapped. “They’re not coming! And I didn’t even get to say goodbye because you stuck me in the truck like I was some little kid!”

Daryl was silent for a moment, then he muttered, “I didn’t know they was gonna stay behind.”

Dallis’s hands tightened into fists in her lap. “You still lied.”

Daryl made a frustrated noise. “I didn’t lie, kid. Thought they was comin’ same as you.”

Dallis shook her head. “I hate this.” Her voice cracked. “People just leave. And you didn’t even let me say goodbye.”

Daryl exhaled through his nose. He didn’t say anything right away, and for a moment, Dallis thought maybe he wasn’t going to. But then he shifted in his seat. “World’s different now,” he muttered. “Ain’t like it used to be.”

Dallis turned away from him again. “I still wanted to say goodbye,” she whispered.

Daryl was quiet after that. The truck rolled forward, leaving the broken-down camp behind, and Dallis let the silence stretch between them.

Chapter Text

The truck rumbled to a stop, and Dallis could hear people moving around outside, their voices hushed and heavy. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the air, the way it pressed down on her chest.

Daryl sighed beside her, shifting in his seat. “RV’s busted,” he muttered. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere for a bit.”

Dallis didn’t answer. She didn’t care about the RV. There was something else. Something worse.

She heard footsteps crunching on gravel, moving away from the vehicles. More voices, quiet but serious. The kind of voices people used when something bad was happening. Dallis turned her head toward the sound, listening hard.

“What’s going on?” she asked. Daryl didn’t answer right away. She could tell he didn’t want to. Finally, he exhaled through his nose. “Jim wants to stay.”

Dallis frowned. “Stay where?”

Daryl hesitated, then said, “Here.”

Her breath caught. “But… why?”

Daryl shifted again. “He got bit.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Dallis stiffened, her hands clenching in her lap. Bit. She knew what that meant. She’d heard the others whisper about it before. She might not be able to see, but she wasn’t stupid.

She swallowed hard. “So he’s gonna—”

“Yeah,” Daryl muttered. “He’s gonna.”

A heavy silence settled between them. Dallis hugged herself, her fingers gripping the sleeves of her shirt. She didn’t know Jim that well, barely even talked to him, but that didn’t matter. He was still part of their group. And now he was dying.

She heard the others moving toward him, one by one. Saying their goodbyes.

Dallis frowned, “I wanna go.”

Daryl grunted. “Ain’t no point, kid. You didn’t even know him.”

“I don’t care,” she shot back. “I wanna go.”

Daryl muttered something under his breath, but she ignored it. She pushed open the truck door and slid down onto the road, gripping her cane tightly. She didn’t wait for Daryl to stop her. She just moved, following the sound of voices, letting her feet guide her over the uneven ground.

Bemo stayed close, his leash slack in her hand. She heard someone sniffle, someone else murmur something soft. She recognized Lori’s voice, then Dale’s. They were all saying things to Jim, things that felt final.

Dallis stopped a few feet away, unsure if she should step closer. She felt out of place, like she was intruding on something personal. But she was here now. She couldn’t just turn back.

She swallowed and took a shaky step forward. “Jim?”

The voices hushed. For a second, she thought maybe she shouldn’t have spoken. But then Jim’s voice, weak but steady, answered her.

“I’m here, kid.”

Dallis pressed her lips together, gripping Bemo’s leash tighter. “I—I just wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, then a faint chuckle. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ you did.”

Dallis nodded, even though it didn’t feel right. Jim sighed, the sound tired. “You keep holdin’ on to that dog of yours, alright? He’s a good one.”

Dallis bit her lip. “Okay.”

Jim didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. Dallis could hear how exhausted he was, how ready he was to be left alone. She backed up a step, feeling Bemo shift beside her.

A hand touched her shoulder; Dale, probably. He gave her a gentle squeeze before guiding her away.

As they walked back toward the vehicles, Dallis heard Jim take a deep breath. Then, as they left him behind, she heard nothing at all.

-

The ride was long and quiet, nothing but the rumble of the engine and the occasional sniffle from someone in the group. Dallis didn’t know how much time had passed, but the sun had long since disappeared, and the air had grown colder. She could feel it against her skin, could hear the way the wind had changed; empty roads, no trees close by.

Then, the truck slowed.

“We’re here,” Daryl muttered.

Dallis sat up a little straighter, gripping Bemo’s leash. She could hear the shuffle of people moving around, the sound of doors opening and feet hitting the pavement. Someone whispered something. She heard a gun being checked, the soft click of a safety being flicked off.

She still didn’t really know what the CDC was, but she figured if the adults thought it was important, then it had to be.

As they got out of the truck Daryl reached back and grabbed her hand, tugging her forward.

“Stick to me,” he said. “Hold onto my shirt, alright?”

Dallis nodded quickly, reaching out until her fingers caught the back of his shirt. She curled her fist into the fabric, holding on tight.

The voices around them grew louder, filling the space as they walked forward. She tightened her grip on Daryl’s shirt instinctively.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that sat heavy in Dallis’ chest. People were yelling; Rick’s voice was the loudest, banging on the metal doors, shouting for whoever was inside to let them in.

Dallis gripped the back of Daryl’s shirt tighter, flinching at every loud noise. Bemo was pressed close to her leg, whining softly. She could feel the way the ground vibrated beneath her feet; walkers. A lot of them.

“This ain’t workin’, Rick!” That was Shane, his voice sharp with frustration. “We need to move, now!”

“They’re coming,” Glenn added, his voice strained.

Dallis heard the crack of a gunshot from somewhere nearby, followed by the familiar wet sound of a walker hitting the ground. She knew what that meant. They were getting too close.

Rick wasn’t giving up, though. He banged on the door harder, desperation creeping into his voice. “We saw you! We know you’re in there! Please, just let us in!”

No answer.

“Rick—”

“I’m not leaving!” Rick shouted back at Shane.

The walkers were getting closer. Dallis could hear them now, the awful groaning and snarling, the shuffling of their dead feet against the pavement.

“Shit,” Daryl muttered under his breath.

Dallis felt hands on her suddenly, lifting her off the ground. She let out a small yelp, startled, and clutched at whoever was holding her. “It’s me, kid,” Shane said, shifting her in his arms. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

“No—wait—” Dallis twisted in his hold, reaching blindly for Daryl.

She heard Bemo bark, frantic, but before she could protest again, there was a sudden clank from in front of them.

A loud mechanical whir.

Everything went silent for a second. Then, the heavy metal doors groaned open. Dallis barely had time to process what was happening before Shane set her back on her feet.

Rick was already pushing forward, ushering everyone inside. “Go! Get inside, now!”

Dallis felt a hand grip her wrist; Daryl. He tugged her forward, moving fast, his body tense as they rushed through the opening.

The air inside was cool; cold, even. It smelled clean, sterile, like nothing she’d ever smelled before. It was a sharp contrast to the heat and rot of the world outside.

Dallis clutched at the fabric of Daryl’s shirt as the heavy doors sealed shut behind them, the sound echoing through the sterile, unfamiliar space.

She heard the sharp click of a gun being lowered, then a voice; calm, measured.

“Anybody infected?”

Dallis flinched at the question. It was a man speaking, someone she didn’t know. His voice was distant, detached.

“One of our group was,” Rick answered, his voice heavy with something unreadable. “He didn’t make it.”

She thought of Jim.

Silence settled over the group for a moment.

“Why are you here?” the man asked. “What do you want?”

Rick didn’t hesitate. “A chance.”

Dallis could feel the tension in the room, thick like smoke. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t quick to trust.

“That’s asking an awful lot these days.”

Rick let out a slow breath. “I know.”

Another pause. Dallis turned her head slightly, listening to the way the man shifted, how he moved as his gaze swept over them.

“You all submit to a blood test. That’s the price of admission.”

Rick didn’t even pause. “We can do that.”

There was a beat before the man, Jenner, someone muttered his name, lowered his weapon.

“You got stuff to bring in, you do it now,” he told them.

“Once this door closes, it stays closed.”

-

Dallis tightened her grip on Daryl’s shirt as they stepped into the elevator, the metallic hum of the doors sliding shut making her stomach twist. She never liked elevators; not the way they rattled, or the way they made her feel like the floor could drop out from under her at any second.

She buried her face against Daryl’s side, her small fingers fisting into the fabric of his shirt. She didn’t care if he thought she was being a baby. She could almost pretend she wasn’t in here at all.

Daryl shifted slightly, but he didn’t shake her off. Instead, he muttered, “Ain’t gonna break, kid.” His voice was low, a little gruff, but not unkind.

The elevator jolted slightly as it started moving, and Dallis flinched, pressing in closer. The walls felt too tight, the air too thin. She hated this. From somewhere near the panel, Jenner spoke, his voice calm and clinical. “This won’t take long.”

Easy for him to say.

Dallis didn’t lift her head, didn’t move, just kept holding on to Daryl until the elevator gave one last shudder and came to a stop. She let out a breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding as the doors slid open, releasing them into the CDC.

-

Dallis sat stiffly on the edge of a cold metal chair, her hands curled into her lap as the rest of the group took turns getting their blood drawn. The room smelled like alcohol wipes and something faintly metallic; probably from the blood itself. Every so often, someone winced or hissed through their teeth as the needle went in, but nobody complained.

She knew it was coming. Knew it was her turn soon.

Her stomach twisted.

She hadn’t gotten a shot in a long time. She remembered the last time; sitting in a white-walled doctor's office, swinging her legs while her dad held her hand. The nurse had told her it’d be quick, just a little pinch, but she’d squeezed her dad’s hand so tight her fingers had gone numb. He’d laughed, told her she was braver than she thought, even if she didn’t believe it.

But he wasn’t here now.

The chair beside her creaked as Daryl sat down, the weight of his presence something solid next to her. She reached for his hand without thinking, gripping his fingers tightly, her small palm pressing into his calloused one. He tensed a little, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re up, kid,” Jenner said gently, crouching down in front of her. His voice was calm, the same kind of calm that made her think he must’ve been a good doctor before all this. The kind that probably made people feel safe.

She shook her head, pressing herself closer to Daryl’s side.

Jenner sighed, but it wasn’t frustrated; just patient. “I promise, it’ll be quick,” he said, like he’d done this a hundred times before. “Just a small prick, and then it’s over.”

Dallis swallowed hard. Her grip on Daryl’s hand tightened. “I don’t want to,” she muttered, barely above a whisper. Daryl shifted next to her, “Ain’t gonna kill ya,” he muttered, not unkindly.

“Just some blood, that’s all.”

But that wasn’t all. It was the needle. The way she couldn’t see it coming. The way she couldn’t brace for it.

Jenner must’ve noticed the way her breathing had started to pick up because he softened his voice even more. “It’s okay to be scared,” he said. “Lots of people don’t like needles. But I promise, I’ll be careful. You can hold his hand the whole time.”

Dallis hesitated. The logical part of her knew it wasn’t a big deal. That everyone else had done it, that it really would be quick. But she still couldn’t make herself move.

Jenner waited a beat, then said, “Do you want to feel it first? Just with your fingers?”

She frowned slightly. “What?”

“The needle,” Jenner said. “Sometimes, if you touch something first, it doesn’t seem so scary.”

Dallis bit her lip. Slowly, hesitantly, she let go of Daryl with one hand and reached forward. Jenner guided her fingers carefully, letting her feel the cool metal of the needle, the way it was thin and small. Not some huge thing like her mind had made it seem.

Jenner pulled his hand back. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said after he threw the one she touched away and used a new one.

She exhaled shakily and turned her face toward Daryl, gripping his hand again.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Just do it.”

Jenner didn’t hesitate. There was a small pinch, barely even worse than a scrape, and then it was done. Dallis exhaled slowly, loosening her grip on Daryl’s fingers, only now realizing how tight she’d been squeezing.

Jenner smiled, capping the vial of blood. “All done.”

Dallis sniffled, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand.

“Yeah.” Her voice was small.

Daryl grunted, shifting in his chair. “Told ya,” he muttered.

She didn’t let go of his hand for a while.

-

Dallis sat with her legs swinging under the table, hands curled around the edge of her chair as everyone dug into their plates of pasta. It had been so long since she’d eaten something that wasn’t canned beans or squirrel that it almost didn’t feel real. The warm scent of garlic and tomato sauce filled the room, and for a little while, it felt normal.

As she chewed, she listened to the voices around her. People were talking, laughing even. It was weird; she hadn’t heard them sound like this in a long time. Like they weren’t just surviving but actually living.

Across the table, Dale cleared his throat. “You know,” he said, setting his fork down. “In Italy, children have a little bit of wine with dinner. And in France.”

Lori made a noise of disapproval. “Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then.”

Dallis perked up, turning toward Daryl. “Can I drink wine?” she asked, excitement in her voice.

Daryl, who had just shoved a forkful of food into his mouth, nearly choked. He coughed, swallowing hard, then shot her an incredulous look. “Hell no.”

Dallis pouted. “But you drink it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I ain’t a kid,” Daryl muttered, reaching for his glass of wine probably.

“Carl’s a kid,” she pointed out, tilting her head toward the boy sitting across from her.

Carl blinked, his mouth still full, and quickly swallowed before holding up his hands. “I didn’t ask for any,” he said quickly, as if trying to avoid getting dragged into whatever this was.

Dale chuckled. “Well, I was just making conversation, but it looks like I started something.”

Dallis huffed, poking at her food. “It’s not fair,” she mumbled.

Daryl sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, life ain’t fair.”

She slumped back in her seat, crossing her arms. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, and one sip turns into two, then you’ll be fallin’ all over the damn place,” Daryl said, pointing his fork at her as if she could see it. “Ain’t happenin’.”

Dallis sighed dramatically, but she didn’t push it any further. Instead, she turned back to her food, twirling the noodles around her fork. Shane snorted from across the table.

“Damn, Dixon, didn’t take you for the overprotective type.”

Daryl shot him a glare, “Shut up.”

The table broke into quiet laughter, and for just a little while, everything felt okay.

Dallis listened as the adults clinked their glasses together, their voices lighter than she’d ever heard them. It was strange, hearing them like this; laughing, drinking, almost like none of the bad stuff had happened. Like people weren’t dead. Like Merle wasn’t missing.

Rick cleared his throat, his voice steady. “It seems to me we haven’t thanked our host properly.”

T-Dog lifted his glass. “He is more than just our host.”

Dale, ever the polite one, chimed in. “Hear, hear!”

Daryl, who had been sipping from his cup, raised it lazily, grinning. “Here’s to you, Doc. Booyah!”

Dale chuckled and echoed him. “Booyah!”

Rick nodded, looking at Jenner. “Thank you. Thank you, Doctor.”

T-Dog lifted his drink once more. “Booyah!”

Everyone drank, and for a second, the mood felt almost normal. Dallis didn’t have a glass of wine like the others, just a cup of water, but she still lifted it up in the air, like she was part of the toast.

Jenner, who had been quiet, let out a small breath and shook his head. “You’re all very welcome.” There was something in his tone, something hard to place.

Dallis frowned, her fingers tightening around her cup. She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear it in his voice. It was the same way Daryl sounded when he talked about Merle being gone.

Like he knew something no one else did.

Dallis felt the shift in the room the second Shane opened his mouth.

“So when are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, Doc?” His voice cut through the lightheartedness like a blade. “All the—the other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?”

Rick let out a tired sigh. “We’re celebrating, Shane. Don’t need to do this now.”

Shane scoffed. “Whoa, wait a second. This is why we’re here, right? This was your move—supposed to find all the answers. Instead, we—” he chuckled dryly, “we found him. Found one man, why?”

The silence that followed felt heavy. Dallis shrunk back in her chair, gripping the fabric of Daryl’s sleeve without realizing it. She hated the way things changed so fast. One second, everyone was happy. The next, it was like the air in the room had turned cold.

Jenner exhaled slowly. “Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just left, went off to be with their families. And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted.”

Shane wasn’t satisfied with that. “Every last one?”

Jenner hesitated. “No. Many couldn’t face walking out the door. They… opted out. There was a rash of suicides. That was a bad time.”

Dallis felt her stomach twist. She knew what he meant. She’d heard the word before, understood it, even if no one ever explained it to her outright. People gave up. They couldn’t handle the world turning to hell. She swallowed hard, gripping her cup tighter.

Andrea, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “You didn’t leave. Why?”

Jenner’s voice was quieter when he answered. “I just kept working, hoping to do some good.”

No one spoke after that. The warmth from earlier was gone, replaced by something else; something Dallis didn’t have the words for.

“Dude, you are such a buzz kill, man.”

Chapter Text

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the living area.”

Everyone followed him as he led them through the halls of the CDC.

“Most of the facility is powered down, including housing, so you’ll have to make do here,” he explained. “The couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage if you like. There’s a rec room down the hall that you kids might enjoy. Just don’t plug in the video games, okay? Or anything that draws power. The same applies—if you shower, go easy on the hot water.”

“Hot water?” Glenn’s voice lifted in disbelief.

T-Dog laughed. “That’s what the man said.”

Dallis could hear them grinning at each other, and for a moment, the tension from earlier seemed to lift.

“Dallis!” Carl’s voice called from the side. “Come on! We’re gonna play a board game.”

She hesitated. Normally, she’d ask Daryl if it was okay, but she could already hear him in the corner, drinking. He wouldn’t care.

So, without a word, she turned and followed Carl down the hall, leaving the adults behind.

Dallis sat cross-legged on the floor, her fingers tracing the smooth edge of the board in front of her. The room was warm, and the faint hum of the CDC’s generator filled the air. The soft thud of a game piece being set down told her that Carl had made the first move.

“You sure you wanna do that?” Sophia teased.

Carl huffed. “I know what I’m doing.”

Dallis tilted her head toward him, “Do you?”

Carl nudged her shoulder lightly. “Yes.”

Bemo lay sprawled next to her, his tail thumping lazily against the ground. Every now and then, his wet nose nudged her leg as if reminding her he was still there.

“Alright, Dallis, it’s our turn,” Carl said, guiding her hand to the dice. “Roll.”

She picked them up, feeling their weight in her palm before giving them a shake and tossing them onto the board.

“Ooh, nice!” Carl said. “We got a six.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means we move six spaces, and we landed on—uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” Dallis repeated, feeling her stomach twist slightly. Carl groaned. “It’s a ‘Draw a Card’ spot.”

Sophia snickered, “You better hope it’s not bad.”

Dallis heard Carl pick up a card and sigh. “Lose a turn.”

Sophia clapped her hands. “Yes! My turn.”

Dallis folded her arms, “I think this game is rigged.”

Carl groaned, “We’re just unlucky.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know he was pouting. She giggled, “Sounds like something someone losing would say.”

Sophia laughed, Carl grumbled but didn’t argue.

Bemo suddenly lifted his head and let out a soft huff, his ears twitching. Dallis reached down and scratched behind them. “Don’t worry, Bemo, I won’t let Carl cheat.”

Carl gasped. “Hey! I don’t cheat.”

Dallis grinned, “Mhm.”

They played for a while, Dallis relying on Carl to tell her what was happening on the board. He was patient, always explaining the rules and making sure she knew what moves they were making. Every now and then, Sophia would groan when things didn’t go her way, or Carl would fist-pump when they got a good roll.

Dallis didn’t know if she was really enjoying the game itself or just enjoying the company. It had been so long since she sat down and did something that felt normal.

The soft murmur of voices signaled the end of the night as Carol and Lori entered the room. Their footsteps were light, careful, like they didn’t want to shatter the rare peace that had settled over the kids.

“Come on, Sophia, time for bed,” Carol said gently.

Sophia groaned, “But I was winning.”

Carl scoffed, “Barely.”

Lori sighed. “Carl.”

“What? It’s true.”

Dallis smiled at the playful bickering, but she could already feel the drowsiness creeping in. Her body ached in that comfortable way that came after a long day.

“Dallis,” Carol’s voice was softer when she turned to her. “Do you need help getting to bed?”

Dallis shook her head. “No, I got Bemo.”

As if understanding his name, Bemo let out a quiet chuff and stretched.

Lori’s voice was kind but cautious, “Are you sure?”

Dallis nodded. “Yeah. He’ll take me to Daryl.”

There was a small pause before Carol finally sighed. “Alright, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

She heard Sophia and Carl shuffle off with their mothers, their voices growing distant until the room was empty except for her and Bemo. The warmth of their presence faded, leaving behind the quiet hum of the CDC.

She reached out, her fingers brushing over Bemo’s fur. “Find Daryl,” she murmured.

Bemo whined softly before nudging her hand and moving forward. She followed, placing her trust in him as he guided her through the unfamiliar halls. The CDC was still new, its layout not yet mapped out in her mind. The walls felt too smooth, the floors too even; nothing like the rough terrain she was used to.

The air smelled different here too. It was clean, too clean. Almost unnatural.

Bemo led her down a hallway before stopping in front of a door. He let out a quiet bark, pawing at it once.

Dallis frowned, “Is this it?”

She reached out, feeling for the handle, and pushed the door open. The smell of alcohol hit her first. Then, a familiar drawl.

“’Bout time, kid.”

Daryl’s voice was rough, thick with exhaustion and liquor. Before she could say anything, a strong arm pulled her forward, wrapping her into a firm, almost crushing hug.

Dallis let out a startled laugh, “Daryl—”

“Shh,” he grumbled, his face buried in the top of her head. “Jus’ stay there.”

She giggled, feeling the warmth of him seep into her skin. His grip was strong, a little sloppy, but she didn’t mind.

“You’re drunk,” she accused.

“Damn right.”

She snorted. “You smell bad.”

Daryl let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. He still didn’t let go.

Dallis shifted slightly, getting comfortable. His embrace was heavy, but in a way that made her feel safe. She relaxed into it, letting her cheek rest against his shirt.

Bemo whined somewhere near the door, but Dallis barely registered it. Sleep was pulling at her, making her limbs heavy.

Daryl’s breathing slowed, his grip loosening just enough to be comfortable. Dallis yawned, “M’not gonna be able to get up if you don’t let go.”

“Don’t need to.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. He was stubborn, but so was she. For now, though, she let herself sink into the warmth, the safety and before she knew it, sleep took them both.

-

Dallis barely stirred when Daryl shifted beside her, but when his hand nudged her shoulder, she groaned. “C’mon, kid. Up,” he muttered, his voice still rough with sleep.

She curled in tighter against his side, her cheek pressed into the fabric of his shirt. “No.” Daryl sighed, the kind of sigh that meant he wasn’t really annoyed, just impatient. “Food’s ready.”

At that, her stomach grumbled, but she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she tried burrowing deeper into the warmth, her body still heavy with sleep.

“Five more minutes.”

“Nah.”

Before she could react, she was being lifted; hauled up by strong arms, her feet suddenly cold against the floor.

She squeaked, “Daryl!”

He let go immediately, and she swayed where she stood, groggy and disoriented. Bemo whined at her feet, his warm nose pressing against her calf. “Told ya,” Daryl said, sounding far too satisfied with himself.

Dallis rubbed the sleep from her face, grumbling as she reached down to scratch Bemo’s ears. “Where’s breakfast?”

Daryl was already walking toward the door, “C’mon.”

She reached for Bemo's  leash and followed, her steps slow as Bemo guided her. The air smelled different here; clean, but also warm, like something fresh was cooking. Her stomach rumbled again.

As they entered the cafeteria, the familiar voices of the group filled the space around her. “Smells amazing,” Rick said, his voice lighter than usual.

“That’s ‘cause me and T know how to cook,” Jacqui replied, smug. T-Dog scoffed. “Don’t let her lie to you. It’s mostly me.”

Dallis smiled as she walked toward the voices, her fingers skimming along the back of a chair before finding a seat.

“Daryl, there you are,” Jacqui called out. “And you brought the kid.”

“She had no choice,” Daryl muttered. Jacqui laughed. “Sit down, sweetheart. You want eggs?”

Dallis perked up, “Yes, please.”

Bemo settled at her feet as she waited, the rich scent of cooked food making her stomach twist with hunger. A loud groan came from across the table.

“Someone kill me,” Glenn muttered, voice thick with misery.

Dallis tilted her head, “What’s wrong with him?”

“He ain’t built for drinking,” Daryl said dryly.

Glenn groaned again. “Shut up.”

Carl giggled. “You shouldn’t have had so much, Glenn.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Dallis grinned, “What’s a hangover like?”

Glenn made another pitiful sound. “It’s like someone is stomping on my brain.”

“That’s what you get for being dumb,” Daryl said, the sound of something heavy, probably a plate, being shoved across the table. “Here, eat.”

Glenn made a low, suffering noise, but accepted the food.

“Here you go, sweetie,” Jacqui said as a warm plate was set in front of Dallis. “Eat up.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Picking up her fork, she took a bite. The eggs were soft, warm, and perfectly seasoned. It had been so long since she’d eaten something this good.

Beside her, Daryl sat down heavily, his presence familiar and solid.

Around them, the group talked, their voices easy, the tension from the past few days momentarily gone. Dallis let herself relax, listening to the laughter, the sounds of forks scraping against plates.

Carl plopped down beside her with a quiet oof, his shoulder bumping against hers as he settled in. "Man, these eggs are so much better than squirrel," he whispered, stuffing another bite into his mouth.

Dallis snickered, barely holding back her own laughter. "Don't let Daryl hear you say that. He’ll make you eat squirrel for the rest of your life."

Carl made a face. "Gross." He swallowed quickly, then leaned in. "I bet Glenn's regretting last night."

Dallis smirked. "He sounds like he wants to die."

Carl tried, and failed, to stifle a laugh. Across the table, Glenn groaned dramatically.

"I can hear you," he grumbled, resting his forehead on the table.

Carl snorted, nudging Dallis again. "We should mess with him later."

She grinned. "I'm in."

It almost felt like things were normal, until they weren't. Their quiet giggles were cut short when Dale spoke up, his voice polite but firm.

“I don’t mean to slam you with questions first thing—”

Jenner sighed, the sound heavy and tired. “But you will anyway.”

Andrea crossed her arms. “We didn’t come here for the eggs.”

The room fell silent, the lighthearted air instantly shifting. Even Carl, who had just been laughing, sat up straighter.

Jenner exhaled, then motioned for them to follow.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you what I can.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as the group stood, some murmuring quietly to each other as they followed the doctor out of the cafeteria. Dallis felt a familiar presence beside her as she got up, and before she could even reach out, Carl had already grabbed her wrist, guiding her. She followed the others with Carl at her side, the laughter from breakfast already a distant memory.

She heard the echo's of those around her as they stepped into a larger area.

“Big room?” she asked under her breath.

“Yeah,” Carl confirmed. “Really big. Lots of screens.”

-

Carl squeezed Dallis’s wrist gently, leaning in so she could hear him over the hum of the room. "It’s a brain," he whispered. Dallis tilted her head, "Cool?"

Carl huffed a quiet laugh. "No, but like—it’s glowing."

"Glowing?" Dallis frowned. "Brains don’t glow, Carl."

At least, she didn't think so.

"They do on the screen," he insisted. "It’s like... all these tiny blue lines inside the skull. Kinda like lightning, but small and running everywhere."

She tried to picture it. "Like nerves?"

"Yeah! And some parts have more than others. Jenner just called it extraordinary."

Dallis pressed her lips together. She had never seen a brain, real or fake, but the way Carl was describing it, it sounded... alive. A person’s thoughts and feelings turned into tiny sparks of light. Jenner’s voice cut through their whispered conversation.

"Not that it matters in the end."

Dallis’s stomach twisted at his words. Carl didn’t say anything either. Ahead of them, Jenner continued. "Take us in for E.I.V."

"Enhanced internal view," the computerized voice responded. Carl’s grip on Dallis’s wrist tightened slightly as the screen shifted. "It’s zooming in," he muttered. "Like, inside the skull."

Dallis scrunched her nose, she was so confused. "What does it look like now?"

Carl hesitated. "It’s... still glowing, but it’s getting even closer. You can see the brain itself now."

Dallis nodded slowly, focusing on the sound of Jenner typing something on the console. A cold feeling settled in her gut. Whatever this was leading to, it wasn’t going to be good.

Carl leaned in closer to Dallis, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, "Okay, so on the screen, there's still this glowing stuff in the brain."

Dallis tilted her head. "Still the blue lightning?"

"Yeah, but it's... different now. It's starting to go dark in the middle, like... like black roots growing out."

She frowned, gripping the edge of her seat. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's not," Carl admitted, his voice quieter.

Up ahead, Shane spoke. "What are those lights?"

Jenner's response was calm, almost detached. "It’s a person’s life—experiences, memories. It’s everything. Somewhere in all that organic wiring, all those ripples of light, is you—the thing that makes you unique and human."

Carl hesitated before murmuring to Dallis, "He says it's, like, everything about a person. Their memories and stuff."

Dallis chewed the inside of her cheek. "So… when it goes dark…"

Carl didn't say anything for a second. "Yeah," he finally muttered.

Daryl’s gruff voice cut through the room. "You don’t make sense ever?"

Jenner continued as if he hadn’t heard him. "Those are synapses. Electric impulses in the brain that carry all the messages. They determine everything a person says, does, or thinks from the moment of birth to the moment of death."

Carl squeezed Dallis's hand. "It’s everything about them."

Rick spoke next, his voice tense. "Death? That’s what this is, a vigil?"

"Yes," Jenner confirmed. "Or rather the playback of the vigil."

Andrea’s voice was tight with emotion. "This person died? Who?"

"Test subject 19," Jenner said. "Someone who was bitten and infected… and volunteered to have us record the process."

Dallis swallowed. "Someone volunteered for that?"

Carl nodded before remembering she couldn’t see. "Yeah," he whispered. "I guess they wanted to help. Maybe they thought there'd be a cure."

Jenner gave the command to move forward. The computerized voice responded, "Scanning to first event."

Carl stiffened beside her, his breath hitching.

"What is it?" Dallis asked quickly.

Carl’s voice was strained. "The lights are... almost gone. The whole middle is black now. It looks like—like something’s eating it away."

"Glenn just asked what it is," he added a second later.

Jenner answered, "It invades the brain like meningitis. The adrenal glands hemorrhage, the brain goes into shutdown, then the major organs. Then death. Everything you ever were or ever will be… gone."

Dallis shivered. "That’s what happened to Jim," she murmured, more to herself than Carl.

Sophia must have asked the same question, because Carol responded softly, "Yes."

The room was silent except for the soft hum of the monitors. Dallis could hear Andrea’s quiet sniffle.

Lori spoke up. "She lost somebody two days ago. Her sister."

Jenner’s voice softened for the first time. "I lost somebody too. I know how devastating it is." He turned back to the screen. "Scan to the second event."

Carl shifted beside her, "It's moving forward again."

The robotic voice, VI, announced, "Scanning to second event."

Jenner continued, "The resurrection times vary wildly. We had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes. The longest we heard of was eight hours. In the case of this patient, it was two hours, one minute… seven seconds."

Carl let out a shaky breath. "Dallis…"

"What?"

"There’s… red now. At the bottom of the brain. Just tiny little flickers."

Dallis frowned. "That’s not the same as before."

"No," Carl muttered. "It’s—" He cut himself off as Lori spoke.

"It restarts the brain?"

Jenner shook his head. "No, just the brain stem. Basically, it gets them up and moving."

Carl stiffened. "Wait—wait, it’s moving."

Dallis turned toward him. "What do you mean, moving?"

"I mean—" Carl swallowed. "The head is moving. The mouth, too. It’s opening and closing, like it’s trying to—"

"Like it’s trying to talk?" Dallis asked, a sick feeling in her gut.

Carl shook his head. "No. Not talk. Just… move. And now the arms—"

He cut off as the gun appeared on the screen. Dallis didn’t need to ask what happened next.

A single gunshot echoed through the speakers.

Carl let out a breath. "It’s dark now. All of it. There’s nothing left."

Carol whispered, "God. What was that?"

Andrea's voice was hollow. "He shot his patient in the head. Didn’t you?"

Jenner didn’t deny it. Instead, he gave a command. "VI, power down the main screen and the workstations."

Carl tensed beside Dallis.

"He’s turning it off," he whispered. "All of it."

The hum of the machines faded, and the room fell into silence.

Andrea’s voice was sharp. "You have no idea what it is, do you?"

Jenner sighed. "It could be microbial, viral, parasitic, fungal."

Jacqui spoke next, her voice quiet. "Or the wrath of God?"

Dallis could hear the exhaustion in Jenner’s voice. "There is that."

Somewhere in the room, Andrea scoffed. "Somebody must know something. Somebody somewhere."

Carol asked, "There are others, right? Other facilities?"

Jenner hesitated. "There may be some. People like me."

Rick took a step forward. "But you don’t know? How can you not know?"

Jenner’s voice was flat. "Everything went down. Communications, directives—all of it. I’ve been in the dark for almost a month."

Andrea’s voice cracked. "So it’s not just here. There’s nothing left anywhere? Nothing? That’s what you’re really saying, right?"

Jacqui whispered, "Jesus."

Daryl exhaled sharply.

"Man, I’m gonna get shitfaced drunk again."

Chapter Text

"Dr. Jenner, I know this has been taxing for you and I hate to ask one more question, but…that clock—it’s counting down. What happens at zero?"

Dallis had been clutching Carl’s arm the entire time, her knuckles turning white. But when the lights flickered and switched to emergency mode, she felt her chest tighten. The air felt different. Heavy.

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. Something was wrong.

The low hum of the facility had changed, replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of hurried footsteps from the others.

"Facility-wide decontamination will occur."

Dallis didn't know what that meant exactly, but from the way air shifted around them, from nervousness to outright fear, she knew it wasn’t good.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t want to die here. Not in this cold, metal building, not in a place she thought was safe.

Her head whipped around, searching for someone, anyone, who could ground her. Carl was still beside her, eyes darting toward Rick as he and Shane disappeared down the hall. Lori was across the room, running her hands under an air vent, and her voice barely carried over the ringing in Dallis’s ears.

"The air conditioning stopped."

Dallis felt her throat close. It was getting hotter in here. She backed up instinctively, her breath coming faster, and then she felt strong hands grab her wrist.

"Dallis, you’re okay."

Daryl.

She turned, her wide, terrified eyes meeting his. He looked down at her, his grip firm but not rough, his expression serious but steady.

He wasn’t scared. Or at least, he didn’t show it.

Dallis clung to him, gripping his shirt like a lifeline. "What does decontamination mean?"

Daryl glanced toward the others, jaw tightening. "Nothin’ good."

She swallowed hard, pressing closer to his side, trying to block out the fear clawing at her chest. "I don’t wanna die in here."

"You ain’t gonna," Daryl said, his voice low and certain. "Not if I got anything to say about it."

Dallis clenched her fists, trying to breathe, trying to believe him.

Dallis barely had time to process what was happening before the metal door slid shut with a heavy clang. She flinched at the sound, her breath hitching. The alarm blared overhead, the robotic voice echoing off the steel walls.

"Thirty minutes to decontamination."

Dallis’s heart pounded.  She didn’t understand what was happening, not really, but the way everyone reacted, the panic, the shouting, told her enough.

They were trapped.

She sucked in a shaky breath, but it didn’t feel like enough air. Her chest was too tight, her hands clammy. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out everything else. Dr Jenner had locked them in.

"No," Glenn gasped, his voice cracking. "Did you just lock us in? He just locked us in!"

Dallis’s stomach twisted. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the sirens, the yelling, the way the room felt smaller all of a sudden. She barely noticed the way her knees buckled until she felt strong arms wrap around her.

Daryl.

Without a word, he lifted her off the ground, holding her against his chest. His grip was firm, steady. She buried her face in his shoulder, her fingers twisting into his shirt as she sobbed.

"It’s okay," Daryl muttered, voice gruff but softer than usual. "I gotcha."

It wasn’t okay. Nothing about this was okay.

Rick was pounding his fists against the door. Shane was yelling. Dallis didn’t want to accept it.

She didn’t want to die here.

She didn’t want to die at all.

Her breath hitched again, sharp and shallow, and Daryl shifted his grip, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other bracing against her back. She squeezed her eyes shut, not like it would make any difference anyway, focusing on the sound of his breathing instead of her own panic. He smelled like sweat and dirt and something solid. Something real.

"We’re gettin’ outta here," he muttered against her hair. "Ain’t gonna let that bastard kill us."

She wanted to believe him.

She had to.

But the clock was still ticking.

-

Dallis didn’t want to let go.

Daryl set her down, but her hands clung to his shirt, fingers curled so tightly that they ached. She could still hear the alarm, the robotic voice counting down, the sharp voices cutting through the thick, suffocating panic in the air.

She was scared.

So so scared.

She just wished her dad was here.

She tried to blink through the hot, stinging blur in her eyes, but it was useless. Daryl pulled back. Her grip slipped.

And suddenly; she wasn’t holding onto anything at all. She swayed, her knees weak, her breath coming in short, choked gasps.

Dallis flinched as she heard Daryl launch himself at Jenner, knocking the whiskey bottle from the doctor’s hand. Glass shattered against the floor, the scent of alcohol sharp in the air. “You son of a bitch!” Daryl’s voice was pure rage, wild and terrifying.

His fist slammed into Jenner’s face, knocking the man back against the workstation. Jenner grunted, staggered, but didn’t fight back.

“Daryl, stop!”

Rick and Shane were on him before he could land another hit. They grabbed at his arms, dragging him back, but Daryl fought against them, struggling like a caged animal. “You locked us in here to die!” he spat, his voice breaking. He lurched forward, but Rick shoved against his chest, forcing him back.

“Dammit, stop!” Shane gritted his teeth, arms straining to hold him.

Dallis couldn’t see much beyond the blurry shapes moving in front of her, but she could hear the struggle. The grunts. The scuffling of boots against the cold floor. The raw anger in Daryl’s voice.

She was alone.

Her hands were empty. Her face was wet, her breath hitching too fast, too sharp.

Everything was too loud.

She barely knew which way to turn, her body trembling, lost in the haze of panic. The only thing she could do was move toward the nearest warmth; toward someone. She reached out, blind and desperate, and felt soft fabric beneath her fingers.

A gasp. Strong arms wrapped around her.

Jacqui.

She pulled Dallis against her, her embrace firm and steady.

“Oh, honey,” Jacqui murmured, running a soothing hand down her back. “It’s okay, I got you.”

Dallis pressed her face into the woman’s shoulder, her small body wracked with sobs.

But the clock was still ticking.

And no one knew how to stop it.

Dallis was drowning in noise.

The sound of fists pounding against metal, the desperate shouts, the blaring countdown; it was all too much. She buried her face into Jacqui’s shoulder, her small fingers clutching the woman’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping her from disappearing completely. She didn’t understand everything that was happening, but she knew enough. The door was locked. The grown-ups were scared. And something bad was coming.

Then, suddenly, the sound changed. A loud mechanical whir filled the air, followed by the unmistakable rush of movement. The door was opening.

Dallis barely had time to register the shift before she heard the stampede of footsteps. People were running, their shoes slapping against the floor as they bolted for the exit. The voices grew frantic, desperate, but the movement didn’t stop. They were leaving. They were escaping.

But Jacqui didn’t move.

She held Dallis tight in her arms, her breathing calm in a way that didn’t match the panic around them. Dallis’s tiny fingers dug into her shirt, and for a second, she thought maybe they would go too.

Maybe Jacqui was just waiting for the rush to slow down before they left together. But then she felt the shift in the woman’s grip, the way her arms loosened just a little, the way she exhaled like she had made peace with something.

Dallis didn’t understand.

She turned her head towards the noise, her unseeing eyes searching for something familiar. She heard the others calling each other’s names, making sure they all made it through. And then she heard him.

“Where is she?”

Daryl’s voice.

Heavy, urgent, frantic.

Dallis felt Jacqui stiffen slightly before she sighed. “She’s with me,” the woman called back, her voice steady.

Dallis felt the air shift as Daryl rushed toward them, his presence so familiar that she instantly reached out a hand in his direction. But before he could grab her, Jacqui pulled her close again, shielding her from him.

“It’s better if we stay,” Jacqui said softly.

The words didn’t make sense. Stay? Stay where? The door was open, the others were running, why weren’t they going too?

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Daryl snapped.

Jacqui held Dallis tighter. “She’s just a little girl, Daryl,” she said, her voice filled with something sad and heavy. “And she’s blind. You know how hard it is for her out there. She can’t see what’s coming, she can’t defend herself—”

“I know that,” Daryl cut her off, his voice sharp, raw. “You think that means we just leave her?”

Jacqui hesitated. “Maybe it’s kinder,” she murmured.

Dallis didn’t understand. Why were they talking like she wasn’t here? Why was Jacqui saying these things? Wasn’t she coming with them?

Daryl growled low in his throat. “You ain’t doin’ this,” he said, and then his hands were on Dallis, prying her out of Jacqui’s grip.

The moment she felt Jacqui’s warmth pull away, she panicked.

“No!” she sobbed, thrashing in Daryl’s arms. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Daryl was strong, but she fought him anyway, kicking and pushing against his chest, her tiny fists pounding against him with all the strength she had.

She didn’t want to leave Jacqui.

She didn’t want to go without her.

“Let me go!” she wailed, trying to reach for the woman who had held her close, the one who had kept her safe, the one who whispered soft words to her when the world got too loud.

But Jacqui didn’t take her back.

Dallis could still feel her there, standing still, unmoving. She screamed for her, her small body shaking with desperation, but Jacqui only ran a gentle hand over her hair one last time.

“You be strong, baby,” she whispered. “You be real strong, okay?”

Dallis sobbed harder, twisting in Daryl’s arms, her fingers clawing at the air. She needed to get back to her. She needed to make her come too. She couldn’t leave her here. She couldn’t let her die.

Daryl held her tight, one arm wrapped securely around her as he started moving. “We don’t got time for this,” he gritted out, his steps heavy as he rushed toward the exit. Dallis screamed, reaching out blindly. “JacquiI!”

She felt the shift in the air, the way the space between them grew wider and wider as Daryl carried her farther away. Jacqui wasn’t following.

She wasn’t coming.

Dallis sobbed so hard it hurt.

The world erupted.

Dallis barely had time to register the deafening roar before the blast hit. Heat licked at her skin, and something sharp sliced across her cheek. The force of the explosion sent her reeling, but before she could process anything, hands grabbed her; strong, rough hands that pulled her away from the danger.

The next thing she knew, she was being dragged across the ground, her body scraping against the rough pavement. She gasped, choking on smoke and dust, her small fingers clawing at the air, desperate for something, someone, to hold onto.

The noise was overwhelming. Glass shattered, metal groaned, and the ground beneath her seemed to shake as if the world itself was crumbling apart. Dallis barely had time to take a breath before she was yanked against something solid, the weight of a body pressing down over her.

Daryl.

His chest was heaving against her back, his arms caging her in as he threw himself over her, shielding her from the chaos. His grip was tight, firm, unrelenting. He was keeping her safe.

But something was wrong.

Something was missing.

Bemo.

Panic surged through her tiny frame, a different kind of terror gripping her chest. She hadn’t felt him in her arms when they ran. She hadn’t heard the comforting jingle of his little collar, hadn’t felt his soft fur beneath her fingers.

He wasn’t with her.

She gasped, struggling against Daryl’s hold. “Bemo!” she cried, her voice raw, desperate. She tried to squirm out from under him, but he held firm, pinning her down against the cracked asphalt.

“Stay down,” Daryl growled, his voice barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

“No!” she sobbed, her small hands pushing against his chest. “I have to get him! Let me go!”

Daryl didn’t budge.

Another explosion rocked the ground, the heat from the blast rolling over them like a wave. Dallis flinched, her body tensing as more debris rained down around them. She felt tiny shards of glass and dust settle into her hair, the rough sting of grit against her skin.

Daryl’s grip only tightened.

“You ain’t movin’,” he snapped, his breath hot against her ear. “You hear me? You stay put!”

Dallis whimpered, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Her chest ached, her throat burning from the smoke and the tears she couldn’t stop.

Bemo was still in there.

He was still inside.

She could feel it in her bones, the hollow, aching absence where he should have been. She didn’t understand why Daryl wouldn’t let her go, why he was keeping her here when Bemo needed her.

“I have to get him,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “He’s all alone.”

Daryl shifted above her, and even through the ringing in her ears, she could hear the tightness in his breathing. He was scared too. He swallowed hard before speaking. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m lettin’ you run back in there.” His voice was rough, strained, full of something heavy.

Another explosion roared behind them, and Dallis felt the heat lick at her back, even through the weight of Daryl covering her. The air was thick with smoke, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

But all she could focus on was Bemo.

He had always been there. Always right beside her, always keeping her company in the darkness she lived in. She couldn’t leave him. She sobbed into Daryl’s chest, her small fists gripping his vest as she shook violently beneath him.

And then, just barely, she thought she heard it.

A faint, muffled jingle.

Her breath hitched, her whole body going still.

Bemo.

She tried to move again, but Daryl pressed her down harder.

“I said stay put,” he gritted out, his voice sharp but laced with something else. Something that sounded a little like guilt.

Dallis didn’t understand.

Why wouldn’t he go get him? Why wouldn’t anyone go get him?

She opened her mouth to scream for him again, but Daryl suddenly pulled her even closer, his arms curling around her like a shield. The next explosion hit even harder, shaking the ground so violently that Dallis swore the earth had split open beneath them.

The air around them grew unbearably hot, and for a brief, terrifying moment, she thought they wouldn’t make it.

That the flames would swallow them whole.

Chapter Text

The world smelled like smoke and burning metal.

The explosion had left everything too bright, even though she couldn’t see it; heat pressing against her skin, the air thick with something bitter and acrid. Her ears were still ringing. But none of that mattered. None of it compared to the cold, still weight in her arms.

Bemo wasn’t moving.

She rocked back on her heels, shaking him, feeling the limpness of his body in her hands, the warmth already fading. His fur was matted with something wet; sticky, thick. She knew what it was. Knew without needing to see. She pressed her face against his side, waiting, hoping for the steady rise and fall of breath beneath her cheek. But there was nothing. Just silence.

A broken, shuddering sound clawed its way out of her throat.

No, no, no, no.

He was all she had.

Dallis let out a strangled gasp, fingers gripping at his fur, pulling him close, shaking him, willing him to wake up. "Come on, Bemo," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Come on. Please."

Nothing.

A hand landed on her shoulder, firm, grounding. “Kid—”

She shoved it off.

Daryl. This was his fault.

Her breath came in sharp, ragged gulps as she turned on him, hands balled into fists. “You—you—” She didn’t have the words. Couldn’t form them, couldn’t shape them around the burning in her chest, the rawness in her throat. So she let her body speak instead.

Her fists collided with his chest, weak and wild, her knuckles pounding against his vest as she sobbed. “You didn’t—” She gasped for air between each word, “You—should’ve—saved him!”

Daryl didn’t stop her. Didn’t push her away. She hit him again, her strength failing, her arms trembling as she clutched at him, “You let him die.”

Daryl flinched, but he didn’t step back. Didn’t stop her as she pounded against his chest, weak and desperate, tears hot on her cheeks. “You were supposed to—” She hiccupped, her voice failing.

“You were supposed to save him.”

Her legs gave out.

She collapsed forward, hands fisting into his vest, her forehead pressed against his chest as the sobs wracked her small frame. She felt his breath hitch above her, felt the tension in his muscles, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to do something, anything, but didn’t know how.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice hoarse, rough.

She shook her head against him, teeth clenched.

“I hate you.”

Daryl sucked in a sharp breath, but he didn’t move away.

Didn’t let go.

she pushed away.

-

Dallis sat on the ground, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as the world moved in a blur of sound and sensation. The acrid stink of smoke still clung to her clothes, filling her nose, making her stomach twist. Somewhere close, people were moving, their voices rising and falling in panicked urgency. Engines revved. Tires crunched against the pavement.

She didn’t care.

She wouldn’t move.

Daryl was crouched in front of her, his voice low and rough. "Kid, we gotta go."

She flinched away from the sound, her body stiffening. She didn't want to hear his voice. Didn't want him near her. The weight of his presence made her skin crawl, made her jaw clench so hard it hurt.

"I'm not goin’ with you." Her voice was hoarse, brittle, barely above a whisper.

Daryl exhaled hard through his nose. "Dallis, this ain't—"

"I'm not goin’ with you!" She pushed herself up, fists clenched at her sides. Her chest ached, her throat burned from screaming, from crying, but she refused to get in that truck with him.

He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Dammit, kid, I ain't got time for this."

She turned her head toward the sound of footsteps approaching. Shane. She recognized the way he moved, the way his boots scraped against the pavement, the quiet grunt he made under his breath.

"You comin'?" His voice was direct, no-nonsense.nDallis swallowed hard. She wasn't sure how she felt about Shane. He was loud and mean sometimes, but right now, he wasn't Daryl.

She took a slow, shaky breath and nodded.

Daryl made a noise, something like a growl, something like defeat, but she ignored it. She reached out, waiting, and after a beat, Shane took her hand. His grip was strong, solid, and he pulled her toward him, steadying her when her legs threatened to give out.

"Dallis—"

She stiffened at the way Daryl said her name, like it physically hurt him to let her walk away. She didn’t turn back.

Shane led her toward the RV, guiding her up the steps, his grip firm but not rough. "C'mon, kid. Let’s go."

She sat stiffly in one of the seats, her hands curled into the fabric of her jeans, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She could feel Daryl outside, could almost hear the way he was pacing, the way he probably ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

He had let Bemo die.

She wasn’t going with him.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

-

The RV rattled and groaned as it rolled over uneven pavement, the vibrations humming beneath Dallis' feet. She sat rigid in her seat, arms wrapped around herself, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The thick scent of gasoline mixed with the lingering stench of smoke, making her stomach twist.

She hated this. Hated the way the world had crumbled around her, hated the emptiness in her chest, hated how every breath felt like it took too much effort.

A quiet rustling came from beside her. Then, the seat shifted slightly as someone sat down.

She didn't move, but she knew who it was before he spoke.

Carl.

His presence was familiar in a way that made her throat tighten. He didn't say anything at first, just sat there, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him. The RV jolted over a bump, and Carl let out a small huff.

"Did you eat?" His voice was quiet, hesitant.

She turned her head slightly in his direction, but didn't answer.
Carl fidgeted, the fabric of his shirt rustling as he adjusted his hat. "You should eat something."

Dallis pressed her lips together. The idea of food made her feel sick.

After a beat of silence, Carl sighed. "I'm sorry about Bemo."
Dallis inhaled sharply, her nails digging into her sleeves.

She didn't want his sympathy.

Didn't want his kindness.

She wanted Bemo.

"Maybe we can—"

"Shut up" Her voice came out hoarse, raw.

Carl fell quiet.

The RV kept moving, the low rumble of the engine filling the silence between them. Dallis felt herself sinking, the exhaustion pulling at her, the weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders.

After a while, Carl shifted again, his knee bumping lightly against hers.

He didn’t speak, didn’t ask her anything else.

He just sat there.

She let him.

-

The RV lurched to a stop, the sudden lack of movement making Dallis' stomach twist. She straightened slightly, gripping the edge of her seat. The air inside felt heavy, tense, like the adults were on edge about something.

She tilted her head toward Carl, “What happened?”

Carl didn’t answer right away. She could hear him shifting beside her, the creak of leather as he moved. Then, he stood up.

“Not sure,” he muttered. “Maybe something on the road.”
Footsteps shuffled near the front of the RV, voices murmuring too low for Dallis to make out. Someone, Lori, maybe, opened the door, letting in a rush of fresh air and the distant sound of people moving outside.

Carl hesitated for a second.

“You coming?”

Dallis’ fingers clenched against her sleeves.

No.

She didn’t want to step outside. Didn’t want to hear them talking about what to do next. Didn’t want to exist in a world where Bemo wasn’t beside her.

She shook her head, “No.”

Carl lingered for a moment, like he might try to convince her, but then he just muttered, “Okay.”

And then he was gone, his boots thudding against the metal steps as he hopped out. The RV door creaked shut behind him, sealing Dallis inside.

She exhaled shakily, curling in on herself.

Let them handle it.

Let them talk about what came next.

She wasn’t ready to care yet.

-

The RV was quiet now, the voices outside distant and muffled. Dallis sat stiffly on the couch, her arms wrapped around herself. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, minutes, maybe longer, but she didn’t move, barely even breathed.

Then, the door creaked open again. Heavy boots clomped up the steps, pausing before moving further inside. She knew who it was before he even spoke.

“You just gonna sit in here all day?” Shane’s voice was softer than usual, missing that sharp edge he always had when talking to the others.

Dallis didn’t answer.

He sighed, “Come on, kid. You can’t just shut down.”

She flinched slightly at the word 'kid.'

She wasn’t a kid. Not anymore. Not after everything.

Shane must’ve noticed because his voice lowered even more. “Look, I get it. You’re mad. You’re hurtin’. But this ain’t the way.”

Dallis swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves.

He took a step closer. “Daryl’s just tryin’ to help you. I know you’re pissed at him—hell, maybe you got a right to be—but he ain’t your enemy.”

She shook her head. “You don’t get it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse from crying.

Shane was quiet for a moment, then he sat down across from her with a heavy sigh. “Then help me understand.”

Dallis clenched her jaw, “Bemo’s dead,” she said flatly. “I don’t care about anything else.”

Shane didn’t argue. He just nodded, like he got it, like he wasn’t going to try to fix it because he knew he couldn’t.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That dog meant a lot to you, huh?”

Dallis squeezed her eyes shut. The feeling of his fur still warm under her hands as she sobbed into it was burned into her mind.

“He was all I had.”

Shane exhaled through his nose, “That ain’t true,” he said. “I know it feels like it right now, but you got people here. Even if you don’t wanna see it.”

Dallis shook her head again, “I don’t care.”

Shane rubbed a hand over his face, exasperated but not angry.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Fine. Stay mad. Stay in here if you want. But don’t make this a habit, Dallis. ‘Cause one day, you’re gonna wake up, and it’s gonna be too late to come back.”

She didn’t respond, and after a long moment, Shane sighed and stood up.

“We’re movin’ soon,” he said. “Think about it.”

Then he walked out, leaving her alone with nothing but the sound of her own breathing.

-

The RV rocked slightly, a faint creaking sound making Dallis tense. She thought it was just someone moving outside, but then she heard it; slow, dragging footsteps. A wet, shuddering groan. The scent of rot filled the air.

Her stomach twisted. Something wasn’t right.

The sound of something knocking against the cabinets. A chair scraping against the floor. Dallis sucked in a sharp breath, her body stiffening. She couldn't see it, but she felt it.

The presence. The shift in the air.

A walker.

Her breath quickened. She scrambled backward on the couch, her hands searching frantically. She didn’t have a gun.

Didn’t have anything—

No. Merle’s knife.

Her fingers found the handle, smooth and solid under her grip.

The walker groaned again, closer now. The stench was overwhelming. Dallis forced herself to stay still, to listen. The sound of its feet scraping the floor told her where it was. The way the air shifted told her how close.

It was near the table. Then the counter. Then—

Closer.

Dallis gripped the knife tight. Her hands were shaking, but she had to do this. The walker lunged.

She moved.

She threw herself to the side, barely missing its grasp. It snarled, teeth snapping as it stumbled after her. She didn’t give herself time to think. Didn’t let fear take over.
With a strangled cry, she drove the knife forward.

The blade sank into flesh—not deep enough.

The walker snarled, clawing at her. She yanked the knife free, heart pounding. Then, with everything she had, she stabbed again.

This time—the head, Daryl told her to always aim for the head.

The walker jerked, let out a horrible gurgling sound, then collapsed.

Silence.

Dallis stayed frozen, her chest heaving, her whole body shaking. The weight of what she’d just done sank in, it wasn’t the first time she'd killed a walker before but aomething felt different now.

“DALLIS!”

Footsteps. Someone running. The RV door slammed open.

“Shit.” Shane’s voice.

A rush of movement. Someone grabbing her shoulders.

“You okay?”

Dallis just clutched the knife, her breath ragged.

She wasn’t okay.

-

Shane's hands were firm on her shoulders as he guided her down the steps of the RV. The moment her boots hit the ground, she felt the shift; open space, the hum of voices, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

He kept a hand on her arm, steering her toward someone. Then, suddenly, his grip was gone.

“Take her,” Shane muttered.

Soft hands replaced his rough ones, steady and warm.
“Dallis, honey, are you okay?” Lori’s voice, gentle but tight with worry.

Dallis swallowed hard, gripping the knife in her hand even though her fingers ached from how tightly she was holding it. The weight of the walker’s body, the sound of it collapsing; it still clung to her.

She didn’t answer.

A shuffle of movement nearby, then Carl’s voice, breathless and panicked, “Sophia ran into the forest.”

Dallis flinched. Her grip on the knife tightened.

-
The air was thick, heavy, pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake. Dallis stood still, her fingers gripping the edge of her too-thin shirt, listening to the sounds around her. The crunch of boots against gravel. The low murmur of voices, tense, uncertain.

Carol.

Her sobs ripped through the air like something alive, sharp and jagged, cutting through the quiet in a way that made Dallis’ stomach twist. She wasn’t loud, not really, but the sound of it, the rawness, the break in her voice, made it worse. It wasn’t the kind of crying that people did when they were scared or even sad.

It was deeper, like something inside her had cracked wide open.

Rick had come back without Sophia.

Dallis felt the breath leave her lungs, her whole body tensing, like she’d been thrown into freezing water. Her mind latched onto the one question that had haunted her since the moment she heard Carl say Sophia had run.

Was Sophia gone forever?

She knew what the answer was supposed to be. She’d learned it the hard way, out there in the woods, in the dark, where things that were lost stayed lost.

Her fingers curled, nails pressing into the skin of her palm.
She shouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not when Carol was already crying enough for the both of them, but the tears came anyway, slow and silent, slipping down her face before she could stop them.

The sounds of the camp faded into the background; just noise, just voices, just things that didn’t matter. She reached out blindly, unsure of what she was looking for, her breath hitching in her throat.

Warmth.

A solid presence. A rough, steady hand.

Shane.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging without thinking, gripping as if holding on tight enough could somehow keep everything from slipping away.

She expected him to pull away, to tell her to toughen up, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all. Just let her hold on, let her take what little comfort she could, let her shake and breathe and feel the weight of everything crashing down all at once.

Dallis clung to Shane.

Her fingers fisted in his shirt, her face pressed against his chest, her breath coming in uneven gasps as she tried to keep herself together.

She heard Daryl near her, the sound of his boots shifting in the dirt, the way he muttered her name under his breath, but she ignored him. She didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say, didn’t want to feel the weight of his worry pressing down on her.

He hadn’t been there when it mattered.

He hadn’t saved Sophia.

He hadn’t saved Bemo.

The voices of the men around them were tense, sharp with urgency. They were planning. Leaving. Talking about Sophia like she was still out there, like she wasn’t already lost. Rick’s voice was firm, controlled, as he laid out the plan. Daryl was insistent, pushing to go now, to not waste any time. Shane, despite the way his arms were still loosely around her, was arguing back.

“She’s a kid, man,” Shane said, voice low and tense. “We ain’t gonna find her in the dark. You know that.”

“We ain’t leavin’ her out there overnight,” Daryl snapped, frustration bleeding into every word. “Not alone.”

Shane exhaled sharply through his nose. Dallis could feel the way his chest moved with it, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. He was getting ready to move, getting ready to go.

And he wanted her off him. His hands came up, prying at her fingers, trying to loosen her grip. “C’mon, kid,” he muttered. “I gotta go."

Dallis shook her head.

She wasn’t even thinking; just reacting, just feeling, just holding onto something that felt real, that felt safe.

“Dallis,” Shane tried again, firmer this time. “Come on. Let go.”

She didn’t.

He sighed, frustration laced in the sound, and she felt him shifting, trying to ease her off him without hurting her. His hands on her arms, his grip careful but insistent.

“I’ll be back,” he said, like that was supposed to make it better.

“We’ll find her, alright? But I gotta go now.”

Dallis knew she should let go.

She knew she was just making things harder.

But the thought of being left behind again, of sitting here and waiting and listening, not knowing what was happening out there, was unbearable.

But Shane was stronger.

With one last pull, he managed to break her grip, stepping back before she could latch on again. The cold air rushed in where his warmth had been, and she curled her hands into fists, pressing them against her sides.

She heard Daryl move closer, probably reaching for her, but she turned away, not wanting him.

Not wanting any of them.

She was alone again.

-

Dallis sat curled in on herself, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as she listened to the camp around her.

Carol was still crying.

Even though she tried to be quiet about it, muffling the sounds into Lori’s shoulder, Dallis could hear her. Could feel the weight of her grief in the air. It made something in her chest ache, made her stomach twist into knots.

Because Carol’s sobs meant one thing; Sophia was still missing.

And maybe she was gone forever.

Dallis clenched her jaw, pressing her forehead against her knees. She felt like she was suffocating under the weight of it, under everything she didn’t say, everything she didn’t do.

She should have done something.

She should have stopped Sophia from going into the woods.

She should have saved her.

A quiet shuffle of footsteps approached, hesitant, stopping just a few feet away. “Hey,” Carl’s voice came, soft but clear.

Dallis didn’t move. She wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Carl hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence but not touching. The space between them was small, but it felt enormous.

“My mom’s with Carol,” he said after a moment. “Trying to help her calm down.”

Dallis swallowed, her throat tight. She couldn’t imagine Carol ever calming down from this.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then Carl shifted beside her, something rustling in his hands.

“I, um—I found this,” he said.

Dallis turned her head slightly, listening as he hesitated, then reached out and gently pressed something into her hands.

It was soft. Small. Stuffed.

She ran her fingers over it, feeling the shape, the familiar structure of a dog plushie. Her breath hitched. Carl cleared his throat. “I found it in one of the abandoned cars,” he said.

“I know you can’t see, but… it kinda looks like Bemo.”

Dallis’ fingers curled around the plush, gripping it tightly.

Bemo.

Her chest ached so fiercely she thought it might crush her. Carl didn’t say anything else. He just sat there, waiting. Giving her space.

A sob tore from her throat, raw and broken, and she turned toward Carl before she could stop herself, reaching for him.

He barely had a second to react before she was throwing her arms around him, clinging to him with everything she had.
For a moment, he stiffened, probably startled. But then his arms wrapped around her, awkward but firm, holding on just as tightly as she did.

She sobbed into his shoulder, gripping the plush so hard her fingers ached.

Carl didn’t say anything. He just let her cry.

-

Carl shifted against her, his grip on her tightening for a brief second before he pulled back. Dallis loosened her hold, rubbing at her face with the back of her sleeve, trying to quiet the gasping breaths that still shook her chest.

“My dad’s back,” Carl said, his voice tinged with relief, with something close to hope.

Dallis heard him scramble to his feet, the gravel shifting beneath his sneakers. She stayed where she was, hugging the plush dog against her chest, her body still trembling from the weight of her sobs.

Was Sophia back?

Carl took a step away, but then he stopped. Dallis could hear the change in his breathing, the way it hitched slightly, excitement faltering.

Something was wrong.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again, the relief drained from it. “Sophia’s not...”

Dallis felt her stomach drop. Rick had gone into the woods to find Sophia.

He’d gone to bring her back.

But he didn't.

She gripped the plushie tighter, holding it so close to her chest it almost hurt. A familiar voice rang out, shaky and desperate.

“No…” Carol’s voice cracked, her breath coming out in gasps. “No, no, no—”

Then the sobs started. Deep, aching, the kind that twisted through the air and wrapped around Dallis’ chest like a vice.
Dallis squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t matter.

She could hear Carol’s grief.

Could feel it.

And she knew.

Rick didn’t find Sophia.

Sophia was still out there. Or maybe she wasn’t out there at all.

A choked sound slipped from her throat before she could stop it, and she hunched forward, pressing her face against the stuffed dog’s fur.

Sound of boota moved beside her. She didn’t have to reach to know who it was. Shane.

Dallis reached for him blindly, gripping onto his shirt as a whimper escaped her lips. His hands settled on her arms, firm and grounding.

Dallis barely registered when Shane shifted, his grip tightening before strong arms lifted her off the ground. Her breath hitched, fingers curling into his shirt as he held her close against his chest.

“C’mon, kid,” he muttered, voice lower than before, rougher.
She buried her face into the fabric of his shirt, trying to block out the sound of Carol’s sobs.

It wasn’t working.

The RV door creaked as Shane climbed inside, the warmth of the space wrapping around her compared to the cool night air. He moved carefully, setting her down on one of the small beds toward the back.

The mattress barely dipped under her weight.Dallis didn’t let go of him right away.

He let her cling for a moment before gently prying her fingers away. “You gotta get some sleep, alright?” His tone was softer than she was used to.

She shook her head.

“Dallis.”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t know how to.

Shane sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Ain’t nothin’ you can do right now, kid.”

But there was something they could do.

They could go back out there.

They could find Sophia.

That’s what she wanted to say, but her throat felt tight, and the words never came. Shane’s hand landed on her shoulder, firm but not rough.

“Try to rest, alright?”

Dallis clutched the plush dog against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut.

She wasn’t sure if she would be able to sleep.

But she nodded anyway.

Chapter Text

Dallis sat stiffly on the RV’s worn-out couch, gripping the plush dog Carl had given her so tightly that the seams threatened to split. Outside, the camp was buzzing with movement; voices overlapping, boots crunching against gravel, the sharp click of guns being checked. Everyone was getting ready to leave.

Everyone except her.

She knew before she even asked, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

“I want to go,” she said, standing abruptly. Shane was in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the others prepare. He barely glanced at her. “No.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “That’s not fair.”

He let out a breath, turning slightly to look at her. “Dallis—”

“Carl gets to go,” she interrupted, voice rising. “Why can he go, but I can’t?”

Shane shifted his weight, rubbing the back of his head, “Carl ain’t blind,” he said, as if that settled it.

Dallis’ face burned, “That’s not fair,” she repeated, louder this time.

He sighed, stepping fully into the RV. “Listen, kid, we can’t have two little girls lost in the woods. We gotta find one first before we start worryin’ about another.”

She hated the way he said it. Like she was a problem. Like she was just another thing they had to worry about.

“I wouldn’t get lost,” she muttered, jaw tightening.

Shane scoffed, shaking his head. “Come on now, don’t be like that.”

She turned away from him, arms tightening around the plush.

“Dallis,” he tried again, voice lower this time. “I know it don’t feel fair, but this ain’t about what’s fair. It’s about keepin’ you safe.”

Safe.

That word made her stomach twist.

She had been safe before. Before the world ended. Before she lost everything. And being safe hadn’t stopped any of that from happening.

Outside, she heard Rick’s voice, calling for everyone to get moving.

Carl got to go.

He got to help.

And she was stuck here.

Dallis swallowed hard, “I hate this,” she muttered.

Shane sighed again, “I know, kid.”

But he didn’t change his mind, and that only made her hate it more.

-

Dallis sat near the edge of the RV’s shadow, her fingers running over the soft, worn fabric of the stuffed dog Carl had given her. She could hear the sound of people moving in the distance, the low hum of voices fading as the search party disappeared into the woods.

She hated being left behind.

She hated being treated like she was fragile.

T-Dog sat a few feet away, leaning against a crate, his injured arm wrapped in a bloodstained bandage. Dale was nearby too, fiddling with something on the RV’s roof, keeping an eye on both of them like a worried parent.

After a while, Dallis broke the silence.

“How’d you get hurt?”

T-Dog blinked blearily, like it took him a second to process her question. Then he huffed out a breath. “Cut myself,” he mumbled. “On a car door.” He shook his head, eyes glassy. “Stupid. Dumb mistake.”

Dallis frowned, “Are you okay?”

T-Dog let out a rough chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, ‘okay’ ain't really a thing anymore, is it?” His voice was a little slurred, and she could tell the fever was messing with him.

For a long moment, he was quiet, head lolling back against the crate. Then he muttered, almost to himself, “Ain’t it funny how it’s always the same people left behind?”

Dallis tilted her head, “What?”

T-Dog let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Think about it. Rick, Shane, Daryl—all them? They off runnin’ around, lookin’ for the little white girl. But what we got back at camp? A sick Black man, a blind kid, and an old dude.” He gestured vaguely as if she could see, his injured arm moving sluggishly.

“We the ones left behind.”

Dallis stiffened. She didn’t know what to say to that. T-Dog shook his head, still muttering. “Merle was right. They don’t care ‘bout people like us. We just a burden. Just somethin’ to leave behind when it gets too hard.” His words were heavy, tinged with fever and something else; something bitter.

Dallis sat still, hugging the stuffed dog to her chest as she listened to T-Dog’s fevered words. Her fingers dug into the fabric, her grip tightening.

She didn’t want to believe that was true.

Didn’t want to think that the people she was with would just abandon them.

But hadn’t they already?

Sophia was out there. Lost. And they wouldn’t even let her try to help.

Maybe they didn’t see her as part of the group.

Maybe she was just another thing they had to take care of.

Just like T-Dog said.

She clenched her jaw, feeling something burn in her chest.

Above them, Dale sighed.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice calm but firm. “You’re just sick, T-Dog. Your fever’s got you talking nonsense.”

T-Dog let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah? That what you think, old man?” He turned his head, blinking blearily at Dale.

“Tell me why they didn’t wanna go lookin’ for Merle then.”

Dale hesitated. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” T-Dog scoffed, shaking his head. “They left him chained up to a damn roof. Left him to die. And now, they out there bustin’ their asses to find a little white girl, but not him.”

His voice grew quieter, rough with exhaustion.

“Ain’t no search parties for people like us.”

Dale sighed again, slower this time. “Rick went back for Merle,” he said.

“He tried. You know that.”

T-Dog let out another weak chuckle, leaning his head back against the crate. He didn’t argue anymore, but Dallis could tell he didn’t believe it.

And the worst part was… neither did she.

Dale could try to smooth things over, could say whatever made him feel better. But T-Dog wasn’t wrong.

The people who got left behind were always the same kind of people.

Dallis swallowed hard, pressing her face into the stuffed dog’s soft fur.

She didn’t say anything else.

-

A scream.

Dallis froze, every muscle in her body going stiff. It was distant, but not far enough. Not far enough at all.

She turned her head toward the noise, gripping the stuffed dog tighter in her hands. Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

She didn’t like this.

She didn’t like that they left Sophia out there.

She didn’t like that she wasn’t with Shane.

She didn’t like that she couldn’t see what was happening; if someone was hurt, if someone was running, if something was coming toward them.

T-Dog shifted beside her, his breathing heavy, still weak from the infection. Dale was on his feet, squinting toward the woods, fingers twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for a weapon but knew it wouldn’t do much good.

For a long moment, no one said anything. The screaming stopped.

Dallis forced herself to swallow, trying to push down the lump in her throat.

Slowly, she turned, stepping closer to where T-Dog sat propped up against some crates. Without a word, she lowered herself beside him, curling in on herself, the warmth of another person grounding her, even if he was sick.

T-Dog huffed out something close to a laugh. “You scared, little D?”

Dallis didn’t answer.

She was, but she wasn’t going to say it out loud.

He sighed, adjusting his position slightly, looking down at her with tired eyes. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ scared,” he muttered.

“Just means you’re still human.”

Dallis clenched her jaw, staring down at the stuffed animal in her lap, her fingers running over its fur absentmindedly.
After a moment, T-Dog shifted again, letting his head rest against the crate behind him.

“You wanna hear a story?” he asked.

She hesitated, then gave a small nod.

He exhaled, gathering his thoughts. “I had two brothers,” he said, voice a little distant, like he was seeing something far away. “Older than me. Big guys. Mean, too. Used to give me hell when I was little. Used to call me ‘Tiny’ ‘cause I was scrawny as hell back then.”

Dallis tilted her head slightly, listening.

“One time,” T-Dog continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “they dared me to go into this old abandoned house on our block. Said it was haunted. Told me if I didn’t go, I was a punk.” He chuckled dryly.

“And I ain’t wanna be no punk, so I went.”

“Was it haunted?” she whispered.

T-Dog smirked, “Nah. But they sure as hell made me think it was.”

He shook his head, probably. “They snuck ‘round the back, started bangin’ on the walls, makin’ noises, whisperin’ my name all creepy-like.” He paused.

“Scared the hell outta me.”

Dallis blinked, “What’d you do?” she asked.

He laughed, rough and quiet. “Ran straight outta there screamin’ like a damn fool.”

Dallis almost smiled.

T-Dog sighed again, the exhaustion creeping back into his voice. “Point is, bein’ scared don’t mean you ain’t brave,” he murmured. “I was scared as hell, but I still went in, didn’t I?”

Dallis was quiet.

She thought about the woods. About Sophia, out there all alone. About the screaming they had just heard.

“I don’t wanna be scared,” she admitted.

T-Dog gave her a small, knowing nod as if she could see him. “Ain’t nobody does,” he said. “But we all are, little bit. Every last one of us.”

Dallis didn’t say anything else.

She just leaned against him a little more, letting the sound of his breathing and the weight of his words settle over her.

-

The group was back.

She was already tense, her hands curled tightly around the stuffed dog Carl had given her. T-Dog, still weak from his infection, shifted beside her, his body heavy with exhaustion.

Glenn’s voice cut through the tense air, “Carl got shot.”
Dallis froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

Dale’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “What do you mean, shot?”

“I don’t know, Dale. I wasn’t there,” Glenn said, frustrated, shaking his head.

“All I know is this chick rode out of nowhere like Zorro on a horse and took Lori.”

Dallis clutched the stuffed dog tighter, her fingers digging into its worn fabric. Her chest tightened painfully. Carl. Carl was hurt.

Dale turned to someone, “You let her?”

Daryl snapped back immediately, his voice rough and defensive, “Climb down out of my asshоlе, man. Rick sent her. She knew Lori’s name and Carl’s.”

Their words barely registered in Dallis’ mind. There was a loud buzzing in her ears, drowning out the noise around her. Carl had been fine earlier. He was always fine. But now—

Dale’s voice cut through the haze, he was talking to someone. “I heard screams—was that you?”

Carol spoke up, her voice soft and worried. “She got attacked by a walker. It was a close call.”

Dale turned to someone, Andrea probably, his voice gentler now. “Are you all right?”

The RV door slammed shut, making Dallis flinch.

Dallis barely heard any of it. Her breath turned shallow, sharp and uneven. Her hands trembled where they gripped the plush dog, her knuckles white.

Carl got shot. Shot.

A sob broke from her throat before she could stop it.

T-Dog reacted immediately, shifting beside her. “Hey, hey, little D,” he murmured, reaching out in the dark to pat her shoulder. His touch was clumsy but warm. “C’mon now, don’t—”

But she was already crying.

Tears slipped down her cheeks in hot, silent rivers, her chest aching with each sharp inhale. She didn’t care if anyone saw her, didn’t care if she looked weak.

Carl was her friend.

The first person to talk to her back at the Quary. The one who sat with her in the RV, who gave her the stupid stuffed dog because he thought it might make her feel better.

He was kind, and now—

“What happened?” she whispered, her voice cracking, barely audible. “Is he—”

T-Dog sighed, rubbing slow circles on her back, his body swaying slightly with exhaustion. “Ain’t gone,” he muttered.

“Ain’t gone, little D. Kid’s a tough one.”

Dallis hiccupped, trying to hold back more sobs, but the fear was too much. Her shoulders shook violently, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves.

T-Dog sighed, his hand lingering on her back. “Damn world’s got it out for the little ones, huh?” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Dallis just cried harder.

-

Dallis knew no one was paying attention to her.

The camp was tense. Dallis had learned, even before the world ended, that when people were too busy worrying about bigger things, they stopped noticing the small things; like a quiet, blind girl slipping away.

She still had Bee, the stuffed dog Carl had given her. It was soft and worn, its fur matted from being hugged too much, but she refused to let it go. Carl had given it to her when she needed it most. He had sat next to her in the RV, offering comfort when no one else had. And now, Carl was hurt.

He had given her Bee to make her feel better.

She needed to find something to make him feel better, too.

Her bare feet moved carefully across the cracked pavement of the abandoned highway, navigating by feel and memory.

The car graveyard stretched out around her, an eerie maze of rusting vehicles left behind when the world stopped. Some still had their doors closed, others were left open, belongings spilling out as if their owners had been in a hurry to leave. Dallis ran her fingers along the cool metal of the nearest car, feeling for a handle.

She tugged, and the door groaned in protest before giving way. The air inside smelled stale, like dust and old fabric. Dallis reached inside, her hands brushing over the dashboard, the seats, searching for anything soft, anything that might bring comfort. But there was nothing.

Just old receipts, a half-empty bottle of water, and a pair of sunglasses someone had left behind.

She moved on, opening another car. This one had a bag in the back seat, its zipper half-open. Dallis reached inside, fingers sifting through forgotten items; clothes, a hairbrush, a crinkled candy wrapper. Her fingers brushed against something small and cool, and she pulled it out.

It was a necklace.

She ran her fingers over it, feeling the delicate chain and the pendant at the end. It was smooth and round, but as she traced the shape, she realized it wasn’t just a circle. It had wings.

A bird.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

Carl liked birds.

She remembered him talking about them once, describing how he used to watch them from his bedroom window before everything went bad. He had told her about the different kinds; the blue jays, the sparrows, the hawks that sometimes perched on the fence posts.

He had sounded happy when he talked about them, like they reminded him of a time when things were normal.

Maybe this would remind him of that again.

Dallis curled her fingers around the pendant and held it close. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something for Carl, the way Bee had been something for her.

Dallis had just been about to slip the necklace into her pocket when she heard it. A sound; soft at first, like the shuffle of fabric against metal. Then the groan.

Her entire body froze.

It was close.

She didn't have Bemo to warn her this time.

Her breath caught in her throat as the air around her changed, the stench of decay creeping into her nose. She turned her head, ears straining, heart pounding so hard she swore she could feel it in her fingertips.

Then came the scrape of nails against metal.

She barely had time to react before a weight slammed against the open car door, rattling the entire vehicle. Dallis stumbled back, colliding with the back seat as something reached for her, snarling and gasping, the sound of its rotten throat struggling to function.

She didn't scream this time.

Her hands scrambled for something; anything. She gripped Bee tightly in one fist, useless in a fight, but in her other pocket, the handle of a knife. Merle’s knife. She wrenched it free, her fingers slippery with sweat as she swung wildly.

The walker let out a wet, gurgling sound as its fingers tangled in her shirt, yanking her forward. The smell was suffocating, like rotting meat left in the sun. Dallis slashed, but she missed; too panicked, too blind.

The walker lunged.

And then—

A deafening thwack.

The weight disappeared. The wet sound of something splitting open filled her ears, followed by a heavy thud against the pavement outside the car. Dallis gasped, pressing herself against the seat, breathing hard as silence fell over the lot again.

“The hell is wrong with you?”

Dallis flinched. She knew that voice.

Daryl.

She gripped the edge of the seat as footsteps stomped closer, the sound of a knife being yanked free from flesh making her stomach twist.

“Goddamn idiot—” Daryl’s voice was a harsh whisper, but full of heat. “What the hell are you doin’ out here by yourself?”

Dallis didn’t answer. Her whole body was shaking, but she refused to let it show. She heard the way Daryl was breathing; fast, like he’d been running.

She knew he was mad.

“You coulda died,” Daryl snapped, grabbing her arm and hauling her out of the car. “Ain’t nobody watchin’ you? What, you just walked into the goddamn graveyard of cars like some dumbass?”

Dallis yanked her arm free, “Let go.”

Daryl scoffed, “Oh, so you can talk.”

She clenched her jaw. She hadn’t spoken much since the highway. Since Bemo. Since she heard the explosion and felt the ground shake beneath her, the sound of her dog’s yelp still ringing in her ears.

She hadn’t wanted to talk; not to him.

Not to the man who hadn’t saved him.

She heard Daryl exhale sharply, pacing for a second before stopping in front of her. “What were you doin’ out here?”

Dallis stayed quiet, gripping Bee tightly.

Daryl growled in frustration, “Y’know, everybody’s got enough shit to deal with already—”

“I didn’t ask to be watched.”

Daryl went quiet. Dallis swallowed hard, hating how her voice wobbled. She hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words had slipped out before she could stop them.

Daryl let out a slow breath. When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t as sharp, but still full of frustration. “You can be mad at me all you want. Hell, I don’t blame you. But you ain’t gonna go gettin’ yourself killed ‘cause of it.”

She turned her head away from him, feeling the familiar sting behind her eyes.

He sighed. “C’mon. We’re goin’ back.”

Dallis didn’t argue, but she didn’t follow him right away either. She hesitated, taking a step back toward the car.

Daryl groaned, “What now?”

She reached inside and grabbed something off the seat. The little necklace.

Daryl huffed. “You damn near got eaten for that?”

“It’s not for me.”

Daryl didn’t say anything after that. He just grunted, then muttered something under his breath before gripping her wrist; not rough, but firm enough to keep her from wandering off again.

As he led her back to camp, Dallis held onto the necklace, her fingers squeezing the tiny bird pendant so tight it left an imprint in her palm.

Chapter Text

Dallis sat curled up in the RV, knees pulled to her chest, clutching the stuffed dog Carl had given her. Her tears had dried sometime during the night, but her face still felt puffy, and her throat was raw from crying. She hadn’t slept much; every time she drifted off, the fear would creep back in, and she’d jolt awake, heart pounding.

She didn’t know where Carl was or if he was okay.

No one had told her anything, and she was too scared to ask.

The RV was quiet except for the occasional murmur of voices outside. The adults had gathered nearby, their voices low and tense. Dallis could tell they were making plans, deciding what to do next. She didn’t need to hear the words to know they were all worried about Carl and Sophia.

She was worried too.

She pressed her face against the stuffed dog, Bee, and tried to focus on the soft fabric beneath her fingers, grounding herself. But the quiet was suffocating, stretching on and on until the RV door creaked open.

Dale’s footsteps were easy to recognize; the careful, steady pace of someone who was always watching, always thinking.

He hesitated before stepping further inside. “Morning, kiddo,” he said, voice gentle but carrying that usual warmth.

Dallis didn’t answer right away. It didn’t feel like morning. It just felt like another day; another day of being stuck in the dark, waiting for someone to tell her what was happening.

Dale let out a quiet sigh and moved closer, the old couch creaking as he sat down. “I figured you might want to know—we’re moving out soon. Heading to a farm. It’s not too far.”

Dallis lifted her head slightly, “A farm?”

“That’s right. That’s where Rick took Carl.”

Carl.

Her fingers tightened around Bee. “Is he okay?”

Dale hesitated, but only for a second. “He’s got a long road ahead of him, but he’s in good hands.”

Dallis swallowed hard, nodding. A farm. Maybe that meant Carl would be okay. Maybe she’d see him again soon.

She sat up a little straighter, “Are there animals?”

Dale chuckled, “Probably. Horses, cows, chickens… all the usual farm stuff.”

Horses. She’d never touched a horse before, but she remembered hearing one once, back before the world ended. A deep, powerful sound, like thunder rumbling low in its throat.

“Will I get to pet one?”

“If you ask nicely,” Dale hummed, Dallis frowned. “I always ask nicely.”

That made him laugh, a soft, light sound. “Well, then I’m sure they will let you.”

She thought for a moment, “Is it safe there?”

Dale didn’t answer right away, and that told her enough. “Safer than out here,” he said finally. “They've got land, and walkers don’t tend to wander too far into open fields.”

Dallis considered that. The woods had always felt too big, too full of things she couldn’t see. A farm sounded… different. Quieter.

She shifted Bee in her arms. “Are we staying?”

“For a little while,” Dale admitted. “Long enough to find Sophia and for Carl to get better. Maybe longer, if Hershel allows it.”

Dallis sat with that thought. It had been so long since they’d had a place to rest. The CDC never felt safe, to her atleast, just temporary. A farm felt different; like maybe they could stop running, just for a little while.

She leaned her head against the seat and let out a small breath.

A farm. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-

Dallis could tell something was off the moment she found Shane.

She’d been wandering the edge of camp, listening to everything around her; the sound of voices, of people moving supplies, setting up camp, doing whatever needed to be done. Everyone was busy, distracted. No one had noticed her slipping away from the RV. Daryl had gone out looking for Sophia, told her to stick close to Carol.

But she was looking for Shane.

When she found him, he wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t moving supplies or helping set up. He was just standing there, arms crossed over his chest, his breathing heavy.
Dallis hesitated. Something about the way he stood felt wrong.

Normally, Shane carried himself with a kind of loud confidence, always talking, always moving. But right now, he was still. Too still.

She didn’t like it.

Still, she stepped forward. “Shane?”

He turned too quickly, like he hadn’t heard her coming.

“What?” His voice was sharp.

Dallis shrunk back slightly, gripping the stuffed dog in her hands. She hadn’t expected him to snap at her. “I just—I wanted to know if Carl was okay.”

Shane exhaled heavily through his nose, “Yeah,” he said, but his voice didn’t have the usual reassurance. It was flat. Distant. “He’s gonna be fine.”

Dallis frowned, “Are you sure?”

“I said he’s fine.”

The sharpness in his voice made her stomach twist. Shane wasn’t like this. He could be loud, sure. Sometimes bossy. But not cold.

She shifted on her feet. “Can you take me to the horses?”

Shane let out a breath, running a hand over his face. “Horses?”

“Yeah. Dale said there’s horses here.” She clutched Bee a little tighter.

“I wanna touch them.”

For a moment, Shane didn’t answer. Dallis couldn’t see his expression, but she could hear the tension in the silence, feel it settling between them like something heavy.

Then, finally, he sighed. “Alright, kid. Let’s go.”

Dallis didn’t say anything, just followed the sound of his footsteps as he led her away from the camp.

They walked in silence for a while. The further they got from the others, the quieter everything felt. Dallis could hear the breeze moving through the grass, the distant sound of animals. The farm smelled different, too; like hay and dirt, something warm and real.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about how weird Shane sounded.

After a while, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Shane let out a dry laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sound different.”

“Yeah, well… people change.”

Dallis frowned, “Did something happen?”

Another silence.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She didn’t like that answer. It was the kind of answer adults gave when they didn’t want to tell her something, and she never understood why.

Dallis let it go for now, listening as the sounds of the farm grew louder. She could hear the horses now;big, heavy breaths, the soft thud of hooves on dirt.

Shane stopped walking. “Alright. We’re here.”

Dallis reached out cautiously, searching the space in front of her. Shane guided her hand, pressing it against something warm and solid. She felt the rise and fall of breath beneath her fingers, the sleek coat of a living, breathing animal.

A horse.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “It’s soft.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, voice still distant. “Guess it is.”

Dallis ran her fingers along the horse’s neck, feeling its muscles shift under her touch. For the first time in days, something inside her settled.

But Shane was still off, and she didn’t know why.

-

Shane was quiet as he watched Dallis run her small hands over the horse’s muzzle, her fingers barely grazing the velvety skin.

She was hesitant at first, touching like she wasn’t sure if it was real, but then her hands grew more confident, brushing along the horse’s face, down its neck.

Shane exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his hair. His head was a mess. Carl was lying in a bed with a bullet wound, Rick was off somewhere playing hero, and he—he had blood on his hands. The kind that didn’t come from walkers.

He didn’t feel like himself.

And now this little girl was staring up at him with her milky, unseeing eyes, completely unaware of the war raging inside him.

“Shane?” Her voice was soft.

“Hm?”

“I wanna touch the top of its head.”

He blinked at her, “Kid, you’re short.”

She huffed, “I know. That’s why you gotta pick me up.”

Shane hesitated. He wasn’t in the mood for this. But then again, what else was he gonna do? Stand around and think about everything he’d done?

With a sigh, he knelt down. “Alright, c’mere.”

Dallis clumsily reached out, gripping onto his shoulders as he hoisted her up onto them. She was so light. Too light. The weight of her bony arms draped over his head, little fingers gripping his buzzed-head as she adjusted herself.

“Jeez, what the hell have you been eating? Air?”

She giggled, the first real laugh he’d heard from her in days.

“Just sayin’ you could use a damn sandwich.” he muttered.

She leaned forward, running her hands along the horse’s head. She found its ears, brushing them gently. “They’re big.”

“They sure are.”

She hummed, the sound content. For a second, Shane almost forgot everything that had happened; the blood, the gunshot, the body cooling in the grass. For just a second, he was standing in the sun with a little girl on his shoulders, listening to her giggle as she pet a horse.

Then she said, “Change is okay sometimes.”

Shane stiffened, “What?”

“People change. And that’s okay.”

Something about the way she said it made his stomach twist. He shifted his grip on her legs. “Where’d you get that from?”

“Dunno.” She tilted her head. “Just thinkin’.”

Shane swallowed, his throat dry. He should’ve laughed it off, teased her for talking like some old wise woman. But the words sat too heavy in his chest.

Change.

He had changed.

But was it okay?

He didn’t have an answer for that.

Instead, he said, “Alright, kid. Enough wisdom for today. You done with the horse?”

Dallis grinned, patting the horse’s head one last time. “Yeah.”

Shane let her down, steadying her on her feet. She adjusted her grip on her stuffed dog, smiling up at him. “Thanks, Shane."

He placed a rough hand on her head, ruffling her hair. “Yeah, yeah.”

As they walked back toward the farm, Dallis hummed quietly to herself, the tune light and easy. Shane, on the other hand, felt heavier than ever.

-

Dallis barely left Carol’s side after they settled at the farm.

She stuck to her like a shadow, quiet and small, clutching Bee against her chest. Carol never told her to leave, never pushed her away. Maybe she found comfort in Dallis' presence, in having someone near when the weight of losing Sophia was threatening to pull her under.

Carol was different now. She barely spoke anymore, and when she did, it was hoarse and tired.

Dallis could tell she’d been crying. She could always tell.

They sat together near the porch steps, Carol’s hands busy with laundry, scrubbing a shirt against a washboard. The motion was mechanical, like she wasn’t even thinking about it. Like if she stopped, she’d have to face the silence, the empty space where Sophia should’ve been.

Dallis shifted closer, feeling the warmth of Carol’s arm beside hers. “Did you eat today?”

Carol startled a little, as if she forgot Dallis was even there. She blinked, looking down at her, then shook her head as if Dallis could see. “Not really hungry.”

Dallis frowned, “You should eat.”

Carol sighed, her hands stilling in the soapy water. “Maybe later.”

The girl tightened her grip on Bee. She wanted to say something, to tell Carol that Sophia was still out there, that Daryl was going to find her, that she had to be okay. But her throat closed up, and she couldn’t get the words out.

She could still hear Carol crying at night.

Could still hear the way her voice broke when she called Sophia’s name.

So instead, she reached for Carol’s wrist, her small fingers barely wrapping around it. “I miss her.”

Carol inhaled sharply. The washboard slipped from her grasp, landing in the water with a soft splash. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, her arms wrapped around Dallis, pulling her close. The embrace was tight, almost desperate.

“I miss her too, baby,” she whispered, voice trembling.

Dallis clung to her, the fabric of Carol’s shirt damp from the water. She felt Carol’s chin rest against the top of her head, her breathing unsteady.

“I—I should’ve gone with her,” Carol murmured, guilt thick in her voice. “I should’ve held her hand and never let go.”

“You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Carol said, her voice cracking. “She was my baby. I was supposed to keep her safe.”

Dallis didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know how to make Carol feel better.

So she just held on, hoping it was enough.

The sun dipped lower, casting golden light over the farm. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear Rick talking to Hershel, discussing plans to keep looking for Sophia. The adults still had hope.

Dallis wanted to believe it too, but the fear never left her.

Because what if Sophia was gone?

What if she never came back?

-

Dallis stood beside Carol in the farmhouse kitchen, sleeves rolled up, fingers brushing over the rough surface of a potato. Carol had placed a peeler in her hand, gently guiding her fingers along the handle, and now Dallis was trying her best to peel without cutting herself.

It was quiet between them. Not an uncomfortable silence, but a heavy one. The kind that didn’t need words. The only sounds were the rhythmic scrape of the peeler against the potatoes and the occasional clatter when Dallis missed the bowl.

She was concentrating hard, tongue poking out slightly, determined to get it right. She wasn’t used to helping with cooking; before all this, before the world went bad, she’d only ever helped her dad stir cake batter or pass over ingredients.

Now, though, she wanted to be useful.

Carol worked beside her, cutting up carrots with slow, careful movements. Dallis could hear the dull thud of the knife hitting the cutting board, the steady rhythm soothing in a way she couldn’t explain.

After a while, Carol glanced down at her. “You’re doing good, sweetheart.”

Dallis felt a little swell of pride at that.

“Can you pass me the onion?” Carol asked.

Dallis fumbled a little, fingers skimming over the rough skin of the onion before she found it. She handed it to Carol, who murmured a quiet 'thank you' before setting to work.

Dallis listened to the slicing, the way Carol's breathing hitched slightly when the onion's scent got too strong. It reminded her of home. Not home now, not the group or the camp or the farm, but the home she barely remembered. Her mother’s voice, the smell of something warm in the oven, the way she’d hum while cooking.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Before she could get lost in those thoughts, she heard footsteps approaching.

The soft shuffle of boots, the rustle of fabric. Then Lori’s voice.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Dallis turned her head slightly in the direction of the voice, fingers still clutching the potato she hadn’t finished peeling. Lori stepped closer, her voice gentle. “I just thought you’d want to know—Carl’s awake.”

Dallis’ breath hitched. She tightened her grip on the peeler, the sharp edge biting into the potato skin. Carl was awake.

Carl was awake.

She wanted to drop everything and run straight to him, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her chest felt tight, her mind racing. He’d been hurt. He’d been unconscious for so long. What if he wasn’t the same? What if he was still in pain?

Carol seemed to sense her hesitation. She reached over, gently prying the peeler from Dallis’ fingers. “Go,” she murmured.

Dallis pursed her lips, “Can I?”

Lori smiled before placing a gentle hand on Dallis’s shoulder, squeezing it softly. “Of course. He’s been asking about you.”

That was all she needed to hear.

She turned on her heel, moving quickly toward the door. She knew where it was, having mapped out the faemhouse in her head earlier. She didn’t run, but her steps were hurried, heart hammering.

Carl was awake.

And he wanted to see her.

Chapter Text

Dallis hesitated at the bottom of the staircase, gripping the banister with uncertain fingers.

She had rushed out of the kitchen, her mind set on seeing Carl, but now that she was here, she realized; she had no idea where his bedroom was.

She had never been upstairs in the farmhouse before. Had never had a reason to. The floor above felt like a whole different world, filled with hallways and closed doors she couldn’t see.

She exhaled, trying to push down the frustration bubbling in her chest.

Footsteps creaked across the wooden floor, and she turned her head toward the sound just as Maggie’s voice rang out, Maggie was the daughter of the doctor taking care of Carl, Carol had said.

“Hey, honey , you lost?”

Dallis chewed on her lip. “…I don’t know where Carl’s room is.”
Maggie’s voice was warm, understanding.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Dallis heard her shift closer, felt the light touch of Maggie’s hand against her shoulder as she guided her toward the stairs. They moved slowly, Maggie giving quiet directions.

“Couple more steps… Okay, turn left here.”

Dallis listened carefully, her hands brushing the walls as they went. The farmhouse smelled different up here;less like the lingering scent of cooking food, more like fresh linens and faint wood polish.

Finally, Maggie stopped. “Right here,” she said softly, giving Dallis’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Go on in.”

Dallis hesitated, nerves twisting in her stomach. Then she reached out, fingers skimming the wood of the doorframe before she found the doorknob.

The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open. The moment she stepped inside, Carl’s voice rang out.

“Dallis?”

Her breath hitched. His voice was scratchy, tired, but still Carl.
She moved toward the sound, hands reaching forward instinctively. She wasn’t wearing any shoes in the house, the floor was soft beneath her feet; carpet, not hardwood. The air smelled like the farm, like bandages and faint medicine.

She felt the edge of the bed before she found him. Carl reached for her first, his small fingers brushing against her wrist before gripping her hand.

“You’re here,” he said, relief lacing his words.

Dallis swallowed hard, nodding even though she knew he could see her.

She climbed onto the bed beside him, settling carefully next to him. The mattress dipped under her weight. Carl didn’t let go of her hand.

Carl was here. He was awake. And he was okay.

Carl shifted beside her, adjusting himself against the pillows.

She could hear the rustling of fabric, the faintest wince in his breath. He was still in pain, still healing. She had no idea what it was like to be shot, but she could imagine.

Dallis exhaled softly and, before she could second-guess herself, she reached for his hand and pressed the pendant into his palm. His fingers curled around it instinctively.

“What’s this?” Carl asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Dallis hesitated for a moment before reaching into her pocket. Her fingers curled around the small bird pendant she had found in the abandoned car lot. It was cool against her skin, smooth and delicate, so different from everything else in this world that felt rough and cruel.

Carl shifted beside her, adjusting himself against the pillows. She could hear the rustling of fabric, the faintest wince in his breath. He was still in pain, still healing. She had no idea what it was like to be shot, but she could imagine.

Dallis exhaled softly and, before she could second-guess herself, she reached for his hand and pressed the pendant into his palm. His fingers curled around it instinctively.

“What’s this?” Carl asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

“I found it… in one of the cars,” Dallis murmured. “Thought you might like it.”

Carl was quiet for a moment. She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell if he liked it or not, she couldn't see the way his fingers traced over the pendant, how he held it carefully, like something precious.

“It’s got a bird on it,” he said, his voice soft.

Dallis nodded, “Yeah.”

Carl exhaled, his grip tightening slightly. “It’s cool. Thanks.”

For a moment, there was nothing but quiet between them. The weight of everything they had been through still sat heavy on their shoulders, but in that moment, in the safety of that dimly lit room, it felt just a little bit lighter.

Dallis hesitated before asking, her fingers picking at the edge of Carl’s blanket.

“Is it okay?” Her voice was small, uncertain. “Does it still hurt?”

Carl was quiet for a second, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I mean, yeah, it hurts. But I got shot, Dallis. That’s kinda cool.”

She frowned, “No, it’s not.”

Carl grinned, clearly proud of himself. “It is, though. I’ve got a scar now. A real one.”

Dallis shook her head. She didn’t understand how getting hurt could ever be something to brag about, but Carl sounded like he thought it was the best thing in the world.

“You’re weird,” she mumbled.

Carl just chuckled, still messing with the bird pendant she had given him. The soft clinking of metal against his fingers was the only sound between them for a moment.

She shifted on the bed, tucking her legs beneath her. “There are horses here,” she said suddenly, changing the subject.

Carl perked up a little, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I asked Shane to take me to see them.” She hesitated, then added, “He put me on his shoulders so I could touch them.”

Carl let out an impressed sound. “No way.”

Dallis nodded, “Way.”

“What do they feel like?”

She thought about it for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Big,” she said finally. “And warm. Their noses are soft, but the rest of them is kinda rough.”

Carl hummed thoughtfully.

“I wanna see them.”

Dallis nodded, “You should. I bet you’d like them.”

Carl shifted again, wincing slightly but still grinning. “Man, getting shot sucks. I gotta stay in bed while there are horses outside? That’s not fair.”

Dallis smiled faintly, “Maybe when you’re better.”

Carl sighed dramatically.

“Guess I’ll just have to get better fast, then.”

Dallis didn’t say anything, but she hoped he would. She hoped things really would get better.

-

Maggie had a warm presence. Dallis could tell by the way she spoke; soft but steady, like she had patience even when the world had gone to hell.

“Hey, kid,” Maggie said as she crouched beside Dallis.

“Wanna help me feed the chickens?”

Dallis tilted her head, “Chickens?”

Maggie chuckled. “Yeah, chickens. We got a whole bunch of ‘em, and they’re probably peckin’ at the ground right now, wondering why I’m takin’ so long to bring them food.”

Dallis considered it for a moment. She’d never fed chickens before. She didn’t even know what they sounded like up close. But Maggie sounded kind, and the idea of doing something useful made her feel lighter.

She nodded, “Okay.”

Maggie took her hand and led her toward the coop, guiding her carefully so she wouldn’t trip on anything. The sun was warm on her face, and she could hear the rustling of feathers, the occasional cluck and shuffle. It was nice. It felt… normal.

Maggie placed a small burlap bag in her hands. “This is the feed,” she explained. “Just grab a handful and scatter it on the ground."

Dallis hesitated but did as she was told. The small, hard grains felt strange in her fingers, like tiny pebbles. She threw them forward, and immediately, she heard the fluttering of wings, the hurried patter of feet as the chickens rushed in to eat. She grinned, doing it again.

“You’re a natural,” Maggie said.

Dallis beamed, continuing to toss the feed, listening as the chickens pecked and scratched at the dirt. She felt happy. That was, until she heard boots crunching on the dirt nearby. Heavy steps. Familiar steps.

Daryl.

Her grip on Bee tightened.

He stopped a few feet away, and for a second, he didn’t say anything. She could hear the way he exhaled, like he was hesitating.

“You eat yet?” he asked finally. Dallis scowled, feeding the chickens quietly. “Why do you care?”

Daryl huffed, “Damn, you still mad at me?”

She crossed her arms, though it was mostly for show. She wasn’t as mad as she had been before, but she still hadn’t completely forgiven him.

“You let Bemo die,” she muttered.

Daryl sighed, “Yeah… I know.”

Maggie cleared her throat, “I’m gonna give y’all a minute,” she said, stepping away.

Dallis kept her face turned slightly away from him, but she heard him shift on his feet, like he was uncomfortable.

“Found somethin’,” Daryl said.

She frowned, “What?”

He moved closer, and then suddenly, something soft was pressed into her hands. She ran her fingers over it, trying to make sense of the shape. It was small, fabric; worn but still intact.

Then she felt the little limbs, the rounded shape of a head.

A doll.

Dallis’ heart skipped a beat.

“It’s Sophia’s,” Daryl said, “Found it near a creek.”

Her breath hitched, “Sophia’s?”

“Yeah.”

Dallis clutched the doll, feeling the tears prick at her eyes.

Sophia was out there.

She had to be.

Dallis didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Daryl’s waist, holding him tight. She felt him tense, probably caught off guard, but she didn’t care.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Daryl stood stiff for a moment, like he didn’t know what to do, but then she felt him awkwardly pat her back. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

She didn’t let go right away. For all the anger she’d felt toward him since Bemo died, for all the blame she’d placed on him, this moment made some of it fade. He’d gone out there. He’d searched. He found something that proved Sophia was still out there somewhere.

That meant more than she could say.

When she finally pulled away, she wiped at her face quickly, embarrassed by the tears that had started to fall.

Daryl groaned, “Ain’t cryin’, are ya?”

“No,” she lied, sniffling.

“Uh-huh.”

Dallis clutched the doll close to her chest, fingers running over the fabric again. “She’s out there,” she said, voice stronger this time.

“We’re gonna find her.”

Daryl grunted, and though she couldn’t see his expression, she could hear the conviction in his voice when he said,

“Damn right we are.”

-

Dallis clutched the doll tightly as she made her way toward Carol, her steps careful, her heart thudding in her chest. The tiny fabric body was warm in her hands, worn from time and use, but it was whole. It was real. And that meant Sophia was still real too.

She was still out there.

Carol was sitting near the fire, her hands resting in her lap, staring into the flames with a faraway look. Dallis knew she was hurting. She knew because she had felt that hurt before; the waiting, the uncertainty, the quiet, creeping fear that the person you loved was never coming back.

She had felt it with her dad.

Had felt it when Merle didn't come back.

Dallis hesitated for only a moment before she stepped closer, “Carol?”

Carol turned toward her, her voice soft. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Dallis held out the doll, “Daryl found this. He said it’s Sophia’s.”

There was silence. A long, aching pause. Then, Carol’s breath caught in her throat.

Dallis didn’t have to see her face to know she was crying. She could hear it in the way Carol’s breathing hitched, in the way her hands trembled as she reached out and took the doll from Dallis’s hands.

“Oh…” Carol exhaled shakily, fingers brushing over the familiar fabric.

“She’s out there,” Dallis said firmly. “She’s waiting for us to find her.”

Carol let out a soft, broken laugh; half a sob, half something else. Something like hope. Then, she pulled Dallis close, hugging her tightly, the doll pressed between them.

“You know…” Carol murmured after a moment, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m sure Sophia would have wanted you to have it.”

Dallis stiffened, “What?”

Carol pulled back just enough to brush Dallis’s messy hair out of her face. “She told me that if she ever had to leave, she wanted you to take care of her doll. So it wouldn’t be lonely.”

Dallis swallowed hard, she didn't think that was true, she guessed Carol was just trying to make her feel better. Her fingers tightening around the fabric of Carol’s shirt. “I’ll take care of it,” she promised.

“Until she comes back.”

Carol kissed the top of her head, holding her just a little bit tighter, “I know you will, baby. I know you will.”

-

Carl was practically bouncing on his feet as he stood by his mom, grinning as he asked, “Can me and Dallis go see the horses?”

Lori hesitated, glancing between her son and Dallis, who was standing close by, clutching Bee in her arms. After being stuck inside for so long, Carl was itching to do something, anything, that didn’t involve being confined to a bed. Lori knew how much the horses fascinated him, and with Dallis’s excitement at just hearing about them, she could tell this was important to both of them.

Finally, she sighed. “Alright, but be careful.”

Carl didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He grabbed Dallis’s hand and said, “Come on!” before leading her across the farm, his steps eager and full of energy. Dallis followed with a small smile, squeezing his hand to keep her balance on the uneven ground.

The air smelled like hay and something earthy as they approached the horses. Dallis could hear them before anything else, the soft huffs of their breath, the occasional shuffle of hooves against the dirt.

“They’re right here,” Carl said, stopping them just in front of the fence.

Dallis reached out, standing on her tiptoes, stretching her fingers toward where she thought the horse’s head might be. She came up short, her hand grasping at nothing but air.

Carl noticed and grinned, “Hold on, I got you.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he crouched slightly and then lifted her up, his hands firm under her legs as he attempted to get her high enough to reach.

Dallis gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders instinctively. “Carl! I—"

“You’re almost there, just reach!”

She hesitated, but then, with one last stretch, her fingers brushed against warm, soft fur. A surprised giggle escaped her lips as she patted the horse’s head, feeling the way its mane flowed beneath her hands.

Carl laughed breathlessly, “See? Told ya.”

The horse let out a soft snort, as if acknowledging her touch, and Dallis beamed, “It’s so soft…”

Carl’s arms started to wobble a little, and he shifted beneath her. “Okay—uh, I’m not as strong as Shane—I think I gotta put you down now.”

Dallis nodded quickly, “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

As soon as her feet touched the ground again, she steadied herself, still smiling, “That was so cool.”

Carl, despite his arms probably aching, was grinning too.

“Horses are awesome.”

Dallis ran her hand along the horse’s muzzle again, whispering a quiet, “Thank you,” to the creature. She didn’t know if the horse understood, but it nuzzled against her touch, and for that moment, everything felt okay.

The peaceful moment shattered with the sharp crack of a gunshot echoing through the farm. The horses startled, their hooves kicking up dust as they backed away, and Dallis flinched at the sudden, violent noise. Her fingers clenched around Carl’s sleeve.

“What was that?” she asked, heart hammering.

Carl’s grip on her wrist tightened. “I dunno… but I wanna see.”

Dallis immediately shook her head, “No. No, we should go back. Find Carol. Find Shane—”

But Carl was already tugging her forward, his excitement shifting into something more urgent. “Come on, Dallis! What if something happened?”

“That’s why we should go back!” she argued, digging her heels into the dirt, but Carl was stronger, determined.

“I think Daryl got shot.”

Dallis’s breath hitched. Her legs nearly gave out. She felt the blood drain from her face, her grip on Bee tightening so much her fingers ached.

“No…” she whispered. “No, no, no, no—”

Tears burned at her eyes, her throat tightening painfully. She didn’t want to believe it. Daryl was tough. Daryl didn’t get hurt. But Carl had said it so surely, and the gunshot… the gunshot was real.

Carl yanked at her wrist again, “Come on, we have to go see!”

But Dallis couldn’t move. Her feet felt stuck to the earth, her body trembling violently. The idea of Daryl being hurt, of him being gone, was too much.

“Dallis!” Carl said, frustration bleeding into his voice, but she was already crying, choking on her own sobs, shaking her head as if that could make the reality go away.

“No, Carl, I— I don’t— I can’t—”

Somewhere deep in her chest, fear settled like a stone. If Daryl was gone… if he left her too, just like everyone else had… what would she do?

Chapter Text

Carl guided her back to the farmhouse, his grip firm but careful, his pace quicker than she could keep up with.

Dallis was crying too hard to complain. Her legs felt weak, barely keeping her upright as her sobs wracked her small frame. She clutched Bee tightly against her chest, like the little plush dog could somehow ground her, could somehow make this all okay.

The moment they reached the farmhouse, she felt Carl slow down. Voices murmured nearby, worried, hushed tones, but she couldn’t make out who they belonged to. Then, suddenly, warm hands were on her shoulders.

“Dallis?”

She knew that voice.

Carol.

Dallis latched onto her immediately, fists clinging to the fabric of her shirt, pressing her face into her chest. Carol wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, her hand smoothing over the back of her head in slow, soothing motions.

“Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Carol murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Dallis’s words were broken and frantic between her sobs.

“Is it true? Did—did he really—?”

Carol exhaled softly, her hold on her tightening, “Yes, honey,” she admitted gently. “Daryl got shot.”

The words sent another sob ripping through Dallis’s chest, her fingers curling tighter into Carol’s shirt. “No,” she whimpered. “No, I don’t want—he can’t—”

“But he’s going to be okay,” Carol quickly reassured her, pulling back just enough to cup Dallis’s face in her hands. “Do you hear me, sweetheart? He’s hurt, but he’s strong. He’s going to be okay.”

Dallis’s breath hitched, her tears still falling freely. She wanted to believe her, wanted to trust that Carol was telling the truth. But the fear wouldn’t leave her.

“He has to be okay,” she whispered. “He has to.”

Carol pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “He will be,” she promised. “I know he will.”

But even as she said it, Dallis could hear the worry lingering in her voice.

-

Dallis had cried herself to sleep in Carol’s arms the night before, exhaustion finally winning over her fear. She had clung to Bee the entire time, holding the little plush so tightly her fingers ached. Even in sleep, worry twisted her dreams; dark, shapeless things that whispered about loss, about loneliness.

When she felt someone shaking her shoulder gently, she stirred with a tired whimper.

“Dallis, sweetheart,” Carol’s voice was soft, warm like the morning sun that peeked through the farmhouse curtains.

“Wake up, honey.”

Dallis blinked slowly, her breath catching in her throat as the world came back to her in hazy pieces. The scent of old wooden floors, the distant murmur of voices downstairs, the weight of Carol’s hand on her shoulder.

And then she remembered.

Daryl.

She sat up quickly, almost knocking heads with Carol. “Is he—?”

“He’s awake,” Carol reassured her gently, smoothing down her tangled hair.

Dallis sucked in a breath, gripping the blanket in her lap. “He is?” she whispered, like she was afraid speaking too loudly would make it untrue.

Carol chuckled softly, “Yes, sweetheart. He’s awake.”

Relief flooded through her so fast she thought she might cry again.

Daryl was okay.

He was alive.

“Can I see him?” she asked, swinging her legs over the edge of the sofa.

Carol squeezed her hand, “Of course, honey. Let’s go.”

Dallis stood on unsteady legs, gripping Carol’s arm as she let her guide her down the farmhouse hallway. Her heart pounded with each step, anxiety and relief tangling inside her. She knew Daryl was alive, Carol wouldn’t lie about something like that, but she still had to hear it for herself.

She had to know for sure.

As they neared the room, she could hear someone talking inside. Rick, maybe. Or Hershel. She wasn’t sure. But then another voice, gruff, tired, unmistakable, muttered something in response, and Dallis nearly broke into a run.

Daryl.

Carol pushed the door open slowly, and the voices quieted. The air inside smelled like medicine and sweat, but Dallis didn’t care. She barely hesitated before stumbling forward.

“Daryl?” she called, voice small and uncertain.

A pause.

“I’m here, kid.”

Her legs moved on their own, carrying her toward the sound of his voice. Someone shifted, she thought maybe Carol had stepped aside, but she didn’t stop until she reached the edge of the bed.

And then, finally, she felt a hand, warm, rough, familiar, close around her wrist.

“’M okay,” Daryl muttered, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Dallis barely had time to process the warmth of Daryl’s hand before he was pulling her up, his grip firm but careful. She didn’t resist. She let herself be lifted, scrambling onto the bed beside him, her hands searching for something solid to hold onto.

The second she felt him, real, warm, alive, her breath hitched, and the tears came before she could stop them. A quiet sob shook her small frame as she threw her arms around him, burying her face into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Daryl stiffened for half a second before letting out a tired sigh. His arm came around her, holding her close, his hand rubbing slow, clumsy circles against her back.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, kid,” he muttered.

Dallis shook her head, “I was mad,” she sniffled. “I was mad about Bemo and I—” Another sob cut her off, her fingers gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

Daryl sighed again, this time softer. “S’fine,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion, “You had every right.”

Dallis hiccupped, trying to stop crying, but the relief and guilt tangled inside her, making it impossible. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “I heard the gunshot, and Carl said you got shot, and I thought—”

She couldn’t even finish. The words dissolved into another round of quiet sobs.

Daryl didn’t say anything for a while, just held her, letting her cry. His heart thumped slow and steady beneath her ear, the sound grounding her in a way nothing else could.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he muttered eventually.

Dallis sniffled, wiping her face on his shirt, “You did.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, sounding a little guilty himself. “I know.”

Silence settled between them again, heavy but not uncomfortable. Dallis slowly calmed, her sobs turning to sniffles, her breathing evening out. She felt drained, like she could fall asleep right there in his arms and not wake up until everything was better.

Daryl shifted a little, adjusting his hold on her, “You know,” he murmured, “you hug like a damn vice grip.”

Dallis let out a wet, shaky giggle. “You’re not getting away this time.”

Daryl huffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t tryin’ to.”

She relaxed a little more, still holding onto him, but her grip was looser now, less desperate.

“I missed you,” she mumbled, voice small.

Daryl’s hand stilled on her back for a moment before he exhaled through his nose. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“Missed you too, kid.”

Dallis wouldn't admit it but she finally felt safe again.

-

The air was heavy with the weight of unspoken words as the group sat outside, eating their meals in near silence.

Dallis sat close to Dale, sensing the tension in the way his hands gripped his plate a little too tightly, the way his breathing was just a bit too controlled. She had learned to listen to the small things, the little shifts in people’s voices and movements.

Dale was worried.

She wasn’t sure about what, but she could feel it, thick like the humidity in the air.

Across from them, Glenn was barely touching his food. Dallis didn’t need to see him to know he was nervous; his voice had been off all day, hesitant, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

Dale cleared his throat and turned to him. “Glenn,” he said gently, “you need to tell them.”

A beat of silence. Dallis heard Glenn set his plate down on the crate beside him. She tensed, gripping the edge of her seat.

Glenn exhaled shakily. “There are walkers in the barn.”

Everything went still.

Dallis felt her stomach drop, her breath catching in her throat. Walkers. In the barn. Here. She turned her head toward Dale, seeking some kind of reassurance, but he didn’t say anything. The rest of the group reacted all at once.

“What do you mean, walkers?” Shane snapped.

Glenn hesitated. “I mean—there are walkers. In the barn. Hershel’s been keeping them there.”

Dallis felt her entire body go cold.

She gripped the fabric of her pants, curling her fingers into tight fists. Someone touched her shoulder. She flinched, but then a softer hand found hers, squeezing gently.

“Dallis,” Carol murmured. Dallis swallowed hard. “They’re in the barn?” she whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Carol’s grip on her hand tightened, “It’s okay,” she soothed, but her voice was unsteady. She didn’t sound sure.

Dallis shook her head, her breath coming faster. “No, it’s not.”
Shane was already moving, already storming toward the barn. The rest of the group followed, drawn forward like moths to a flame. Dallis felt Carol tugging her along, guiding her, but she didn’t want to go.

She didn’t want to be anywhere near that barn.

She could hear the shuffling sounds before they even reached it. The creak of the wooden doors under strain, the wet, guttural noises from inside. She squeezed Carol’s hand so hard her fingers ached.

“Oh my God,” Andrea breathed.

Dallis felt herself shaking. She turned her face slightly, trying to sense where Dary, was. He was close.

She needed to hear his voice. She needed someone to tell her it was going to be okay, but nobody did.

The shouting rang in Dallis’s ears, too loud, too sharp.

She buried her face into Carol’s side, gripping the fabric of her shirt tightly as if it would shield her from the tension crackling in the air. She had never heard Shane sound like this before;so angry, so desperate. His voice had always been strong, always been the one that made her feel safe, but now it scared her.

She pressed closer to Carol as if she could make herself smaller, as if she could disappear into the fabric of her shirt.
Shane’s words hit her like a punch to the stomach.

“Okay, I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility.”

Dallis’s breath caught in her throat. What was he saying?

The other possibility.

No.

No, no, no.

Her hands fisted in Carol’s shirt as fresh tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head even though no one was paying attention to her.

Shane was wrong.

He had to be wrong.

Sophia was out there. She was hiding, just like Carol said. Just like Daryl said. She had to be.

Daryl’s voice rose, fierce and unwavering. “We're not leaving Sophia behind. I'm close to finding this girl. I just found her damn doll two days ago.”

Shane didn’t back down, “You found her doll, Daryl. That’s what you did. You found a doll.”

Dallis whimpered against Carol’s side.

The shouting grew worse, voices overlapping in a chaotic mess. Daryl and Shane were yelling now, and suddenly, there was a scuffle; a loud grunt, a thud. Carol gasped, jerking slightly as the fight broke out.

Dallis flinched, squeezing her eyes shut.

She didn’t know who hit who first, but she could hear it; the shuffle of boots against dirt, the sharp intake of breath, the impact of fists meeting flesh.

“Back off! Keep your hands off me!” Shane shouted.

“Enough!” Rick’s voice cut through the chaos. “Just let me talk to Hershel. Let me figure it out.”

Shane was breathing hard, “What are you gonna figure out?!”

The conversation shifted, but Dallis barely heard it. Her heart was racing, her chest tight with fear and sadness. Shane and Daryl were fighting. Shane didn’t believe Sophia was alive. Shane wanted to leave.

.
Dallis sniffled, wiping at her wet face with her sleeve. Carol’s hand never left her hair, stroking gently, trying to soothe her, but Dallis wasn’t okay.

Shane wanted to leave.

Shane didn’t believe Sophia was alive.

Dallis clenched her jaw, her breath hitching as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

Sophia was out there.

She had to be.

Right?

-

The camp had gone quiet for the night, but Dallis couldn’t sleep. She lay on her side in the RV, curled up with Bee and Sophia’s doll, her mind spinning with everything that had happened. The argument at the barn, Shane’s words, the fight; none of it would leave her head.

She kept hearing the way Shane said it.

'You found a doll.'

Like it meant nothing.

Like Sophia wasn’t out there anymore.

And maybe she wasn’t.

Dallis swallowed hard and sat up, gripping Bee tight against her chest.

“Dale?” she whispered into the darkness.

She heard the old man shift in his chair. He was still awake, keeping watch just outside. “Yeah, Dallis?”

She hesitated, then wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Can you take me to Daryl?”

There was a pause. She knew he was probably thinking about it, wondering if it was a good idea. Daryl was still hurt, still bandaged up, and she wasn’t sure if he’d even want her there.

Dale sighed softly, “All right, come on.”

She heard the RV door open, and she carefully slid off the bed, using her hands to feel her way forward. Dale gently took her elbow, guiding her as they stepped outside. The cool night air hit her skin, and she shivered slightly.

They made their way to Daryl’s tent, and Dale gave a quiet knock against the fabric before opening it slightly. “Daryl?”

A gruff noise came from inside, something between a grunt and a sigh, “What?”

“She wants to stay with you tonight.”

There was a pause. Dallis tensed, clutching her stuffed dog and Sophia’s doll even tighter.

Finally, Daryl muttered, “Yeah, fine. Bring ‘er in.”

Dale helped her inside, and she heard the zipper close behind her as he left. She kneeled down, her hands feeling for where Daryl was.

“C’mere,” he said, and she felt his rough, calloused hand take her wrist, guiding her closer. She crawled onto the sleeping bag next to him, careful not to bump him too hard. He smelled like the outdoors, like dirt and sweat, but it was comforting in a way.

He shifted, wincing slightly, but didn’t complain. Instead, he let her settle in next to him, and after a moment, he huffed.

“Ain’t got much space, kid.”

She curled up small, keeping to her side, but she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over.

“Daryl,” she whispered, voice trembling.

“Is Sophia dead?”

He was quiet for a long time. So long that she thought maybe he wasn’t going to answer. Then, finally, his voice came, rough but soft. “I dunno.”

Dallis sniffled, gripping Bee tighter. “Shane thinks she is.”

“Shane’s an ass.”

Despite herself, she let out a tiny, watery laugh. “He is.”

Daryl shifted again, and she heard him exhale through his nose.

“I ain’t givin’ up. You hear me? I’m gonna find her.”

Dallis nodded, pressing her face into her stuffed dog. “Okay.”
Silence fell between them, the sounds of the night filling the tent. Crickets chirped in the distance, and the wind rustled the trees.

Then, Daryl grunted, shifting slightly. “You good?”

She wasn’t, not really, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah.”

He sighed, then muttered, “Go to sleep, kid.”

Chapter Text

Dallis sat in the passenger seat of Shane’s truck, arms crossed, her stuffed dog, Bee, settled in her lap. The leather seat was warm from the sun, and she could hear voices outside; people talking, gathering.

She had heard Shane mention taking everyone for gun training earlier, and before anyone could say otherwise, she had climbed into the truck. She wasn’t going to let Carl be the only kid learning how to shoot.

She had just settled in when the driver’s side door swung open, and Shane paused mid-step.

“What the hell are you doin’ in here?”

Dallis didn’t answer. She just set her jaw, staring forward, waiting. Shane exhaled sharply, clearly thrown off. “Uh-uh. Nope. You can’t go.”

That made her stomach twist with anger. She still hadn’t even said anything. “Why not?”

Shane scoffed, as if the answer was obvious. “Come on, kid, don’t make me say it.”

Dallis’ grip on Bee tightened. “You’re letting Carl go.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Shane hesitated, but only for a second. “’Cause it just is.”

Her hands curled into fists. “That’s not an answer.”

Shane sighed, “Dallis, look—”

“No!” She slammed her hands against the seat. “You’re teaching everyone else how to shoot. Carl gets to go. But not me?”

Shane sighed again, but this time it was sharper, more irritated. “It’s not safe for you.”

“I’m not a baby!” she snapped.

“Never said you were.”

“Then why can’t I go?”

Shane ran a hand over his buzzed head, clearly growing more impatient. “Because you can’t see, Dallis. I ain’t putting a loaded gun in your hands when you can’t—”

“I can shoot,” she cut in, voice shaking. “If someone helps me aim, I can do it.”

Shane scoffed. “That ain’t how it works, kid.”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it’s not,” he snapped. “This ain’t some game. You think you can just point and pull the trigger? You miss a shot out there, you could hit one of us.”

Her face burned with frustration. “That’s why I need to practice!”

Shane let out a bitter chuckle. “No offense, but you ain’t gonna be out there fighting walkers like the rest of us.”

Dallis stiffened.

No offense.

Like it wasn’t supposed to hurt. Like she wasn’t supposed to care.

Her hands shook as she clutched Bee tighter. “That’s not fair,” she whispered.

Shane sighed again, softer this time. “Look, I know it sucks, kid. I get it. But some things just aren’t in the cards for you, okay? And I ain’t gonna put you in danger just ‘cause you wanna prove something.”

Her throat burned.

She clenched her teeth, refusing to let the tears sting her eyes.

She didn’t want to prove anything.

She just wanted to be safe. She wanted to be useful. She wanted to learn, like everyone else.

She didn’t want to be left behind.

She didn’t want to be useless.

She turned her head away stubbornly, biting the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t.

Shane exhaled, like he was relieved she’d stopped arguing.
“Come on, kid.” His voice was lighter now, like he was trying to sound nice. “Hop on out.”

Dallis didn’t move.

Shane gave her a minute. Then, a little firmer, “Dallis.”

She swallowed hard, chest tight.

She had no choice.

Slowly, stiffly, she reached for the truck door.

Shane gave a small nod as she climbed out. “Good call.”

She turned on her heel, gripping Bee so hard her knuckles turned white. She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t trust her voice not to shake.

Dallis clenched her jaw.

It wasn’t fair.

It was never fair.

-

Dallis sat at the kitchen table, hands deep in a bowl of flour, feeling the soft, powdery texture between her fingers.

Maggie had been guiding her through the steps of baking a cake, patiently explaining how to measure ingredients and mix them properly. Dallis liked it, it gave her something to focus on, something to do besides sit around feeling useless.

“Alright,” Maggie said, her voice light and encouraging. “Now, grab the egg—careful, don’t squeeze too hard—and crack it against the bowl. You wanna break it, not crush it.”

Dallis nodded, reaching for the egg Maggie had placed near her hand. She tapped it against the edge of the bowl, a little too softly at first, then a little harder. It cracked, a thin line spreading across the shell. Maggie guided her hands, helping her split it open and let the contents spill into the mixture.

“There you go,” Maggie said warmly. “Perfect.”

Dallis let out a small, satisfied huff. “I bet I got eggshell in there.”

Maggie chuckled. “Maybe a little, but that’s why we check before mixin’ it in.”

Just as Dallis was starting to feel better, the front door burst open, and she heard fast, excited footsteps pounding through the house.

“Dallis!”

Carl.

Dallis clenched her jaw.

Carl ran into the kitchen, practically buzzing with energy. “You missed it,” he said, panting slightly. “It was so cool! Shane taught us all how to aim, and I hit, like, three bottles in a row!”

Dallis didn’t say anything. She reached for the spoon Maggie had placed beside the bowl and started stirring the mixture, her motions a little too forceful.

Carl, oblivious, kept talking. “He even let me hold his gun for a second! And then he showed us how to reload, and I almost did it all by myself—”

Dallis stirred harder.

Maggie must have noticed, because she cleared her throat. “Carl, maybe let Dallis focus. We don’t wanna lose half the batter all over the table.”

Carl barely seemed to hear her, “Oh, and guess what? Daryl was there too! He said I did good. Daryl! Can you believe it?”

Dallis’ grip on the spoon tightened.

“Anyway,” Carl went on, “Shane says if I keep practicing, I’ll be even better, and next time—”

Next time.

Dallis slammed the spoon down. The sudden noise made Carl stop mid-sentence. “Dallis?”

She didn’t answer. She just clenched her fists in her lap, staring down at the bowl she couldn’t even see.

Carl hesitated, “Are you mad?”

Still, Dallis said nothing.

Maggie sighed softly. “Carl,” she said, a little gentler now, “maybe give her a minute.”

Carl frowned. “But I was just telling her—”

“I heard you.”

Her voice was flat, quiet.

Carl blinked, “Then why aren’t you saying anything?”

Dallis’ throat burned.

Because it wasn’t fair. Because he got to go. Because Shane hadn’t even thought about letting her come.

Because she was being left behind.

She shook her head, pressing her lips together tightly. Carl shifted on his feet, clearly confused. “Did… Did something happen?”

Carl was silent for a second. Then, hesitantly, he said, “Are you mad at me?”

Dallis swallowed hard, “No.”

It wasn’t his fault. She knew that.

But that didn’t stop the frustration from twisting in her chest. Carl still didn’t seem convinced. “Then why are you acting weird?”

Dallis finally turned her head toward him, not quite facing him but close enough. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Carl frowned deeper. “But—”

“Carl.” Maggie’s voice was firmer this time. “Drop it.”

Carl hesitated, then finally sighed. “Fine.”

Dallis heard him shuffle his feet, then turn to leave, but before he walked out, he muttered, “You don’t have to be a jerk about it."

Dallis clenched her jaw again, gripping the edge of the table.

Maggie sighed, "You okay?”

Dallis shook her head. Maggie placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I get it,” she said softly.

“But you can’t let it eat you up, alright? Carl doesn’t understand.”

Dallis swallowed, “I know.”

Maggie gave her shoulder another squeeze before letting go.

“Come on. Let’s finish this cake, huh?”

Dallis took a slow breath, nodded, and picked up the spoon again.

She stirred a little softer this time.

-

Dallis sat outside Daryl’s tent, knees tucked against her chest, idly tracing patterns in the dirt with her fingers. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the camp, but she barely noticed.

She heard the sound of boots approaching and tensed instinctively.

“Hey, kid.” Shane.

Dallis didn’t look up.

He sighed, shifting his weight before lowering himself onto a crate nearby. He was quiet for a second, then said, “Carl came to me earlier. Said you were ignoring him.”

Dallis kept her head down, still dragging her fingers through the dirt.

Shane exhaled sharply, like he was already exasperated. “Look, I get that you’re mad, but you really upset him.”

Dallis’ jaw tightened, “I wasn’t trying to.”

“Yeah, well, you did.” Shane’s voice was a little softer than usual. “Kid looks up to you. He was excited to tell you about his day, and you shut him out.”

Dallis clenched her fists, “He got to go,” she muttered.

Shane sighed again. “Yeah.”

She turned her head slightly toward him, “Why didn’t I?”

There was a brief pause. Then, finally, Shane admitted, “Because I didn’t think it was safe.”

Dallis swallowed hard. Carl had been allowed to go, but not her because she was blind, because she was useless.

Shane must have noticed her silence, because he shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I… I worded things wrong earlier.”

Dallis frowned, “Then let me shoot.”

Shane let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

Dallis’ hands curled into fists, “Then why does Carl get to?”

Shane sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Look, kid—”

“No, you look.” Dallis sat up straighter, turning fully toward him. “I can do this. I can learn.”

Shane shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

Dallis gritted her teeth. “Because I can’t see?"

Shane hesitated. Dallis scoffed, “You don’t think I can do it.”

“It’s not about that,” Shane said, but he sounded unsure.

“Yes, it is.”

Shane let out a breath, standing up. “I’m sorry, kid. But my answer’s still no.”

Dallis felt her throat tighten, but she refused to let the frustration show. She kept her head down as Shane walked away, his boots crunching against the dirt.

When she was alone again, she wrapped her arms around her knees and pressed her forehead against them.

It wasn’t fair, and it never would be.

-

Dallis sat beneath the old oak tree, her back pressed against the rough bark as she slowly took bites from the apple Maggie had given her. The juice was sweet, dribbling slightly down her chin, but she barely noticed. Her mind was too full, swirling with frustration and resentment.

It wasn’t fair. Carl had been allowed to go. She hadn’t. And no one seemed to care how that made her feel.

She heard the familiar sound of approaching footsteps—quick and determined. Carl. She kept her head down, continuing to chew as if she hadn’t noticed him.

"Dallis," Carl said, coming to a stop beside her. "Why are you still ignoring me?"

Dallis didn’t answer. Carl huffed, kicking at the dirt. "C’mon, Dal, you’ve been mad at me all day. I didn’t even do anything!"

That made her grip the apple a little tighter. He didn’t get it. Carl hesitated before saying, "Shane’s right, you know."

Dallis’ stomach twisted. She froze, fingers digging into the apple’s skin. "...What?"

Carl shifted on his feet. "It is dangerous. And maybe... maybe you shouldn’t be trying to do stuff like that."

Dallis’ face burned. She clenched her jaw, every muscle in her body tightening. "You think I can’t do it?"

Carl hesitated, "I mean..."

"Say it," she snapped. Carl sighed. "You can't see, Dallis. How would you even aim a gun? It’s not the same for you as it is for me."

Dallis’ chest ached. He really thought that. Carl, her best friend, thought she couldn’t do it. She set her jaw. "That’s not fair."

"It’s just the truth," Carl said with a shrug. "You’re getting all upset over nothing."

Dallis’ fingers clenched around the apple. "It’s not nothing!"

Carl crossed his arms, "You’re being a crybaby."

That was it. She hurled the half-eaten apple at him. It hit him square in the chest.

"Hey!" Carl yelped, stumbling back in shock.

Dallis didn’t stay to hear anything else; she stood up, turned and ran, heart pounding, the world a blur of sounds and sensations as she sprinted toward the farmhouse.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

She didn’t care where she was going.

She just needed to get away.
Dallis ran blindly; literally and figuratively. The frustration in her chest burned like a wildfire, spreading too fast for her to contain. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breath came in sharp gasps, and she barely registered anything around her except the need to get away.

She didn’t notice the firm body in front of her until she crashed straight into it. A pair of strong hands caught her shoulders before she could stumble back, steadying her.

“The hell’s got you runnin’ like a bat outta hell?”

Dallis froze. She knew that voice.

Her hands balled into fists at her sides. She let out a shaky breath, and before she could stop herself, a sob broke through her throat. She pressed her forehead against his chest, clutching the front of his shirt.

Daryl tensed, he always did when she got like this, but his grip on her shoulders didn’t waver. He wasn’t good with words, but she knew he wouldn’t push her away.

“Dallis, hey,” he muttered, his voice softer than usual. “What’s wrong?”

Dallis shook her head, trying to speak through her hitched breathing. “It’s—it’s not fair.”

Daryl sighed, “Alright, slow down. Ain’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

Dallis sniffled, gripping his shirt tighter. “Carl got to go shootin’ practice. Shane didn’t let me go. Said it’s dangerous. Said I can’t.”

Daryl was silent for a moment, “Carl say that?”

She nodded against his chest, more tears slipping down her face. “Said I couldn’t ‘cause I can’t see.” Her voice cracked, frustration bubbling up again. “Like I don’t know that already!”

Daryl exhaled through his nose. His hands squeezed her shoulders. He muttered something under his breath, then louder, “You’re stronger than him.”

Dallis let out a half-sob, half-laugh. “No, I’m not.”

“The hell you ain’t,” Daryl scoffed. “I’ve seen you fight harder ‘n anyone here.”

Dallis sniffled, “Then why can’t I do this?”

Daryl was quiet for a moment, then she felt him shift.
“…Y’know what?” he said. “Screw ‘em. I’ll take you shootin’ myself.”

Dallis pulled back slightly, tilting her head up in surprise. “Really?”

"Yeah. Don’t mean you’re gonna be some kinda sniper, but you can learn.”

A tiny flicker of hope lit in her chest, “…Promise?”

Daryl smirked, ruffling her hair, “Yeah, yeah. Promise.”

Dallis let out a shaky breath, wiping her face with the sleeve of her shirt. She was going to prove them all wrong.

Chapter Text

The woods were quiet, only the soft crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional chirp of birds breaking the silence. Dallis walked carefully, one hand gripping Daryl’s sleeve while the other clutched her stuffed dog, Bee. She wasn’t scared, she’d been in the woods plenty of times before, but she liked knowing where Daryl was.

“Alright,” Daryl muttered, coming to a stop. “This is a good spot.”

Dallis let go of his sleeve, tilting her head slightly. “For what?”

“For shootin’,” Daryl said, shifting the crossbow off his shoulder. “Ain’t no walkers ‘round, and it’s quiet. We’ll see if you can actually hit somethin’.”

Dallis’s fingers twitched. She had never held a real weapon before, only merle's knife, but she wanted to. She wanted to prove that she could do more than just sit back and be left behind.

Daryl must’ve sensed her hesitation because he huffed. “Ain’t no pressure, kid. You miss, you miss. You learn from it.”

Dallis nodded quickly. “I can do it.”

He carefully put the crossbow in her hands. It was heavier than she expected, the weight making her arms strain a little.

“Alright,” Daryl said. “First thing—gotta get a feel for it. Keep your hands steady, don’t let it shake. Grip it firm, but don’t squeeze too hard.” He adjusted her fingers over the stock and trigger, his hands rough but steady. “There. Feel that?”

Dallis nodded, even though it still felt weird in her hands.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now, lift it.”

She did, raising it as best she could. The bow was big for her, but she tried to focus, steadying her stance. Daryl let out an approving grunt. “Not bad.” He stepped behind her, guiding her arms. “Now, normally, you’d aim with your eyes, but since that ain’t an option… we’ll use somethin’ else.”

Dallis scrunched her nose, “Like what?”

Daryl reached up, lightly tapping the side of her forehead. “Your ears. You listen real careful. When you hear somethin’ move, you focus on where it is. Then you guess the distance, lift the bow, and aim for the sound.”

Dallis frowned, “That sounds hard.”

“It is hard. That’s why ya practice.”

She huffed but nodded. “Okay.”

Daryl stepped back slightly. “Alright, I’m gonna find somethin’ for you to hit.”

Dallis listened as he moved away, rustling through leaves. After a moment, he returned. “Okay. Rabbit nearby. Ain’t runnin’, so you got a chance.”

Dallis frowned, “A real rabbit?”

“What, you think I was gonna start you off on a tin can?”

Dallis swallowed and adjusted her grip on the crossbow.

“Alright, listen,” Daryl said softly. “You hear it?”

Dallis focused, tuning out everything else. The birds. The wind. Even her own breathing. Then, she heard it. A faint rustling. Small, twitchy movements.

“I hear it,” she whispered.

Daryl nodded, “Alright, aim a little higher… there. Steady… breathe.”

Dallis inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. Her hands stopped shaking.

“Now,” Daryl murmured, “squeeze the trigger. Don’t jerk it. Just… squeeze.”

Dallis tightened her finger.

The crossbow twanged.

A soft thunk followed. Then… silence.

Dallis held her breath. Then she heard Daryl let out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”

Dallis blinked, “Did I…?”

Daryl let out a short laugh. “Come here.”

Dallis hesitated before stepping forward, feeling Daryl gently take her hand and guide her. They stopped, and Daryl nudged her forward.

She crouched down, carefully reaching forward. Her fingers brushed against soft fur. Her stomach flipped. “Did I really…?”

Daryl’s voice was proud. “Right through the ribs. Clean shot.”

Dallis’s hands trembled. She had done it. She had actually done it.

She had hunted.

-

Shane was sitting on the front steps of the farmhouse, drinking from his canteen and watching the others move about camp. His mind was clouded, thoughts tangled between Lori, Carl, and the mess of everything that had happened since they arrived at this damn farm. He barely noticed the small figure stomping toward him until something thumped into his lap.

His brows furrowed, and he looked down. A dead rabbit. Freshly killed, blood still warm.

He blinked, then lifted his gaze to see Dallis standing there, arms crossed, her chin lifted in stubborn defiance. She was covered in dirt, her clothes slightly disheveled, but she didn’t look tired or scared. She looked pissed.

Shane opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Dallis cut him off.

“No,” she snapped. “You don’t get to talk yet. You listen.”
That alone was enough to catch him off guard. He glanced down at the rabbit again, then back at her, curiosity replacing his initial irritation. “Alright,” he muttered, leaning back slightly. “I’m listenin’.”

Dallis took a deep breath, gripping the straps of her overalls tightly. “You keep treating me like I’m useless,” she said, her voice firm but shaking slightly with emotion. “Like I can’t do anything because I’m blind. But I can.” She jabbed a finger toward the rabbit. “I shot that. With Daryl’s crossbow. I hunted it. I aimed, and I killed it, and I didn’t even need eyes to do it.”

Shane let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his head. “Dallis—”

“No,” she interrupted again. “I’m not done.” She stepped closer, her boots scraping against the dirt. “You told me I couldn’t shoot. That I was too weak. But I’m not.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I can fight. I can survive. I can learn just like everyone else. And you—you ignored that. You said Carl could learn, but not me.”

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, but she didn’t back down. Shane stared at her, his expression unreadable.
For a moment, the only sounds were the distant chatter of the group and the wind rustling through the trees.

Finally, Shane exhaled sharply and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright,” he said, nodding slowly. “Alright. You made your point.”

Dallis frowned, “That’s it?”

Shane let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “What else you want me to say? You got guts, kid. I ain't gonna argue that. But that don’t mean I was wrong to worry. Yeah, you shot somethin’. But huntin’ ain’t the same as a gunfight. Walkers don’t sit still and let you listen for ‘em.”

Dallis pressed her lips together, gripping Bee tightly in her hands. “I know that. But I can still learn. Just like Carl. Just like anybody else.”

Shane sighed, rubbing his face before looking at her again. “Look, I ain’t got nothin’ against you, alright? You’re a tough kid, I see that now. But you gotta understand—when I say no, it ain’t ‘cause I think you’re weak. It’s ‘cause I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

Dallis’s lip trembled, but she quickly bit down on it, forcing herself to stay steady. “I already get hurt,” she muttered.

“Just not in the way you think.”

Shane went quiet at that, studying her face.

After a long pause, he let out another breath and sat up straighter. “Alright,” he said finally. “You wanna learn? You wanna train? Fine. You’re gonna do it my way, and you ain’t gonna complain when I tell you somethin’s too dangerous.”

Dallis’s breath hitched, “...Really?”

Shane nodded, though his face was serious. “Yeah. But I ain’t takin’ it easy on you.”

Dallis set her jaw and lifted her chin. “I don’t want easy.”

Shane smirked slightly, shaking his head, this kid. “Hell, you really are stubborn, ain’t ya?”

Dallis didn’t respond. She just stood there, determined, waiting for him to change his mind. Instead, Shane sighed and picked up the rabbit.

“Guess I better clean this thing up, huh?”

Dallis finally cracked a small, triumphant smile. “Guess so.”

-

Carl hesitated at the doorway of the farmhouse kitchen, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The warm scent of cooking meat filled the air, mixing with the faintest hint of herbs. His mom had always loved to cook before everything went bad, and seeing Carol and Dallis working together at the counter almost made things feel normal again.

Almost.

Dallis stood on a stool beside Carol, sleeves rolled up, her small hands carefully pressing down on the meat as Carol guided her. She was focused, lips slightly pursed, her expression unreadable.

Carol murmured something to her, and Dallis nodded, reaching blindly for a nearby knife. Carol quickly caught her wrist before she could grab the sharp end, turning the handle into her hand instead.

Carl swallowed, suddenly feeling even worse.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. He really hadn’t. He was just saying what he thought was true. But now, standing there, watching her work with Carol in silence, he felt like the biggest jerk in the world.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Neither of them turned at first. Carol glanced at him but didn’t say anything. Dallis, on the other hand, didn’t even react. She just kept working, pressing the meat down as Carol showed her how to cut it into smaller portions.

Carl chewed the inside of his cheek, suddenly unsure of himself. Normally, Dallis was quick to react to his presence, turning her head toward him the second she recognized his voice. Now? It was like she didn’t even hear him.

“I—” He stopped, shifting awkwardly. “I wanted to say sorry.”
Dallis still didn’t look at him. She just ran her fingers along the edge of the counter until she found the cutting board again.

Carl felt heat creeping up his neck. “Come on,” he muttered. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

Dallis finally paused, her fingers curling slightly against the board. Then, slowly, she turned her head in his direction. Her milky, unfocused eyes landed somewhere near his face, but her expression remained unreadable.

“I caught a rabbit,” she said simply.

Carl blinked. “I—I know.” He hesitated. “That’s… That’s really cool.”

Dallis gave a small nod and turned back to the counter.

That was it? That was all she was gonna say?

Carl bit his lip, frustration bubbling up in his chest. He knew he deserved this, knew he shouldn’t push, but the way she was just ignoring him made his stomach twist.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Carol let out a small sigh, stepping away from the counter. “I’ll give you two a minute,” she murmured, wiping her hands on a towel before heading toward the pantry.

Dallis didn’t move.

Carl ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Look, I—I wasn’t saying you couldn’t do stuff. I just—Shane, he…” He trailed off, feeling like an idiot. “I dunno, I just thought maybe he was right. Not ‘cause you’re weak or anything! Just ‘cause—‘cause I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Dallis’s shoulders tensed slightly, but she still didn’t look at him.

Carl swallowed hard. “I wasn’t trying to be mean,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I just… I guess I didn’t think about how it sounded."

Silence stretched between them.

Carl scuffed his shoe against the floor, staring at the back of her head. “Can you at least say something?” he muttered.

Dallis took a slow breath. Then, finally, she turned her head toward him again. “I caught a rabbit,” she repeated, her tone completely neutral.

Carl groaned, “You already said that.”

Dallis shrugged, “And you already said you were sorry.”

Carl stared at her, unsure whether she was messing with him or not.

Dallis let out a small sigh, her fingers tracing along the wooden edge of the counter. “I know you didn’t mean to make me mad,” she said finally. “But you did. You didn’t believe in me.”

Carl opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Dallis tightened her grip on the counter. “I already have to prove myself to everyone,” she said quietly. “All the time. Just because I can’t see.” Her lips pressed together. “I didn’t think I’d have to prove myself to you, too.”

Carl felt something twist painfully in his chest. "I do believe in you,” he said quickly. “I swear, I do. I just—” He exhaled, shoulders slumping.

“I was dumb, okay? I didn’t think about it the right way.”

Dallis didn’t respond right away. She just stood there, quiet, her face unreadable. Finally, after what felt like forever, she let out a small breath.

“…You owe me,” she muttered.

Carl perked up slightly. “What?”

Dallis turned back to the counter, reaching for the knife again. “You heard me."

Carl blinked. Then, slowly, a grin started to tug at his lips. "Fine,” he said, stepping closer. “What do I gotta do?”

Dallis hummed, pretending to think. “I dunno yet.” She lifted her chin slightly. “But when I figure it out, you have to do it. No backing out.”

Carl huffed, but he couldn’t fight the grin spreading across his face. “Deal.”

Dallis didn’t smile, but he could tell, just from the slight tilt of her head, the way her fingers relaxed slightly against the counter, that she wasn’t mad anymore.

Carl let out a relieved breath and leaned against the counter beside her. “So…” He nudged her arm lightly.

“What’s cooking?”

Dallis just smirked, “Rabbit.”

-

Shane sat on the porch steps, eyes locked on the barn across the field. His fingers twitched restlessly against his knee, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. That damn barn. That damn thing just sitting there, full of the dead, full of walkers that Hershel still called people.

It wasn’t right. None of this was right.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. He was losing his mind. He had to be. How else could he explain the way his own people just stood by, pretending this was fine? Pretending they could just go on like this? Like it wasn’t a goddamn time bomb waiting to blow?

The farmhouse door creaked open behind him, followed by the soft thump of small feet stepping onto the porch. Shane didn’t look up, but he knew who it was before she even spoke.
Dallis.

She was quiet as she lowered herself onto the step beside him. She wasn’t like Carl; didn’t feel the need to fill every silence. She just sat, hands folded in her lap, tilting her head slightly like she was listening to the wind.

Shane sighed, rubbing his temples. “You don’t gotta sit out here with me, kid.”

Dallis shrugged, “Didn’t feel like sitting inside either.”

Shane snorted.

“Fair enough.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the distant sound of crickets filling the air. “You’re mad about the barn,” Dallis said eventually.

“That obvious, huh?”

She nodded, “You breathe all mad when you’re upset.”

Shane raised a brow, glancing down at her. “I breathe mad?”

Dallis just shrugged again. “You do.”

Shane shook his head with a small chuckle, but it faded quick. His gaze drifted back to the barn, his fists clenching.
“It ain’t right,” he muttered. “You know that, don’t you? You’re smart.”

Dallis was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, she said, “Hershel doesn’t see them like you do.”

Shane exhaled hard through his nose. “Yeah, well. That’s his goddamn problem.”

Dallis didn’t argue. Another stretch of silence. Then, unexpectedly, she asked, “Do you think you’re a good person?”

Shane blinked, “What?”

Dallis turned her face toward him, her cloudy eyes unreadable. “Do you?”

Shane hesitated, caught off guard. “What kinda question is that?”

“A real one.”

Shane exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his buzzed hair. “I dunno, kid,” he admitted. “Used to think so.”

Dallis hummed like she was thinking. Then, just as softly, she said, “I think you are.”

Shane froze for a second, caught between disbelief and something else; something he couldn’t name. He scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah,” he muttered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dallis didn’t argue. She just shifted slightly, the brim of her own hat tilting down, “Maybe.”

They sat there a little longer. The sky was dark now, the moon casting long shadows across the farm. Finally, Shane let out a long breath and tugged his cap off, spinning it in his hands. Without thinking too hard about it, he plopped it onto Dallis’s head.

“What’s this for?” she asked slowly.

Shane smirked. “Figured I should return the favor. You gave me somethin’ to think about.”

Dallis reached up, adjusting the cap with small fingers. It was too big for her, the brim dipping over her face.

“…It smells like sweat,” she muttered. Shane snorted. “Yeah, well. So do I.”

Dallis wrinkled her nose but didn’t take it off.

Shane looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time in a while, something in his chest felt a little less heavy. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was still a good person.

Or maybe she was just a kid who didn’t know any better.

Chapter Text

“Time to grow up,” Shane said, voice firm, eyes scanning the group.

Dallis stood beside Carol, her hands gripping the hem of her sleeves. She wasn’t stupid, she knew what was happening. Knew why Shane was acting like this.

He was scared. They all were.

Shane turned to Andrea. “You already got yours?”

Andrea nodded. “Yeah. Where’s Dale?”

T-Dog spoke up. “He’s on his way. Thought we couldn’t carry.”

Shane scoffed. “We can, and we have to. Look, it was one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe. But now we know it ain’t.”

Dallis frowned. She didn’t like how he said that. Shane turned to Glenn, handing him a gun. “How about you, man? You gonna protect yours? That’s it. Can you shoot?”

Before Glenn could answer, Maggie stepped forward, anger in her voice. “Can you stop? You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight.”

Shane barely even looked at her. “We ain’t going anywhere, okay? Now look, Hershel, he’s just gotta understand. Okay? He—well, he’s gonna have to. Now, we need to find Sophia. Am I right?”

Dallis stiffened at Sophia’s name. Her fingers clenched tighter. Shane turned then, walking straight up to Carl, pressing a gun into his hands. “Now I want you to take this. You take it, Carl, and you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes. You know how.”

Carl looked at the gun, eyes wide. He hesitated.

“Go on,” Shane urged. “Take the gun and do it."

Lori stepped forward, voice sharp. “Rick said no guns. This is not your call. This is not your decision to make.”

Shane ignored her, turning instead, unexpectedly, to Dallis.

Dallis felt the gun placed in her hands before she could even process what was happening. The weight was heavy, cold.

Shane’s voice was steady. “You keep this. You know how to use it.”

For a moment, Dallis just stood there, the metal pressing into her palms. She did know how to use it. Daryl had taken her out hunting, had helped her hold his crossbow, had taught her to steady her hands and listen, really listen.

But this wasn’t a rabbit. This wasn’t hunting.

Her breathing felt too loud in her ears.

A hand closed over hers; warm, gentle. Carol.

Slowly, carefully, Carol pried the gun from Dallis’s hands and turned, pressing it back into Shane’s chest. “She’s just a kid,” Carol said quietly, firmly.

Shane stared at her, jaw tight, nostrils flaring. Dallis didn’t say a word. She just stood there, hands empty, feeling small.

Shane’s voice exploded through the air, raw with anger.

“What is that!?" he shouted, his voice shaking with rage.

Dallis flinched at the sudden movement; Shane’s heavy boots pounding against the dirt as he ran forward.

Gunfire.

Loud. Sharp. Deafening.

Dallis gasped, her whole body jerking at the sudden crack of bullets splitting the air. Her hands clutched at Carol’s shirt, and she buried her face into Carol’s stomach, pressing herself into the warmth, into the safety, blocking out the noise, the chaos.

Carol’s hands were on her back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” she murmured, but her voice was trembling.

It wasn’t okay.

Shane was still yelling. The gunshots kept coming.

The others were shouting, but Dallis couldn’t make out the words. It was all too much. The ringing in her ears, the way her heart pounded so hard she thought it might break through her ribs.

Something terrible was happening.

She didn’t know what.

But she knew, deep in her chest, that nothing would ever be the same after this.

For a moment, everything was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the distant rustling of leaves in the trees and the heavy breathing of the group.

Carol gasped. A sharp, broken sound.

Her hands left Dallis, and she stepped forward.

Dallis was left standing in the open, confused, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. She couldn't see what was happening, but she felt it; felt the shift in the air, the shock radiating from the group, the way Carol’s breath hitched like she had just been gutted.

Dallis took a step back. Fear clawed up her throat, twisting her stomach into knots.

“Carol?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

She didn't get a response.

She took another shaky step back, heart hammering, her fingers gripping Bee so tightly the stuffed animal’s seams strained under her hold.

A firm, steady hand caught her shoulder.

“Gotcha, kid,” T-Dog murmured, his deep voice grounding her just a little, even as everything else spun into chaos.

Dallis clutched onto his jacket with one hand. “What’s happening?” she whispered, dread pooling in her stomach.

T-Dog’s grip on her tightened just slightly. She heard Carol sob.

A single name, choked and raw, broke through the silence:

“Sophia?”

Dallis gasped sharply, the air rushing out of her lungs as if she had been punched in the stomach. Her fingers curled tightly into T-Dog’s jacket, trembling as a sickening wave of dread crashed over her.

She barely heard Carol’s choked sobs, barely registered the collective silence that had fallen over the group like a suffocating blanket.

She didn’t want to hear. Didn’t want to know.

Dallis squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face into T-Dog’s side, pressing herself into him as if she could block out whatever horror was unfolding in front of them.

But she could still hear Carol’s broken cries.

Someone whispering a curse under their breath.

Shane muttering something sharp, something angry.

Rick saying her name.

Sophia.

Dallis let out a small, shaky whimper.

No, no, no—

She wanted to ask what was happening, but she was too scared of the answer.

She knew that name. She had spent so long hoping, praying that they would find her, that she would come back and hug Carol and everything would be okay. That she’d hear Carol’s voice light up with joy instead of grief.

But the way everyone was reacting—

The way Carol sobbed—

Something was wrong. Horribly, terribly wrong.

T-Dog’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, fast and unsteady.

“Dallis…” he murmured, but he didn’t finish whatever he was going to say. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t have the words.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

Dallis turned her face further into T-Dog’s shirt, clutching at him desperately. She wanted to disappear, to sink into the fabric and pretend none of this was real.

Because if it was real—

If what she thought was happening was real—

Then it meant Sophia was gone.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

-

Dallis felt herself being lifted off the ground, her small body cradled against someone’s chest. For a moment, she thought it was Daryl, his arms were strong enough, and he had carried her before.

But the scent was different. Not leather and earth, but something sharper.

Something tense.

She stiffened slightly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. It wasn’t until she heard the heavy exhale above her that she realized—

Shane.

A flicker of anger stirred in her chest, but it was weak. She was too exhausted, too drained to fight. She let her body go limp, her head resting against his shoulder as tears continued to slip down her cheeks.

“I hate you,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Shane didn’t react. Her fingers gripped weakly at his shirt.

“I hate you,” she repeated, a little stronger this time, but her voice still broke at the end.

Shane exhaled through his nose, his arms tightening slightly around her, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t scold her, didn’t tell her to stop. He just let her cry.

She hated him.

For what he’d said. For what he’d done. For being right.

For making everyone see what they didn’t want to see.

But right now, in this moment, she was too tired to push him away.

So she just let herself be held.

-

Shane held Dallis close as he carried her through the camp. It was quiet; eerily so. No one spoke. The air was thick with something he couldn’t quite name.

Maybe grief. Maybe guilt. Maybe both.

Dallis hadn’t stopped crying. Her little fingers were still curled weakly into his shirt, her breath hitching every few seconds. He didn’t know what to say to her. Didn’t know if there was anything he could say.

He just held her tighter and brought her to his tent.

As soon as he stepped inside, she let out a shaky breath, pressing her face deeper into his shoulder.

He didn’t tell her to stop. Didn’t tell her to be strong. He just knelt down, lowering her gently onto his sleeping bag.

She curled up almost immediately, turning onto her side, her knees drawn up.

Shane sat beside her, resting an arm over his knee. His fingers twitched; like he wanted to reach out, do something, fix this. But how the hell was he supposed to fix this?

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Dallis’ sobs quieted some, but her breath still hitched every now and then. After a while, he sighed, running a hand down his face.

“You’re stronger than you think, kid,” he murmured.

She didn’t respond. Didn’t even move.

Shane exhaled sharply through his nose and looked away. “I know you hate me,” he muttered. “You already said it enough times.”

Dallis sniffled. He glanced at her, frowning at the way she was still shaking.

With a sigh, he shifted closer and hesitated only for a second before resting his hand on her back.

She flinched. Just a little. But she didn’t pull away.

“Hey,” he said, softer now. “It’s gonna be all right.”

It wasn’t a promise. He wasn’t stupid enough to make promises like that anymore. But maybe she just needed to hear it.

Dallis took a shaky breath. “I miss Sophia,” she whispered, voice raw.

Shane closed his eyes for a second before nodding.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

Her small fingers curled into the sleeping bag, and she let out another shaky sob. Without thinking, Shane reached over and pulled the blanket up over her.

“I—I just wanted her to come back,” she choked out.

“I know, kid,” he said.

He wasn’t good at this. Never had been. But for tonight, he would try. For her.

-

Daryl barely heard anything after the first gunshot.

The world had blurred, became nothing but ringing ears and the distant echoes of growls turning into silence. And then, out of nowhere, there was Sophia.

Or what used to be her.

His chest had gone tight, his throat locking up, his hands trembling at his sides. He didn’t even remember looking at Carol,didn’t know if she’d screamed or just collapsed into herself. Didn’t know what his own damn face looked like in that moment.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Sophia was gone.

And for the first time in a long time, Daryl didn’t know what the hell to do.

He’d spent days out in the woods looking for that kid. Days. He had crawled through the dirt, fought off walkers, taken a goddamn arrow to his own side—and for what? To find out she was right there the whole time, rotting away in that goddamn barn?

He should’ve been there. Should’ve found her before this.

His gut twisted as he stood stiffly to the side, watching Lori move in and wrap Carol up in her arms, whispering things that Daryl wasn’t close enough to hear.

It should’ve been him over there.

But the moment he’d stepped forward, Carol had barely looked at him. That was enough to make him stop.

So, instead, he turned away. Because if he wasn’t helping Carol, there was only one other person he needed to find.

Dallis.

He started searching immediately, walking away from the others, his heart hammering against his ribs. She wasn’t standing with the group. Wasn’t anywhere near the farmhouse. He checked the porch. The RV. Hell, he even checked his tent, hoping she’d gone there on her own.

But she was nowhere.

And with every passing second, his panic doubled. The idea of her being alone right now, scared and grieving, made him sick to his stomach. Daryl picked up the pace, heading toward the back of the camp, scanning the area frantically.

He spotted Shane.

The bastard was standing outside his tent, arms crossed, looking about as lost in thought as Daryl had ever seen him. Daryl wasted no time stomping over.

“Hey,” he barked. “You seen Dal?”

Shane blinked, barely reacting to the way Daryl stormed right up to him. Then, after a moment, he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yeah,” he muttered. “She’s in my tent.”

Daryl’s stomach twisted. Without hesitation, he moved toward the entrance, already reaching for the zipper. “I’ll get her.”

But before he could, Shane grabbed his arm.

Daryl turned on him in an instant, jerking his arm free, his eyes narrowing. “The hell are you doin’?”

Shane held up a hand, his expression unreadable. “She’s asleep.”

Daryl frowned.He didn’t believe that for a second.

“Dal don’t just fall asleep like that,” he said lowly. “She cries too damn much.”

Shane sighed, glancing away. Daryl clenched his jaw.

“Look, man,” Shane muttered, shifting his weight, “she was real torn up. I carried her here, let her cry it out. You go in there now, you’re just gonna wake her up.”

Daryl’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “She’s mine.”

Shane raised a brow.

Daryl swallowed thickly, his chest rising and falling too fast. “She’s mine,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I don’t care if she ain’t really my kid. She’s mine.”

Shane studied him for a long moment.

Then, he sighed again, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I get it,” he muttered. “You wanna be there for her. But you’re pissed, and she don’t need that right now. She needs quiet. She needs sleep.”

Daryl clenched his jaw. Shane shrugged. “Just let her rest, man.”

Daryl wanted to argue.

Wanted to shove past Shane and go in there anyway, because fuck that. Dallis wasn’t supposed to go to him when she was upset. She was supposed to go to Daryl. But she hadn’t.

She’d gone to Shane.

And maybe that wasn’t Shane’s fault.

He looked at the tent for a long moment, listening. It was quiet inside.

“She cryin’?” he muttered.

Shane sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not anymore.”

Daryl’s stomach twisted. He wanted to be in there. Wanted to hold her. But he didn’t know if he could trust himself not to be angry.

Not at her, never at her—but at himself.

Because maybe if he’d just searched harder, fought harder, been better, Sophia wouldn’t be dead. Maybe if he’d done something right, Dallis wouldn’t be sleeping in Shane’s tent.

Daryl exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tightening in frustration before dropping back to his side.

Finally, after another long pause, he took a step back.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m takin’ her first thing in the morning.”

Shane nodded.

Daryl clenched his fists, took one last glance at the tent, then turned and walked away.

His chest ached the whole damn time.

Chapter Text

Daryl was up before the sun.

He hadn’t slept much, not that he ever really did, but last night had been different. It didn’t matter how long he sat by the fire or how many times he paced camp. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Dallis.

She’d cried herself to sleep in Shane’s tent, not his, and that fact made him feel like absolute shit.

So, first thing in the morning, before most of the camp had even started stirring, Daryl made his way over to Shane’s tent. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess himself. He just crouched down, unzipped the entrance, and peered inside.

Dallis was curled up in a small ball on top of Shane’s sleeping bag, Bee clutched tight against her chest. Her face was blank. Expressionless.

Daryl’s chest ached at the sight.

He stepped inside and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, “C’mon, kid,” he murmured.

Dallis didn’t react at first. But after a few seconds, she slowly sat up, adjusting Bee in her arms. Still, she didn’t say a word.

Daryl frowned. “We’re headin’ back to camp.”

She gave a small nod and that was it.

No words. No tears. No hesitation. Just silence.

Daryl didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one damn bit.

Dallis was supposed to be loud. Annoying. She was supposed to cry over every damn thing, question him about everything and anything.

This wasn’t her. Something was wrong.

But Daryl didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, he helped her stand and led her back across camp, away from Shane’s tent, away from everything.

When they got to his spot near the trees, he sat her down on a log by the fire pit and stepped away for a moment, gathering what little food they had left. When he returned, he crouched in front of her and placed a plate in her lap.

“You need to eat,” he muttered.

Dallis didn’t move.

Daryl huffed. “I know you ain’t that stubborn,” he said. “You’re hungry. Eat.”

Still nothing.

She just sat there, gripping Bee in one hand, the plate resting untouched in her lap.

Daryl exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. This was bad. Real bad.

He knew grief. Knew what it did to people. He’d seen it time and time again. But this? This wasn’t grief. This was shock.

He sat down beside her, staring at the fire for a long moment before speaking again.

“You ain’t alone, y’know,” he muttered. “Ain’t gotta keep it all in.”

Dallis didn’t respond. Didn’t even acknowledge that he’d spoken. Daryl clenched his jaw, drumming his fingers against his knee. He wasn’t good at this. Never had been. But he needed to get through to her.

“Dal.”

She still didn’t look at him. Daryl took a deep breath, then gently pried the plate from her hands and set it aside. Finally, after another long silence, he reached over and placed a hand on her back, rubbing slow, steady circles.

“I gotcha,” he murmured. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Dallis was still quiet. But after a few seconds, her shoulders slumped, and she leaned ever so slightly against his side.

Daryl exhaled, pulling her closer.

She wasn’t okay. Not yet.

But she would be. He’d make damn sure of it.

-

Daryl left Dallis in his tent, watching her for a long moment before stepping out. She was still like a statue, curled up under the blanket but barely even there. It had been like that since the funeral.

She stopped talking, stopped eating.

And Daryl didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

So he left her to rest, figuring maybe being alone would help.
Hours passed.

The camp was quiet. People murmured, but no one was really talking. The weight of everything that happened still clung to the air like fog.

It was late in the afternoon when Carl snuck in.

He moved carefully, pushing open the flap of Daryl’s tent, thinking it was empty. He wasn’t trying to steal, exactly—just borrow. He knew Daryl had a gun in here somewhere, and he wanted to take it for practice. Shane had taught him, and he wanted to be better.

The second he crouched down, he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Dallis?”

She was curled up under a blanket, barely moving.

Carl hesitated before scooting closer, forgetting about the gun for a second. “Hey,” he said softly. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

She didn’t answer.

He swallowed, his mom had told him not to bother her, she was younger than him so she took Sophia’s death harder, plus she was closer to Carol too

Dallis shifted, but just barely.

Carl sighed, glancing at the tent flap, then back at her. “I miss her too.” His voice was quieter now. “Sophia.”

He waited.

For a long time, she didn’t say anything. Didn’t even move.
And then, just as Carl was about to give up, she shifted slightly. Just enough to pull her stuffed bee closer to her chest.

Carl watched her, frowning.

Sophia was his friend too, why wasn't he acting like this? Was there something wrong with him? Wrong with her?

He didn’t know how to fix this.

Didn’t know how to help.

So he just sat there with her instead.

Carl lingered for a moment, watching Dallis, hoping she’d say something. Anything.

But she didn’t.

She just lay there, curled up, silent as ever.

Carl frowned, feeling something heavy settle in his chest. He didn’t like seeing her like this. Dallis wasn’t quiet. She wasn’t still. She was always moving, always arguing, always there.

And now… she just wasn’t.

He hesitated, but eventually sighed and shook his head.

Fine. If she didn’t wanna talk, she didn’t have to.

Carl turned his attention back to what he came for.

He spotted Daryl’s gun tucked under a pile of stuff and reached for it carefully. The weight of it was heavy in his hands, but familiar now. Shane had been teaching him, and he was getting better. He just needed more practice.

Dallis didn’t react when he took it.

Didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t do anything.

That made something uneasy crawl up Carl’s spine, but he ignored it.

“See you later,” he mumbled, even though he knew she wouldn’t respond.

And then he slipped out of the tent, disappearing into the outside.

-

Dallis lay still in the tent, curled up beneath a blanket that wasn’t hers,nher fingers absently running over the fabric of the sleeping bag. It smelled like Daryl, like dirt, leather, and a little bit of sweat, but it wasn’t comforting like it should’ve been. It wasn’t the right smell. It wasn’t her father’s.

She clenched her fists and buried her face into the fabric, willing herself to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t stop.

She kept thinking about him.

Her dad.

She hadn’t thought about him in a while,she wasn't sure why the memories came back all of a sudden.

She hadn't spoken in days. She hadn’t eaten. She was just here.

Her stomach ached, empty and hollow, but she ignored it. She ignored everything. It was easier that way.

'Dally, you listening to me, sweet girl?'

Her fingers twitched at the sound of his voice in her head. She could still hear it clearly. Even after all this time.

'Always listening, Daddy,' she had said back then, her small fingers wrapped around his much bigger ones. He had laughed, warm and full, the kind of laugh that made her feel safe. 'Good, 'cause I got a story for you. You ever hear about the girl who rode a shooting star?'

'No… tell me!'

And he had, right there on the porch of their old house, rocking her back and forth in that chair that creaked every time he moved. He had smelled like sweat and soap, like cigarettes after a long day’s work. He always told the best stories, always made the world feel bigger than it was.

Now the world was too big. Too empty. And he was gone.

She pulled her knees to her chest, digging her nails into her arms. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could disappear into herself. Maybe she wouldn’t have to think anymore.

She thought about the nights he carried her to bed, even when she was too old for it. He never cared. Never told her she had to be tough or strong, not like the others. Not like Shane. Not like Merle.

She missed the way he ruffled her hair, how he’d hum while making dinner, how he’d kneel in front of her after a long day and say, 'Tell me about your day, Dally-girl.' Like her day had been something important, even if all she did was listen to the radio or run her hands along the fence outside.

And he never let her think she was different. Never let anyone pity her. 'Blind? So what? My girl sees things in ways we don’t,' he’d tell people. And she believed him.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She wanted to hear his voice again.

Just one more time.

She wanted him to come back, to tuck her hair behind her ear and say, 'C’mon, Dally, what kinda trouble you getting into now?'

Now, she’d never feel that safe again.

Dallis pressed her forehead against her knees, her fingers twisting into the blanket.

She hated this.

She hated feeling this way.

She hated feeling alone.

Daryl was here. Carol was here. Shane, Maggie, even stupid Carl. They were all here. They all cared.

But they weren’t him.

And no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise, no matter how much she let herself lean on Daryl, it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Crying wouldn’t bring him back.

Nothing would.

And she didn’t know what to do with that.

He was gone.

Just like Sophia.

Just like everything good.

And she was still here.

She clenched her fists.

She didn’t cry, not this time.

-

The wind howled against the shed walls, but she barely felt it.

Dallis sat cross-legged on the floor of Daryl’s tent, arms wrapped around her knees. She had stopped counting the days since Sophia. Since everything. There wasn’t much of a point anymore.

She barely noticed Carl’s footsteps as he slipped inside, but she knew it was him. He’d been coming to see her every day, talking even when she never responded.

“They found a guy,” Carl said. Dallis didn’t move.

“He’s in the shed. Dad and Shane are arguing about what to do with him.” A pause. “I’m gonna go see him.”

She stared at the ground, fingers picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.

Carl hesitated, “You wanna come?”

Dallis didn’t answer. Carl sighed, shifting his weight like he was about to leave. Then, slowly, Dallis nodded. Carl blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to actually say yes.

He moved toward her, offering a hand to help her up, but she ignored it and stood on her own. Carl didn’t push it.

Outside, the air was cold, the camp quiet. Everyone was tense. Dallis could hear Rick and Shane’s voices somewhere in the distance, muffled but sharp-edged. The others moved about in near silence, heavy with the weight of everything that had happened.

Carl walked beside her, his hand hovering near her elbow to guide her when the ground got uneven, but he didn’t touch her. He had learned by now that she didn’t like that.

They reached the shed. The old wooden door was slightly warped from weather, the air thick with the smell of damp hay and rusted metal. From inside, there was movement, a faint rattle of chains, a quiet shifting sound.

Carl knocked lightly. “Hey.”

A rustling noise. Then a voice; young, wary. “Who’s there?”

Carl pushed the door open, stepping inside first. Dallis followed, her expression blank.

Randall sat against the far wall, his injured leg stretched out awkwardly in front of him, a pair of cuffs keeping him anchored in place. He looked up, blinking at them in confusion. Randall exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re just kids.”

Carl bristled. “So?”

Randall gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “Nothin’. Just… not what I expected.”

Carl didn’t respond. Dallis didn’t react. For a moment, there was only silence. Then Carl asked, “Are your people bad?”

Randall hesitated. “Not bad, just… they’re tough.”

Carl frowned. Randall sighed, shifting against the wall. “You gotta be tough now, right?”

Carl looked at Dallis like he expected her to say something. She didn’t.

Randall exhaled slowly. “Look, I don’t want trouble. I just wanna live.”

Dallis looked away. Her face was unreadable.

Dallis flinched at the sudden burst of movement. The shed door creaked open, and heavy boots stomped inside. The air shifted; warm, sharp, filled with the scent of sweat and anger.
Shane’s voice was a growl.

“What the hell did you say to them?”

Randall barely had time to react before there was a crack; the sound of knuckles against flesh.

Dallis heard the dull thud of a body hitting the wall, followed by a sharp inhale, then coughing. Randall gasped, choking on the impact.

Carl tensed beside her, his breath hitching. Dallis felt his hesitation, his uncertainty.

“Shane—” Rick’s voice came next, tight with frustration, but he didn’t stop him.

Another punch landed. Randall let out a strangled grunt.

“I-I didn’t say nothin’!” Randall sputtered, his voice panicked, desperate. “I swear—just talkin’! That’s all!”

Shane didn’t care. Dallis could hear it in the way his breathing had deepened, the way his movements were sharp, purposeful. He was on a warpath.

“You don’t talk to them,” Shane spat. “You don’t even look at them.”

Randall coughed again, groaning. “I—”

Another hit.

Dallis squeezed her eyes shut. The sounds filled her ears; the snap of a fist meeting skin, the muffled grunts, the shuffle of boots on dirt.

Carl suddenly stepped forward. “Stop it!” His voice cracked, caught between anger and fear.

Shane ignored him.

Randall coughed again, wheezing. “I didn’t—please, man—”
Dallis’ stomach twisted. She couldn’t see it, but she could hear it; Randall struggling, weak against the onslaught.
Rick finally spoke, more forceful this time.

“That’s enough, Shane.”

Shane’s breathing was ragged, heavy. He didn’t move right away. Dallis gripped the hem of her sleeve, heart pounding. Finally, after a tense pause, Shane let out a harsh breath and stepped back.

Randall groaned, shifting against the wall. His breaths were short, pained.

Shane’s grip was firm but not rough as he pulled her out of the shed.

The air outside was cold against her skin, but it did nothing to settle the unease twisting in her stomach. The moment the door slammed shut behind them, she felt Shane crouch slightly, his hands steadying her by the shoulders.

“You okay?” His voice was lower now, not as sharp as it had been inside. He was still breathing hard, still wound tight from whatever storm had built inside him.

Dallis didn’t answer.

Shane exhaled through his nose. “Did he say anything to you?”

She stood still, gripping the hem of her shirt.

“Dal.” His tone softened in a way that almost made her chest ache. “Come on, sweetheart. Just shake your head, nod—somethin’.”

Nothing.

The wind picked up, rustling through the trees. Dallis turned her head slightly in its direction, anything to avoid facing him.
Shane let out a slow breath, and after a moment, she felt the weight of his hand on her head. A small, careful touch.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s get you back.”

He didn’t push for more. Didn’t ask again.

He just kept her close as they walked, his presence steady beside her, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go.

-

Shane’s blood was boiling.

The second Daryl had said that Randall’s group had done things to women, he’d already decided—Randall was dead. He wasn’t about to let a piece of shit like that stay breathing near their camp, especially not near Dallis.

His grip tightened around her wrist as they walked back. Not hard, not enough to hurt her, just enough to keep her there. He had half a mind to yell at her for sneaking off, but what was the point?

She wasn’t talking. Not to him, not to anyone.

Still, his mind raced. Had Randall said something to her? Done something? Shane knew he’d have to go back to the shed, make sure that little bastard hadn’t so much as looked at her wrong. But first—Daryl.

When they reached Daryl’s camp, Shane spotted him right away, sitting on a log, sharpening a knife. The sound of the blade scraping against the whetstone cut through the air, slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

Shane clenched his jaw.

“Go in the tent, Dal,” he said, his voice tense but not unkind. She hesitated for half a second before ducking inside. The second the flap fell behind her, Shane turned on Daryl.

“The hell were you doin’?” Shane snapped, stepping forward. “Ain’t you supposed to be watchin’ her?”

Daryl barely spared him a glance, still dragging the knife along the stone. “Ain’t my job,” he muttered.

Shane knocked the knife out of his hands.

Daryl was on his feet in a second, chest bumping into Shane’s. “You got a goddamn problem?”

“Yeah, I do,” Shane shot back. “You sittin’ here playin’ with your damn knife while Dal’s off in the shed with that little shit? Yeah, I got a problem.”

Daryl’s face changed, “What?”

“She went to see Randall,” Shane said, voice low, barely keeping his anger in check. “Carl and her, they went to see 'im.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, and he shoved past Shane, yanking open the tent flap. “Dal?”

Silence.

He ducked in, only to find her curled up on the sleeping bag, back turned. She wasn’t gonna answer. Not to him, not to anyone. Daryl let the flap fall and turned back to Shane. “Did he—” He cut himself off, clenching his fists.

“Did that son of a bitch say anything to her?”

Shane shook his head. “I don’t know. She won’t talk.”

Daryl muttered something under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “I swear to God, if he—” He turned, kicking the side of a crate. “She ain’t supposed to be near that shit!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Shane snapped.

Daryl’s breathing was heavy, his hands on his hips. He looked back at the tent, then at Shane. “I shoulda been watchin’ her,” he admitted, voice tight. “I didn’t—I just thought she’d stay put.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t,” Shane said. “And now I gotta go talk to that bastard, make sure he didn’t put some shit in her head.”

Daryl nodded, “I’m comin’ with you.”

Shane wasn’t about to argue.

Randall wasn’t gonna be breathing much longer anyway.

Chapter Text

Randall was tied up in the shed, hands bound behind his back, sitting against the wooden post like a sack of garbage. He looked worse than he had when Shane first dragged him in—face bruised, lip split, eyes swollen. Good.

Shane shoved the shed door open, the wood creaking as dim light flooded inside. Daryl followed right behind him, boots heavy against the dirt floor.

Randall flinched at the sight of them, eyes darting between the two men. “What—what now?” His voice was rough, like he’d been chewing on gravel.

Shane crouched in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees. “Gonna ask you some questions,” he said, his voice almost casual. “And you’re gonna answer. That clear?”

Randall swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, clear.”

Daryl stepped up, looming over him, arms crossed. His presence alone was enough to make Randall shrink back. “You talk to the girl?”

Randall blinked, “W-what?”

“The girl,” Shane repeated, tone dropping. “She came in here, and I wanna know what the hell you said to her.”

Randall’s face twisted in confusion. “I—I didn’t—”

Shane grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, making his head snap up. “Don’t lie to me.” he snarled.

Randall’s breathing picked up, “I—I didn’t do anything! I swear! She didn’t even say a word, just stood there!”

Daryl crouched down next to Shane, pulling his knife from his belt. The blade gleamed under the dim light. He flipped it in his hand, slow and deliberate.

“You sure about that?” Daryl asked, his voice low, dangerous.

“You real sure?”

Randall’s gaze flickered to the knife. “I—I mean, yeah! She just—she looked scared, man! Like, I dunno, lost or somethin’.”

Shane’s grip tightened. “And what, you felt sorry for her? That it?”

Randall shook his head quickly. “No! No, I just—I was surprised, that’s all! I didn’t expect kids to come see me!”

Shane leaned in, lowering his voice. “Listen real close, you little shit,” he said. “If I find out you so much as breathed the wrong way in her direction, I’ll make sure you regret it. You understand me?”

Randall nodded frantically, “I—I get it! I swear, I didn’t do nothin’!”

Daryl tapped the tip of the knife against Randall’s thigh, just enough for him to feel it. “Maybe we oughta make sure,” he muttered. Randall’s breath hitched, “Wait—wait, man, come on—”

Shane looked at Daryl, expression unreadable, before letting go of Randall’s shirt with a shove. “You better pray you’re tellin’ the truth,” he said, standing up.

Daryl stood too, flipping the knife back into its sheath. He took one last look at Randall, his face set in stone. Then they turned and left, slamming the shed door behind them.

-

Daryl sat across from Dallis, watching her with narrowed eyes. She was curled up in his tent, knees tucked to her chest, face turned away from him. The damn kid hadn’t spoken since…

She was shutting down, and he knew it.

Daryl sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright, kid,” he muttered, “Let’s try this again.”

He reached into his pack and pulled out a strip of jerky, slapping it gently against her hand, “You gotta eat.”

Nothing.

He leaned forward, “Dal.” Still nothing. Just silence.

Daryl exhaled through his nose, forcing down his frustration. He’d seen this kind of thing before—people get quiet, shut themselves off, and then one day, they’re just… gone. Merle had mentioned it to Daryl in his time in the military. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

“You talk to that asshole?” he asked, watching her closely. “Randall. He say somethin’ to you?”

She didn’t react. Not even a twitch.

Daryl felt his patience thinning, “Dal, I need you to tell me if that prick said somethin’ to you,” he said, voice firmer. “Shane and I—” He stopped, shook his head. “We ain’t lettin’ him stick around, but I need to know if he said anythin’.”

Still nothin
g.
Daryl ran a hand through his hair, huffing out a breath. He wasn’t good at this. Never had been. Dealing with quiet, dealing with kids. But he had to try.

Scooting a little closer, he lowered his voice. “Look… I get it, alright?” He hesitated, pursing his lips before continuing. “Sometimes… don’t feel like talkin’. Feels easier to just—” He gestured vaguely. “—shut up. Shut down. I get it.”

Dallis didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Daryl clenched his jaw, glancing at the untouched food in his hand. “But ya still gotta eat,” he muttered, setting the jerky down beside her. “Ain’t lettin’ you waste away, kid.”

He pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head. “I’ll be back,” he said, stepping toward the tent flap. “Food better be gone when I am.”

No response.

Daryl took one last look at her before stepping out into the camp. He had no idea how to fix this. Maybe she was already too far gone.

-

Carol hadn’t meant to find Dallis.

She had come looking for Daryl, hoping to talk, about Sophia, about everything,but when she pushed aside the flap of his tent, it wasn’t Daryl sitting inside.

It was Dallis.

Carol hesitated. She hadn’t seen much of the girl since… since the barn. Not really. She hadn’t seen much of anyone, if she was being honest. It wasn’t intentional, at least, she didn’t think it was.

She stepped inside.

“Have you seen Daryl?” she asked. No response.

The girl was curled up where Daryl usually slept, her small frame wrapped in a blanket, head slightly tilted like she was listening for something, but she didn’t acknowledge Carol at all.

Carol sighed.

She should just leave.

Go find Daryl herself.

But instead she waited, she wasn't sure why.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto the ground beside the girl, resting her hands in her lap. Silence stretched between them. The fire crackled outside. Someone laughed, Glenn, maybe. It felt like it came from another world.

Carol looked down at her hands.

She should say something.

She didn’t know what.

She had nothing to say.

“…Why didn’t you go?”

Carol blinked, caught off guard. She turned her head, unsure if she’d heard right. Dallis didn’t move, but her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her pants.

“Why didn’t you go to Sophia’s funeral?"

Carol felt the question like a blade between her ribs. Her throat tightened. She hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected Dallis to talk at all. She opened her mouth. No words came out.

Dallis waited.

Carol exhaled shakily. “I—” She stopped. Tried again. “I couldn’t.”

Dallis was quiet.

Carol pursed her lips, pressing her palms together. “That thing… that wasn’t Sophia.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Dallis flinched, like the words had struck her.

Carol’s fingers tightened. “My daughter… she was bright. She was soft and kind.” Her voice wavered. “I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve—”

She shook her head, swallowing hard. “But that thing in the barn?” Her chest ached just thinking about it. “That wasn’t her.”

Dallis’s hands clenched into fists, “It was.”

Carol turned sharply. “No, it wasn’t.”

Dallis’s lips trembled, but she set her jaw.

“She was already gone,” Carol whispered.

Dallis shook her head. Carol’s heart ached. “I couldn’t—” She exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t put flowers on something that wasn’t my little girl. I couldn’t stand there and pretend.”

Dallis clenched her teeth.

“It was still her.”

Carol looked at her for a long moment. “No,” she said gently. “It wasn’t.”

Dallis turned her head away. Carol watched her for a moment, then sighed.

She reached out, hesitated, then gently placed a hand over the girl’s.

Dallis didn’t pull away.

They sat there in silence.

Neither of them moved.

-

Carol stepped out of Daryl’s tent, her mind heavy with the weight of the conversation she’d just had. The cold air hit her, clearing the fog in her head, but not the ache in her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself, her feet moving on their own, but she barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Daryl.

His brows furrowed, blue eyes scanning her face with sharp scrutiny, “What the hell were you doin’ in there?”

Carol huffed softly, shaking her head. “Looking for you.”

Daryl’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze flickered toward the tent. “She talk to you?”

Carol hesitated. Then, with a small nod, she murmured, “Yeah.”

Daryl straightened slightly, surprise flickering across his face. He glanced back at the tent again, then at Carol, as if trying to figure out if she was messing with him.

“What’d she say?”

Carol sighed, “She asked why I didn’t go to Sophia’s funeral.”

Daryl went still.

Carol glanced back at the tent, lowering her voice. “I think she’s been holding it in. A lot of it.”

Daryl scoffed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, no shit.”

Carol didn’t snap at him for that. She understood.

Daryl exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Didn’t think she’d talk to anybody.” His voice was quiet, like he was still processing it.

Carol hesitated, “Maybe… maybe she just needed someone who understands.”

Daryl looked at her then.

Carol held his gaze, “You should try talking to her.”

Daryl grunted, shifting on his feet. “Tried. Didn’t work.”

Carol gave him a small, tired smile.

“Try again.”

Daryl sighed, glancing toward the tent one last time. His shoulders slumped, and he muttered, “Yeah. Maybe.”

Carol squeezed his arm gently before walking away, leaving Daryl standing there, staring at the tent like it held the answers to everything he didn’t know how to fix.

-

Daryl sat on the ground outside his tent, sharpening his knife with slow, methodical strokes. The steel against stone was a familiar sound, something to focus on when his mind got too damn loud. But right now, it wasn’t working. His eyes kept flicking toward the tent, toward her.

Dallis had spoken to Carol.

Not to him, not to Shane, but to Carol. That fact sat heavy in his gut. He wasn’t mad about it—hell, he was just glad she’d said anything at all—but it still gnawed at him. He didn’t know how to fix this.

Didn’t know what to say, what to do.

But that had never stopped him before.

With a sigh, he set the knife down and pushed himself up, stepping inside the tent. Dallis was curled up on her side, facing away from him, arms tucked close to her chest.

He crouched down beside her, “You awake?”

She didn’t move.

Daryl huffed, resting his elbows on his knees. “Carol said you talked to her.” He waited, but she didn’t react. “You gonna talk to me too, or just her?”

Silence.

He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, kid, I get it. I do. But you can’t just shut down like this. You think that’s what your dad would want?”

Dallis’s fingers twitched against the blanket, but she still didn’t turn.

Daryl exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight. “Ain’t gonna pretend I know what’s goin’ on in your head. But I know you’re hurtin’. And I know it don’t just go away.”

More silence.

Daryl clenched his jaw, fighting the frustration clawing at him. He wasn’t mad at her—just at how damn helpless he felt. He stared at her for a long moment before he finally muttered, “Fine.”

He started to push himself up, but then, quietly—so quietly he almost missed it—she spoke.

“Close your eyes.”

Daryl froze. He turned back toward her, brow furrowing. Dallis shifted, finally rolling onto her back, her pale, sightless eyes staring up at the tent’s ceiling. “Close your eyes,” she repeated.

Daryl hesitated, then did as she asked.

A beat of silence passed before her voice came again, barely above a whisper.

“What do you see?”

Daryl frowned. His eyes were shut, but the question still made his gaze flicker like he was searching for something in the darkness. “Nothin’,” he muttered.

“That’s what I see. Every day.”

Daryl’s stomach twisted.

Dallis’s voice was flat, emotionless. “I don’t see faces. I don’t see colors. I don’t see the sky or the sun or the trees. I don’t even know what I look like. Not really.”

Daryl swallowed hard, gripping his knees.

Dallis shifted slightly. “When I was little, my dad used to say I was lucky. Said I didn’t have to see the ugly in the world. I told him I still felt it.” She paused. “I still feel it now.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened.

“You say you understand, but you don’t. You never will.”

Daryl opened his eyes, staring at her. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t angry. She just looked… tired. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if there was anything to say.

So, instead, he did what he could. He reached out, resting a hand gently on her arm. Just a small weight.

A reminder.

-

Daryl found Shane near the fence line, pacing like a caged animal. The sun was starting to set, bleeding red and orange across the sky, and the air was thick with the scent of burning wood from the campfire back at the farm.

Shane turned when he heard Daryl’s footsteps, his expression tight, eyes sharp. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Daryl shook his head, “She talked.”

Shane blinked, “What?”

“Dal,” Daryl clarified. “She said somethin’.”

Shane’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, Daryl saw the briefest flicker of relief in his eyes before it was masked by something else. “What’d she say?”

Daryl hesitated, shifting his weight. “Told me to close my eyes.”

Shane frowned, “The hell does that mean?”

Daryl sighed, running a hand over his face. “She wanted me to see what she sees.”

Shane’s jaw tightened, “Nothin’.”

Daryl nodded, “Yeah.”

Shane exhaled sharply, turning away for a second. His hands clenched into fists, then relaxed. “You think she’s comin’ back from this?”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure how to. Instead, he stared out at the fields, watching the last sliver of the sun dip below the horizon.

“I dunno,” he admitted finally. “But it’s a start."

Shane was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost cautious. “She say anything else?”

Daryl shook his head. “Not much. Just… made it real clear I don’t understand what she’s goin’ through.”

Shane scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Ain’t like either of us could.”

Daryl glanced at him, “You ever ask her?”

Shane frowned, “Ask her what?”

“What it’s like,” Daryl said. “How she manages.”

“Ain’t my place to ask.”

Daryl sighed, “Maybe it should be.”

Shane gave him a sharp look, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. Just something exhausted, something frayed at the edges. “I just want her to be okay,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Daryl said quietly. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Carl crept into Daryl’s tent, careful not to make a sound.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, scanning the small space. The scent of leather, sweat, and earth clung to the fabric. He knew exactly where Daryl kept his gun, a little to the left, just under his bedroll. Carl’s fingers had just closed around the cool metal of the gun when a voice cut through the quiet.

"What are you doing?"

He flinched, nearly dropping it. His head whipped toward the corner of the tent where Dallis lay curled up, hugging Bee tight to her chest. Her pale fingers clutched the worn fabric of the bear, and though her blind eyes didn’t focus on him, Carl knew she was looking right at him.

For a second, he just stared at her. She was talking. Actually talking.

“You—” He shook his head, still caught off guard. “You’re talking.”

Dallis didn’t respond to that. She only shifted slightly, adjusting her grip on Bee. Carl finally cleared his throat and muttered, “I need a gun, I was just… borrowing it.”

Dallis didn’t need to see to know what he meant. “Daryl will notice.”

“Not if I bring it back before he comes back,” Carl said quickly. “I just wanna go out for a little bit.”

Dallis was quiet for a moment before asking, “Where?”

“The woods.”

Dallis tensed slightly, hugging Bee closer. “Why?”

Carl hesitated, “I want to train, so when something bad happens I'm ready."

Dallis seemed to think about that for a moment. Then, to Carl’s surprise, she simply said, “I’m coming with you.”

Carl blinked “What?”

“You’re sneaking out,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And I don’t want to be here.”

Carl frowned, glancing toward the tent flap. He hadn’t planned on bringing her along, but she was already sitting up, setting Bee aside carefully, as if she had already made up her mind.

“…Okay,” Carl finally said. “But we gotta be quiet.”

Dallis nodded. Carl took her hand, guiding her out into the cool afternoon air. The camp was quiet, only the distant crackle of the dying fire and the occasional rustling of trees breaking the silence.

-

Carl guides Dallis through the woods, his fingers wrapped around her hand as they step carefully over fallen branches and damp leaves. The air is thick with the scent of earth and rain, the kind of smell that makes everything feel quieter, heavier. Dallis doesn’t say much, but she moves with a kind of certainty, her head tilting now and then as if listening to something Carl can’t hear.

Eventually, they come to a small clearing, where the moonlight spills through the trees and turns the mud below into a silver-gray mess. That’s when Carl spots it.

A walker, half-sunken in the mud, its rotting arms clawing feebly at the ground. The thing must have wandered too far after the rain, its body weighed down by the wet earth. It snarls weakly, snapping its teeth, but it can’t do much else.

Carl lets go of Dallis’s hand and slowly reaches for Daryl's gun. He swallows, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He’s done this before. He knows how to do this.

But as he lifts the gun, the walker’s eyes; clouded, lifeless, seem to find his.

And he freezes.

His fingers tighten around the grip, his breath catches in his throat, but he can’t pull the trigger. His hands start to shake.
The walker lets out a gurgling hiss, its body lurching slightly in the mud, and Carl stumbles back, heart racing. He trips over his own feet, landing hard on the damp ground.

His gun falls from his grip, landing just out of reach.

Dallis flinches at the sound of him falling, “Carl?"

“I—” His voice catches, and he scrambles backward as the walker lets out another moan. His chest tightens, shame burning in his face. He thought he could do it. He thought it would be easy.

Dallis doesn’t move at first, just stands there, listening. Then, slowly, she crouches down, her fingers brushing the ground until they find the cool metal of Carl’s gun.

She picks it up.

Dallis grips the gun for a moment longer before holding it out to Carl. He hesitates before taking it from her, his hands still trembling slightly. He quickly shoves it back into his waistband, avoiding her face, not like that would change anything.

The walker lets out another pitiful growl, but it’s too stuck to do anything.

“We should go,” Dallis says softly.

Carl exhales sharply and nods, pushing himself up. “Yeah.”

They turn away from the walker and start walking back through the trees, their footsteps quieter now. Carl glances at Dallis a couple of times, expecting her to say something, maybe even tease him for freezing up. But she doesn’t. She just walks beside him.

After a few minutes, Carl finally mutters, “I should’ve shot it.”

Dallis doesn’t say anything at first, but then she tilts her head slightly. “Why?”

He frowns. “Because that’s what I’m supposed to do. That’s what my dad does. What Shane and Daryl do. They don’t hesitate.” He kicks a small rock, his frustration bubbling up. “I don’t wanna be scared.”

Dallis listens quietly, “You think they’re not scared?”

Carl stops walking for a second before shaking his head. “No, I mean… they don’t act like it.”

Dallis shrugs, “Doesn’t mean they’re not.”

Carl swallows hard. He remembers the way his dad looked at the barn after Sophia walked out. The way Shane looked at the shed. The way Daryl had gotten so angry when Randall’s group was mentioned. Maybe she was right. Maybe they were scared.

But they still did what had to be done.

“I just don’t want to be weak,” Carl says under his breath.

Dallis stops walking, “You’re not.”

Carl looks at her, surprised by how certain she sounds. She’s staring straight ahead, not at him, but her voice is steady. Like she knows exactly what she’s talking about.

He doesn’t say anything, just squeezes her hand and keeps walking.

As they make their way back to camp, Carl glances at Dallis again. She still doesn’t talk much, but maybe she doesn’t have to. Maybe, sometimes, silence says enough.

-

Dallis sat on the edge of the RV, legs swinging slightly as she hugged Bee to her chest. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the camp. She turned her head toward Dale, who was fiddling with something under the hood of the vehicle.

“Can you read me a story?” she asked softly.

Dale paused, wiping his hands on a rag as he looked at her. There was something about her voice—hesitant, unsure. It made him pause. She had been speaking more lately, but not much, and when she did, her words were always carefully chosen.

“I’d love to,” he said warmly, but then he sighed. “But I have to go on patrol soon. I promised Rick I’d keep an eye out.” He frowned, thinking for a moment before perking up. “Hey, why don’t you come with me? I’ll tell you a story while we walk.”

Dallis hesitated.

She liked Dale. He was kind, always patient, and never pushed her to talk more than she wanted to. But she also liked the idea of just sitting in the RV, wrapped up in a blanket, listening to him read.

Still, the idea of being alone again wasn’t appealing. “…Okay.”

Dale smiled, reaching over to pat her shoulder lightly. “Good. Let’s go, kiddo.”

They set off together, Dale’s slow, steady footsteps beside her as she clutched onto Bee with one hand and reached out slightly with the other. Dale noticed and gently guided her hand to his sleeve so she could hold onto him as they walked.

“You ever hear the one about the man who chased the wind?” he asked as they started down the dirt path.

Dallis shook her head.

“Well,” Dale began, his voice settling into a comfortable rhythm, “there was once a man who lived in a small village. He was known for being restless, always looking for something just out of reach. One day, he decided he wanted to catch the wind.”

Dallis frowned, “That’s stupid.”

Dale chuckled, “Maybe. But he didn’t think so. He believed that if he could catch it, he’d find something—something bigger than himself. So, he built a giant net and climbed to the tallest mountain.”

Dallis listened, her fingers brushing over the fabric of Bee’s ear as they walked. She could hear the leaves rustling, the distant murmur of voices back at camp, the steady crunch of Dale’s footsteps beside her.

“Did he catch it?” she asked quietly.

Dale sighed, his voice turning softer. “No, he never did. But by the time he realized that, he had seen the entire world. Climbed mountains, crossed rivers, met all kinds of people. And when he finally came home, he understood that he hadn’t needed to catch the wind after all. He had already found what he was looking for.”

Dallis didn’t say anything at first, just let the words settle.
Then, quietly, she muttered, “It’s still kinda stupid.”

Dale laughed, “Maybe it i-”

The sound of Dale's body hitting the ground was sudden, sharp, and wrong. One second, he was walking beside her, telling a story about the man who chased the wind—then the next, he was gasping, cursing, and there was a horrible, wet sound that made Dallis tense.

Then Dale screamed.

Dallis froze, gripping Bee so tightly her fingers hurt. The scream wasn’t like anything she had ever heard before. It was pain, raw and terrible, mixed with panic and desperation.
Then the snarling started.

She could hear it; flesh tearing, something clawing, Dale’s voice turning from a shout into a ragged, choked cry.

“Dale?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of struggle.

But Dale wasn’t answering. He was still screaming.

Dallis couldn't see what was happening, but she could hear it all; the slamming of something against the ground, the sickening sound of something biting, Dale’s hands scrabbling against dirt as he fought.

Then another voice; someone shouting from far away.

The gunshot came a second later.

Dallis flinched, the sound rattling through her bones.
Dale’s screams faded into ragged gasps. There was more shouting; someone running. Dallis stood there, frozen in place, her breaths coming in short, panicked bursts.

Someone was kneeling beside him she guessed. More voices. More panic. Dallis wanted to move, wanted to do something, but all she could do was stand there and shake.

Dallis barely registered the footsteps surrounding her, the hushed voices, the heavy breathing of the people gathered around Dale. The only thing she could focus on was the horrible, wet sounds coming from him; the way his breaths rattled like something broken.

Shane was talking to her, his voice low and urgent. “Dal, you okay?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

“Shit,” Shane muttered under his breath.

Dallis knew what was coming before anyone said anything. She could hear Daryl step closer. His boots scuffed against the dirt, and she knew he was kneeling beside Dale now.

“Sorry, brother,” Daryl murmured, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.

A gunshot.

Silence.

Dallis flinched, her whole body jerking violently as the sound rang out, echoing in her head long after it was over. The silence that followed was heavy. Dale wasn’t breathing anymore.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Dallis gripped Bee tighter, pressing the stuffed animal to her chest. She felt like she was shaking apart.

A hand touched her shoulder. She flinched violently, a scream bubbling up in her throat before a voice cut through the fog.

Shane scooped Dallis up immediately, holding her tight against his chest as he walked away from the others. His grip was steady, strong, like he was holding something fragile but important.

"It's okay, kid," he murmured against the top of her head. "You're alright. You’re safe."

Dallis didn’t react. She kept her arms wrapped around Bee, her face pressed into Shane’s shirt. He smelled like sweat and gunpowder, but there was something else, too—something steady and familiar.

“You did good,” Shane whispered. “You’re strong. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to you while I’m here, alright?”

Dallis didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure she believed him.

Shane sighed, adjusting his hold on her. “I got you,” he promised. “I ain’t letting anything touch you. Not ever.”

Dallis squeezed her eyes shut, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy blanket. She wanted to believe him.

She really did.

-

Daryl found Shane sitting on the edge of camp, Dallis curled up against his chest. She wasn’t crying, wasn’t shaking, just silent. Daryl didn’t like it.

Shane looked up when Daryl approached. He didn’t argue when Daryl reached out. Just sighed and gently shifted Dallis into his arms. She didn’t protest, didn’t move, just let it happen, limp and quiet.

Daryl carried her back to his tent, settling her down onto the blanket. She curled in on herself, holding Bee tight. Daryl crouched beside her, rubbing a hand over his face, frustration heavy in his chest.

“Dal,” he tried, keeping his voice softer than normal. “You gotta talk to me, alright?”

Nothing.

Daryl exhaled sharply, staring at her. “I know it ain’t fair,” he muttered. “Ain’t fair at all. You just started talkin’ again, and now this…” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

He shifted closer, hesitated, then placed a careful hand on her shoulder. “I dunno how to take care of a kid,” he admitted. “Never did. But I’m tryin’, alright? So just… just talk to me.”

Dallis didn’t respond.

Daryl closed his eyes, then opened them again. He wasn’t good with words. Never had been. He sure as hell wasn’t good with jokes. But that didn’t stop him from trying.

He sat cross-legged beside Dallis, arms resting on his knees, watching her hug that stuffed animal like it was the only thing keeping her together.

“Y’know,” he started, rubbing at his stubbled jaw, “back when I was a kid, Merle told me that if you swallowed watermelon seeds, a whole damn melon would grow in your stomach.”

He scoffed. “Dumbass had me terrified for weeks. Wouldn’t eat watermelon at all. Ain’t that stupid?”

Dallis didn’t react. Didn’t even twitch. Daryl sighed, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Alright, that one didn’t land,” he muttered.

“What about this—why don’t walkers eat comedians?”

Silence.

“‘Cause they taste funny.”

Nothing.

Daryl let out a breath and leaned back on his hands, tilting his head toward the tent ceiling. “Damn, kid. Tough crowd.”

Still nothing.

His throat tightened as he looked at her again. He missed her voice, her little attitude, the way she used to get all huffy over things that didn’t matter. What happened to the kid who cried over every little thing?

“The hell happened to my crybaby?” he muttered, voice quieter. “Used to bawl over every damn thing. Now you ain’t even flinchin’.”

It wasn’t right.

Daryl didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know how to pull her out of that silent place. But he knew one thing, he wasn’t gonna let her go quiet again. He wasn’t gonna let her get stuck in her own head.

He stayed beside her, waiting.

Chapter Text

Shane exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face as he leaned heavier against the truck. He was too damn tired for this. The weight of everything sat on his chest like bricks, and now Carl was standing in front of him, all tense and guilty-looking, holding out a gun like it burned his hands.

“I found it in Daryl’s tent,” Carl said, his voice quieter than usual.

Shane took it without a word, checking the clip before shoving it into his belt. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the kid. “What the hell you doin’ takin’ a gun, Carl?"

Carl hesitated, glancing down at his shoes. He swallowed hard. “It’s my fault,” he mumbled.

Shane frowned, “What?”

Carl looked up, his face pale, eyes wide with guilt. “It’s my fault Dale died.”

Shane tensed, his grip tightening. He didn’t like where this was going. “Dale got bit by a walker, Carl, that ain’t on you.”

Carl shook his head rapidly, stepping closer. “No. No, you don’t get it. Me and Dallis—we went out to the woods.”

Shane’s heart damn near stopped. “You what?” he growled, pushing off the truck.

Carl flinched but kept going. “We went out there, and we found a walker stuck in the mud. I—I was gonna shoot it, but I got scared.” His breath hitched. “I ran. I ran like a coward. And then that same walker—it—it got Dale.”

Shane’s jaw locked, his whole body going stiff. His fingers twitched toward his gun, but not out of anger at Carl.

Dallis.

That kid was out there with him. Out in the woods. With a goddamn walker.

“What the hell were you thinkin’, takin’ her out there?” Shane barked, his exhaustion burning up into frustration.

Carl flinched again, eyes glassy, guilt written all over his face. “I—she wanted to come. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—”

Shane clenched his jaw, running a hand over his shaved head, trying to breathe through the anger bubbling up.

“What if that walker got her, huh? You ever think about that?” His voice was harsh, his frustration clear.

Carl’s lip trembled, and for a second, Shane almost felt bad. Almost.

“You got no damn sense, kid,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Dallis coulda died out there, and you wouldn’t be standin’ here whinin’ about Dale. You’d be cryin’ over her.”

Carl sniffled, wiping his nose. “I’m sorry.”

Shane exhaled sharply, looking away. “Yeah. Well. Ain’t bringin’ Dale back, is it?”

Carl didn’t say anything.

Shane ran a hand down his face, trying to get his breathing under control. His chest was too tight, his hands twitching with restless energy. He wanted to hit something.

“You stay the hell away from Dallis,” he said finally, his voice low, dangerous. “I don’t care what kinda guilt you’re carrying—you don’t drag her into your shit. You hear me?”

Carl nodded quickly, shoulders hunched.

Shane stared at him for a moment longer before shaking his head and pushing past him.

He needed to see Dallis. Needed to make sure she was alright.

Because if anything had happened to her out there, Shane didn’t know what he would’ve done.

-

Shane found her in Daryl’s tent again, curled up in the corner with Bee tucked tightly against her chest. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t moving. Just sitting there, quiet, like she was trying to disappear into the fabric of the tent itself.

It was like all that progress she’d made; the talking, had been erased in a single night.

Shane let out a heavy sigh, stepping inside and crouching down in front of her. He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t try to touch her. Instead, he just sat there for a moment, watching her.

“I know you can hear me, Dal,” he said, voice quieter than usual.

Shane exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen. I know you don’t wanna sit in this tent all day, and I ain’t sayin’ you gotta. But if you wanna go somewhere—out to the woods, out anywhere—you tell me first.”

Still nothing.

Shane clenched his jaw, trying to keep his frustration in check. He wasn’t mad at her. He wasn’t. He was mad at the world, at the walkers, at Dale’s death. At himself for not keeping a closer eye on her.

“You hear me, Dally?” he tried again.

Her fingers twitched against Bee, she tensed, but she didn’t say anything.

Shane sighed, leaning back on his heels. “Ain’t gonna force you to talk. Just… don’t pull that shit again, alright?”

He waited a moment longer, but when she didn’t respond, he stood up and left, leaving her in the quiet.

-

Dallis sat outside the tent, knees tucked to her chest, fingers gripping the fabric of her pants. The air was cool, the sky gray and heavy, like it might rain soon. But she wasn’t thinking about that.

She was thinking about Carl.

He hadn’t come to see her today.

It wasn’t like she expected him to every day, but… he always did. He always found her, whether it was to talk about some dumb thing he used to do, or to tell her about something stupid his mom said, or just to sit with her in silence. But today, nothing.

She’d waited.

Still waiting.

Bee was hugged tightly against her side as she listened to the sounds of camp around her; people talking, walking, working. But none of them were Carl.

Her fingers curled into the fur of her stuffed bear. Was he mad at her?

She didn’t hear Daryl approach until his boots scuffed against the dirt nearby. He stopped a few feet away, not saying anything right away, just standing there. She could feel him looking at her.

"You hungry?" he asked finally.

Dallis turned her head slightly in his direction but didn’t answer.

Daryl huffed, shifting his weight. "Caught a squirrel. Thought you might want some."

Her stomach clenched, but she wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or something else. She hadn’t really been eating much, but Daryl kept trying. They all did.

She wasn’t sure why she stood up, but she did. Maybe it was just something to do. Maybe she didn’t want to sit there waiting for someone who wasn’t coming.

"Come on," Daryl said. "Ain’t lettin’ good meat go to waste."

She followed him without a word.

-

Dallis sat at the edge of Daryl’s tent, still clutching Bemo, when she heard him rustling around behind her. She just listened. The sound of a bag being zipped, things being shuffled. He was packing.

"You need to get your stuff together," Daryl said, voice gruff but not unkind. "We're movin’ into the house."

She blinked, "Why?"

Daryl sighed. "Safer," he said simply. "Warmer. Ain’t gotta sleep out here no more."

Dallis hesitated. The tent was small, cramped, but it felt safe in its own way. The house was big. Open. Still, she didn’t argue.

She felt around for her things; her small bag of clothes, the few trinkets she kept, Bee always tucked under her arm. She didn’t have much, but it didn’t take long to gather what little she had.

Daryl didn't rush her.

He just waited, standing nearby, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do. When she finally stood with her bag slung over her shoulder, he nodded.

"Come on, kid," he said, leading the way toward the farmhouse.

-

Dallis sat stiffly on the couch, her hands curled into the fabric of her pants. The house was warmer than the tent, but it didn’t feel like home. Nothing did anymore.

Carl sat down beside her, his weight making the couch dip slightly. She turned her head toward him, waiting, listening.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "If I did anything wrong."

Carl was quiet for a moment, then let out a breath. "You didn’t."

She heard him shifting, like he was picking at the couch cushion. "Shane’s mad at me," he muttered. "And my mom’s pregnant."

Dallis frowned, "Pregnant?"

"Yeah." His voice was tight, like he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. "Another baby. In the middle of all this."

Dallis didn’t know what to say. A baby. She could barely survive as it was—what chance did a baby have?

She let the silence sit between them for a bit. Then, cautiously, she reached out and tapped his hand. He startled, but didn’t pull away.

"You’ll be a good brother," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Carl didn’t say anything right away. But after a moment, he squeezed her fingers lightly before letting go.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

-

Dallis sat still on the couch as Carl tensed beside her.

The house had been quiet for most of the evening, the kind of silence that made her uneasy. She’d been listening to the way the floor creaked when someone walked by, the low murmurs of conversation in the other room. It felt like something was about to happen.

"Randall's gone."

Dallis didn't move, but she felt Carl shift beside her. The others were up in an instant. "What?"

"He’s gone," T-Dog repeated. "No sign of him in the shed. His cuffs are there, but he's gone."

Dallis heard Daryl curse under his breath. She turned her head toward the sound of his voice, listening as he grabbed something—his crossbow, probably.

"Stay inside," Daryl told her firmly. "Don't move."

She didn't argue.

Carl was already standing, but Dallis didn’t hear him moving to follow the others. He was hesitating. "Go," she told him quietly.

Carl exhaled, then she heard his footsteps move toward the door. The house felt too empty as soon as they left, the distant voices outside growing more frantic.

Dallis curled her fingers into the couch cushion, her mind racing. Randall was gone. That meant one of two things; either someone had taken him, or he’d managed to get free.

Neither option was good.

-

The door swung open, and heavy footsteps filled the house. Dallis tensed, gripping the couch cushion as Carl sat back down beside her. She could hear the tension in the air—low, muttered cursing, heavy breathing, the shuffle of boots against the wooden floor.

Carl was the first to speak. "Randall clocked Shane and ran into the woods with his gun," he said, his voice tight.

Dallis felt her stomach drop.

Shane was strong; one of the strongest people here. If Randall had managed to knock him down and get away with a gun, that meant he was desperate. Dangerous.

Dallis swallowed, gripping her sleeves. "Is Shane okay?" she asked quietly.

No one answered right away.

"We’re gonna handle it," Carol’s voice came from somewhere nearby, softer than the others. "But you kids need to go upstairs."

Dallis shook her head, "I want to—"

Lori cut her off. "Now."

Dallis hesitated, then flinched when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Carol’s touch was light but firm, and after a moment, Dallis let her guide her off the couch.

Carl was beside her, tense, but he didn’t argue either.

They both knew better.

-

Carl pressed his face against the glass, eyes narrowed as he watched the fields beyond the house. The moonlight barely lit the land, but he could make out the shapes of his dad and Shane moving through the tall grass.

“They’re out there,” he muttered. “I can see ‘em.”

Dallis sat on the bed, listening to the creak of the floorboards beneath Carl’s shifting weight. Her hands curled into the hem of her shirt. “What are they doing?”

“Just standing there,” Carl said. Then, after a beat: “I’m going out there.”

Dallis’ head snapped toward him, “What?”

“I can get out through the window,” Carl said, testing the frame. It groaned slightly, but it wasn’t locked. He pushed it up a little, letting the night air in. “If something’s wrong, I need to—”

“I’m going too,” Dallis interrupted, standing up.

Carl turned to her sharply, “That’s stupid.”

Dallis frowned. “Why?”

“Because it just is! You—” He hesitated, lowering his voice. “You can’t even see.”

Dallis’ face heated, “I get around fine.”

Carl sighed, looking back out the window. “I don’t have time for this.”

Dallis crossed her arms.

Carl hesitated for only a second before he swung one leg over the windowsill. “Stay here,” he muttered before dropping out of sight.

Dallis gritted her teeth, gripping the bedpost as she listened to his landing. She could stay put, like they always told her. Or She could prove she wasn’t as helpless as they thought.

She tied Bee's tail around her belt hoop. Taking a deep breath, Dallis moved toward the window.

She fiddled with the hem, pushing herself up and out.

Pain exploded in her side the moment she hit the ground. A sharp, white-hot agony spread through her ribs, stealing her breath. Dallis curled in on herself, her fingers clutching at the dirt as if that would somehow ground her, somehow make it stop. But it didn’t. It only got worse.

She opened her mouth, but no real scream came out—just a quiet, pitiful wail that barely made it past her lips. She pressed her forehead against the cool ground, trying to will herself to stop shaking, but it was impossible. Every breath made her ribs feel like they were caving in.

Through the pain, she heard it.

A low, gruff chuckle.

“Well, ain't this a goddamn mess,” Merle’s voice drawled.

Dallis froze.

“Cryin’ again, huh? Thought we got past all that, Mr. Magoo.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, like that would somehow shut out the voice. But it was still there. Still him.

“Bet ya think this is the end of the world.” Merle snorted.

“Well, lemme tell ya, kid—you’ve had worse. You’ll be fine.”

Dallis’ breath hitched. “I—I can’t move,” she whispered, her voice raw.

“Sure ya can. Just gotta suck it up. Ain’t like broken ribs ever killed anybody."

Her fingers dug into the dirt. It hurt too much. She couldn’t even sit up, couldn’t even—

“Dallis.”

The voice was softer now. Not mocking. Not teasing. Just there.

“Breathe, kid. You’re fine.”

A sob wracked her body. She didn’t know if it was from the pain or from the fact that Merle wasn’t really there. He would never be there again.

But the voice didn’t fade. It lingered, wrapping around her like a rough, calloused hand on her shoulder.

And despite everything, she clung to it.

Dallis didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t know if she was even walking in the right direction. Every step sent sharp jolts of pain through her ribs, but she kept moving.

Forward was the only thing that made sense.

Her breathing was uneven, shallow. She could still hear Merle’s voice in the back of her head, telling her to suck it up. Telling her she’d be fine. But she didn’t feel fine. She felt like she was floating, like her body wasn’t even hers anymore.

Strong, steady hands grabbed her before she could react.

She let out a weak gasp, her body too exhausted to fight. “It’s me,” a voice said, and she barely processed it before she felt herself being lifted off the ground.

T-Dog.

She recognized the warmth of his arms, the careful way he carried her. There was panic in his movements. He was strong, solid—someone she didn’t have to be afraid of.

The world tilted, and she felt herself being placed down onto something softer than the hard ground. A car seat.

“You’re alright,” T-Dog muttered, but she could hear the worry in his voice. “Just stay put, okay?”

She wanted to answer. Wanted to tell him that she was fine, that she didn’t need help, that she could’ve kept walking.

But she didn’t.

She just let herself sink into the seat, let the exhaustion finally take over.

-

Dallis drifted in and out of sleep, her body heavy, her mind foggy. The hum of voices outside the car pulled her back to the surface, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Something was wrong.

She shifted, feeling a presence beside her, and realized Beth was there. Beth was crying, quiet and shaky, but she didn’t say anything to Dallis. Dallis could still feel Bee securely tied to her belt hoop.

Dallis wanted to ask what was happening. Wanted to know why everything felt tense, why there was this gnawing feeling in her gut that something had gone bad.

But before she could force the words out, the car door creaked open.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight hug, and pain shot through her ribs. She gasped, stiffening.

Shane.

“Shit—sorry, kid,” he muttered, immediately easing up.

She didn’t say anything. Just stayed still, feeling the warmth of his hug, feeling the way he held onto her like he was making sure she was real.

She just let herself exist in that moment, even as her ribs ached and the world outside the car continued to move forward without her.

Chapter Text

The fire had long since burned out, leaving nothing but the faintest trails of smoke curling into the cold night air. Most of the group was asleep, curled up in whatever blankets or coats they had left, their breathing slow and steady.

Only Glenn and Maggie were still awake, keeping watch near the edge of camp.

Carl sat with his back against a tree, legs stretched out in front of him. The dirt beneath him was rough, packed down from months of travel. Dallis sat beside him, cross-legged, her fingers tracing along the palm of his hand.

"Your hands are rough," she muttered, voice quiet in the stillness of the night.

"Yeah, well... life's rough."

Dallis didn’t smile at that. She rarely smiled anymore.

Two months. Two months of running, hiding, barely eating. They were all skin and bones now. Everyone walked slower, their movements sluggish, like they were running on fumes. Lori’s baby bump had gotten bigger, her breathing more labored. Rick carried more weight in his shoulders every day.

And Dallis—Dallis had stopped crying.

Carl didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

"Tell me what you feel," he said, watching as her fingers ran over his palm again. She tilted her head slightly, focusing. "Your lifeline is long... but jagged," she murmured. "Like there’s been a lot of trouble in your life."

Carl snorted, "No shit."

Dallis ignored him, continuing her slow movements. "There’s a scar here," she said, touching a faint mark near the base of his thumb. "What happened?"

"Cut myself with my knife back at the farm."

Dallis hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t comment. Her fingers slid along the lines of his palm, slow and deliberate.

"Do you believe in this stuff?" Carl asked after a moment.

Dallis hesitated. "No," she admitted. "But it’s something to do."

Carl glanced at her. Her face was unreadable, her milky eyes unfocused but sharp in their own way. "You should sleep," he told her.

"So should you."

Carl sighed, letting his head fall back against the tree. "Don’t think I can."

Dallis just hummed again, setting his hand down in his lap before pulling her knees up to her chest. The silence stretched between them, comfortable and heavy all at once.

"Do you think we'll ever find a place to stay?" Carl asked eventually.

Dallis didn’t answer right away. She just breathed, slow and steady.

"...I don’t know," she finally whispered.

Carl swallowed hard. He hated that answer.

-

A month has passed.

Nothing had changed.

They still walked, still scavenged, still barely ate enough to keep themselves moving. The road stretched on endlessly, each mile blending into the next. There was no destination anymore; just the constant need to survive.

Dallis had stopped talking as much. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t argue. She just followed, step after step, her small frame barely keeping up with the adults.

Then she found the dog.

It had come out of nowhere, thin and skittish, its ribs sticking out like the rest of them. It had limped toward her while they were setting up camp for the night, tail low, ears twitching.

Dallis had frozen when she heard the soft whimper, the hesitant shuffle of paws against the dirt.

The others noticed it too.

Daryl had his crossbow raised before anyone could react, the string pulled tight. "Could be sick," he muttered, eyes locked on the dog.

Dallis stepped in front of it before he could fire.

"Dallis, move," Daryl ordered. "No," she said, voice firm. Daryl hesitated, Shane didn’t.

"We don’t need a damn dog," Shane said, rubbing his face. "We can barely feed ourselves."

Dallis knelt, reaching out carefully. The dog sniffed her hand, hesitant, before licking her palm. Carl, standing off to the side, spoke up. "Maybe it can help. It could track or something."

"Or slow us down," Shane countered.

Dallis didn’t care. She ran her fingers gently over the dog’s fur, feeling how thin it was, how its bones pressed against its skin. "I’ll let it eat my food," she said.

Shane scoffed, "That ain’t the point and that ain’t happenin,"

"It ain’t eatin’ our food," Daryl muttered.

"Or we could eat it," Shane said bluntly.

Everyone tensed. "Shane!" Lori snapped.

"What?" he shrugged. "We’re starving. It’s meat."

Dallis flinched, gripping the dog tighter. "No," she whispered.

Glenn frowned, "Dude, we’re not eating a dog."

Rick sighed, rubbing his temple. "We’re not eating the dog, Shane."

Shane shook his head, looking exhausted. "I’m just sayin’ we gotta start thinking smarter. We don’t got the luxury of keepin’ pets."

Dallis clutched the dog closer, "I’ll take care of it, I promise."

Shane exhaled, staring at her. Then, after a long pause, he sighed. "Fine. But if it starts slowin’ us down, it’s gone."

Dallis nodded, pressing her face into the dog’s fur. For the first time in a long time, she smiled.

-

The dog stuck around after that night.

It didn’t have much of a choice; Dallis refused to let it leave. She called it Momo. Momo didn’t seem to mind the name. He followed her everywhere, staying close even when they walked for hours without stopping.

Carl wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Sure, a dog could be useful—maybe. But it was just another mouth to feed, and Dallis was already barely eating as it was.

She gave Momo everything.

Carl noticed it one night while they were sitting by the fire, the others dozing off after another long, exhausting day. He had his arms wrapped around his knees, watching the flames dance, when he heard the soft sound of chewing. He turned his head and saw her, sitting cross-legged with Momo curled up beside her.

She was holding out a scrap of food.

Momo took it carefully, licking her fingers once it was gone.

Carl felt anger bubble up in his chest.

"You gave it to him?" he hissed, leaning toward her.

Dallis stiffened but didn’t answer. Carl lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else was awake. "Dallis, what the hell? You’re already skinny as it is!"

She didn’t say anything. Just kept running her fingers over Momo’s fur.

Carl groaned, rubbing his face. "You need to eat."

She flinched at the sharpness in his voice. He let out a breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Look, I get it. He’s yours. But if you don’t eat, you’re gonna pass out one day, and then what? You can’t keep giving him your food."

Dallis turned her face away, shoulders tense. "He’s hungry," she whispered.

Carl clenched his jaw, "So are you."

She said nothing.

Carl exhaled sharply and stood up. "I’m telling Shane."

That made her react. She grabbed his sleeve, shaking her head. Carl stared at her. She looked smaller than ever, thin and fragile, her face pale from weeks of barely eating. She looked tired, everyone did these days.

He sighed, dropping back down beside her. "Just… promise me you’ll eat more, okay?"

She didn’t promise. But after a long pause, she nodded.

It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

-

Carl sat beside Dallis, watching the way she absently stroked Momo’s fur. The dog had curled up against her side, always attached to her like a shadow. It was cold tonight, the kind of cold that settled in your bones no matter how close you sat to the fire. The embers crackled softly, casting flickering shadows against the trees.

Carl wasn’t really looking at the fire, though. He was looking at her.

Dallis had always been small, but now she looked almost hollow.

Her jacket, once a little snug, was too big now. Her face was thinner, cheekbones sharper. She had dark smudges under her eyes, a dull tiredness in the way she moved. It made something uneasy twist in Carl’s stomach.

She wasn’t eating.

Not enough, anyway.

He had noticed a while ago, but now it was impossible to ignore. He barely ever saw her eat; she picked at her food, pushing pieces around her plate, feeding Momo when she thought no one was looking. And maybe before, when things weren’t as bad, it was easier to pretend she’d be fine.

But it had been four months now.

Four months of barely scraping by.

And she was getting worse.

Carl knew he wasn’t the only one who saw it. Shane had to notice. Daryl, too. Even his dad probably saw it. But nobody said anything. Maybe because they figured she’d just refuse, maybe because they had bigger things to worry about.

Or maybe because no one knew what to do.

Carl clenched his jaw, glancing at his dad.

Rick was sitting with Lori a little ways away, talking quietly. Carl had watched him give his food to her, slipping extra bites onto her plate when he thought no one was paying attention.

Carl had watched.

And now, he made up his mind.

He grabbed his plate and shifted closer to Dallis, nudging her arm. "Hey."

She tilted her head slightly, acknowledging him, but didn’t say anything. He sighed, "Here."

He pushed his food into her lap.

Dallis didn’t move. Just sat there, silent, fingers twitching slightly against the edge of the plate. Momo sniffed at it, but she gently pushed his head away.

Carl watched her, impatient. "Eat."

She hesitated, pressing her lips together. "Carl—"

"Just eat it," he snapped, a little harsher than he meant to. Dallis flinched.

Carl exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down.

"Please."

Dallis shifted, hands curling against the plate. Then, slowly, she picked up a piece of food and took a bite. Carl didn’t realize how tense he had been until he let out a breath.

"See? Not so hard," he muttered, trying to sound casual.

Dallis didn’t answer, but she took another bite. Then another.
Carl felt something tight in his chest ease just a little.

They sat like that in silence, the fire crackling softly in front of them, the others murmuring in the background.

-

The creek was a rare find—clean, cold water rushing over smooth stones, deep enough in some parts to wade into, shallow enough in others for washing clothes. It had been so long since they had found a place like this, a place that felt almost normal.

Dallis sat on the bank, feet tucked beneath her, listening to the sounds of the water and the quiet chatter of the women around her. Lori, Carol, and Maggie were further down, their voices hushed as they scrubbed clothes against the rocks.

Beth knelt beside Dallis, dipping a rag into the water before wringing it out.

"Here," Beth said gently, brushing Dallis’s shoulder. "Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?"

Dallis didn’t respond, but she let Beth guide her forward. She felt the cool water dribble down her back as Beth carefully wiped away the dirt and sweat that had clung to her skin after days on the road.

The sensation was strange; it had been so long since she’d had a proper bath. She shivered slightly but didn’t pull away.
Beth worked quietly, humming softly under her breath. It was a tune Dallis didn’t recognize, but there was something calming about it.

"You’ve got so many knots," Beth murmured as she ran her fingers through Dallis’s damp hair.

Dallis tensed slightly at that.

It had been ages since anyone had done this; since her father, since the world had ended. He used to brush her hair for her when she was younger, always so patient with her whining when the comb snagged on a tangle.

'You gotta sit still, Dally-girl', he’d tease, tugging gently at a stubborn knot. 'Can’t have you walkin’ around lookin’ like a wild thing, can we?'

Dallis swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in her eyes.
Beth must have noticed her go still because her hands softened, combing through Dallis’s curls more carefully.

"It’s okay," Beth said quietly. "We’ll take it slow."

She started humming again, and Dallis let herself relax.

-

Carl sat with his back against the tree, his arms resting over his knees as he let out a slow breath. The day had been exhausting, setting up camp, gathering whatever little firewood they could find, and making sure there weren’t any walkers lurking too close. The sun had started dipping below the horizon, casting the campsite in soft orange light.

He was used to this routine by now; finding a quiet spot, waiting for Dallis to come find him. She always did, without fail, whether it was to sit beside him in silence or to talk about things only she could see.

But today, she was taking longer than usual.

Carl frowned, tapping his fingers against his knee. Maybe she was with Beth. Or maybe she was still helping with something—though she wasn’t usually asked to help, not with the way Daryl and Shane hovered over her.

Just as he was about to push himself up and go looking for her, he heard the soft crunch of footsteps against the dry leaves.

Dallis.

He knew the sound of her steps by now; light, careful, a little uncertain but steady.

Carl paused when she finally stepped into view.

Her hair was braided neatly, strands woven together down her back, and for the first time in a long while, she looked… different. She still looked tired, still too thin, but the simple act of having her hair done made her seem softer somehow.

Carl blinked, caught off guard.

"Uh…" He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your hair looks… nice."

Dallis tilted her head slightly, her fingers brushing over the braid. "Beth," she said simply. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

Carl hadn’t heard her say much lately, and it was weirdly reassuring to know she was still talking, even if it was just a little. "Yeah," he muttered, glancing down before looking back at her. "She did a good job."

Dallis didn’t say anything else. Instead, she sat down beside him, just like she always did. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The fire crackled in the distance, shadows stretching across the trees. Somewhere, Shane and Rick were murmuring about something; probably the next move, where they’d go after this. Beth was fussing over Lori's baby bump, and Daryl was sharpening his knife.

It was the same as every night. Except it wasn’t.

Carl looked at Dallis again.

She sat with her hands resting in her lap, shoulders slightly hunched like always, but there was something different about her.

Maybe it was the way she looked just a little cleaner, or the way her hair wasn’t tangled and messy anymore.

Carl exhaled, leaning back against the tree again. "Glad you’re here," he said, voice quiet.

Dallis didn’t answer, but she didn’t leave either.

-

Carl sat on the ground, his legs crossed as he absentmindedly patted Momo’s thick fur. The dog let out a content sigh, stretching its legs out as it settled beside him. The air was still, the night quiet except for the occasional crackle of the fire in the distance. Most of the others were busy; Rick and Shane talking in hushed voices, Maggie and Glenn going through their supplies, Lori sitting with her back against a tree, one hand resting on her stomach.

Carl glanced at his mom, his brows furrowing. He swore her baby bump had doubled in size over the last month. She looked tired, her face thinner despite how big her stomach had gotten. It made him nervous. Everything about the baby did.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Dallis sat beside him, cross-legged in the dirt. She didn’t answer right away, but that wasn’t surprising. She always took her time when talking, like she was figuring out the right thing to say.

Carl glanced at her, watching the way she absently twisted her fingers in Momo’s fur. The dog didn’t seem to mind, only letting out a quiet huff and shifting closer to her.

Finally, Dallis spoke. “Girl.”

Carl raised an eyebrow, “That fast?”

Dallis just shrugged.

Carl thought about it for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Maybe. I dunno.” He looked at Lori again. “I think my dad wants it to be a boy.”

Dallis didn’t say anything, but Carl could tell she was listening. He sighed, shifting so he was leaning back on his hands. “I don’t even know if I want it to be a boy or a girl. I don’t even know if I want it at all.”

Dallis turned her head toward him.

Carl swallowed. “It’s just… It’s already hard enough, y’know? We barely have food, we barely sleep, and now we gotta bring a baby into all this?” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

Dallis didn’t say anything, but she nodded slightly, her fingers still gripping Momo’s fur. Carl looked down at the dog, rubbing behind its ears. “At least Momo’s quiet,” he muttered.

“Babies cry too much.”

That got the smallest twitch of a smile from Dallis. It was barely there, but Carl saw it. He grinned a little, nudging her shoulder. “You think I’d be a good big brother?”

Dallis was quiet for a moment. Then: “Maybe.”

Carl huffed, “Wow. Real confidence boost there.”

Dallis shrugged again.

Carl watched her for a second, then sighed. “I just don’t want it to ruin everything.” His voice was quieter now, more serious. “Things already suck, but what if it makes it worse? What if it makes people fight more? What if…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the dirt.

“What if my mom doesn’t make it?”

Dallis tensed slightly, like she knew the weight of the words he’d just said.

Carl clenched his jaw. He hated thinking about it, hated how weak his mom looked sometimes. It scared him.

Dallis finally spoke, “She’s strong.”

Carl looked at her.

Dallis’s expression didn’t change much, but there was something firm in the way she said it. Like she believed it. Carl exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “Yeah. I know.”

They sat in silence for a while, the fire flickering in the distance. Momo sighed again, shifting between them, warm and steady.

Carl glanced at Dallis again. She was staring ahead, eyes blank like always, but he could tell she was thinking.

“Maybe a girl wouldn’t be so bad,” he muttered.

Dallis hummed. Carl smirked a little, “As long as she’s not as stubborn as you.”

Dallis finally turned her head slightly toward him, “Not possible.”

Carl snorted, “Yeah, sure.”

He leaned back again, staring up at the sky.

The world was falling apart, everything was dangerous and uncertain, but for now, sitting here with Dallis and Momo, he felt just a little bit okay.

-

Carl sat on a fallen log, idly kicking at the dirt while Momo lay sprawled beside him, tail flicking lazily. The afternoon was quiet, the sun warm against his skin, but his mind was loud.

Dallis sat next to him, her fingers threading absently through Momo’s fur, like always. She never sat still for long. Even now, her other hand toyed with a stray thread on her sleeve, her face unreadable.

Carl exhaled and blurted it out, “I think I like Beth.”

Dallis stilled. Her fingers paused mid-motion against Momo’s fur.

Carl waited for a response, but none came. He frowned. “Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

That was it. No teasing, no curiosity. Just that flat, blank response.

Carl glanced at her expectingly, “Well?”

Dallis finally moved again, slowly pulling her hand away from Momo. “Well, what?”

Carl shrugged, “I dunno. What do you think?”

Dallis was quiet for a long moment. Then she frowned. Not just a little either; her lips pressed together, her brows furrowing, her whole expression shifting into something annoyed.

Carl blinked, “What’s that look for?”

Dallis didn’t answer. Carl frowned, “What, you don’t like her?”

“She’s nice.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Dallis shrugged. Carl huffed, “Okay, great talk. Super helpful.”

Dallis still didn’t say anything. Carl groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not like I love her or anything. I just think she’s pretty, that’s all.”

Dallis’s frown deepened. Carl narrowed his eyes. “Okay, seriously. What?”

Dallis turned toward him slightly, though her gaze was still empty, unfocused. “Why do you like her?”

Carl blinked, “I told you. She’s pretty.”

Dallis was silent again, her fingers clenching around the fabric of her sleeve. Carl stared at her. “…You mad or something?”

“No.”

Carl raised an eyebrow, “You sound mad.”

“I’m not.”

“You look mad.”

Dallis scowled, “I wouldn’t know.”

Carl winced. Okay, that was fair. Still, he wasn’t letting this go. “Seriously, what’s the big deal?” he pressed.

Dallis hesitated. Then, quietly, she muttered, “You don’t even know her.”

Carl scoffed, “Yes, I do.”

“You don’t.”

Carl frowned, “She sings. She’s nice. She helps out when she can.”

“So does Maggie.”

Carl opened his mouth, then shut it again. Okay. That was true.

Dallis shifted beside him, pulling her legs up to her chest. “You don’t like Beth. You like the idea of Beth.”

Carl squinted at her, “That’s a lot of big words for someone who doesn’t talk much.”

Dallis scoffed. Carl sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “…So what, you’re saying I don’t like her?”

Dallis was quiet again, then finally said, “I don’t think you do.”

Carl groaned, “Then what do I feel?”

Dallis shrugged, hugging her knees. “I don’t know. But it’s not that.”

Carl sat back, staring up at the sky. He didn’t really get it. He liked looking at Beth. He liked when she smiled. Wasn’t that enough?

But the way Dallis said it, so sure, so certain, it made him wonder.

They sat in silence for a while. Eventually, Carl muttered, “You’re weird.”

Dallis didn’t react, she never did. Carl huffed, kicking at the dirt again. “I guess you’re right, though.”

Dallis turned her head slightly toward him, “Yeah?”

Carl sighed. “Yeah.” He tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

“Guess I’m just dumb.”

Dallis shook her head, “You’re not dumb.”

Carl cracked one eye open, smirking. “But you do think I’m an idiot.”

Dallis didn’t deny it, Carl laughed. Momo let out a soft huff and rolled over, stretching out between them.

Carl exhaled, shaking his head, “Thanks, I guess.”

Dallis just hummed.

Carl watched her for a moment before nudging her with his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Dallis turned slightly.

Carl grinned, “What about you? Anyone you got a crush on?”

Dallis immediately frowned. “No.”

Carl laughed again, “Wow. That was fast.”

Dallis shoved him lightly. Carl just grinned, letting the conversation fade into comfortable silence.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t actually like Beth. But one thing he did know? He liked talking to Dallis way more.

-

Daryl moved quietly through the woods, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, eyes sharp and scanning for movement. The trees rustled gently in the breeze, birds occasionally fluttering from branch to branch. It was peaceful out here. Dallis trailed beside him, small and silent like always, her footsteps barely making a sound.

She had that way about her;light, careful, always moving like she was trying not to be noticed.

They’d been walking for a while when she suddenly spoke,
“Am I pretty?”

Daryl almost tripped over his own damn feet. He turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing, “What?”

Dallis was facing forward, expression unreadable. “Am I pretty?” she repeated, voice quiet.

Daryl stared at her. Where the hell did that come from?

He blinked, then frowned. “Uh… yeah?”

Dallis didn’t react. Just kept walking, her hands loosely clasped in front of her. “Is Beth pretty?”

Daryl groaned internally. Where was this goin’?

“I guess,” he muttered. “I dunno. Ain’t really somethin’ I think ‘bout.”

Dallis was quiet for a long moment. Then she asked, “Who do you think is prettier? Me or Beth?”

Daryl exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Kid, what are you even—” He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. Feelings. Girl talk. Whatever the hell this was.

Dallis, as usual, was unreadable. Her head was tilted slightly, her face blank like always, but something about her posture told him there was more going on in that head of hers. Daryl sighed, shifting the crossbow on his shoulder.

“Ain’t ‘bout looks,” he finally said. “Ain’t what matters.”

Dallis was silent again, Daryl frowned. “Why you askin’ all this?”

Dallis shrugged, “No reason.”

Bullshit.

Daryl side-eyed her, watching as she kicked at the dirt with the tip of her boot.

“…Carl givin’ you trouble?”

She shook her head.

“…Beth givin’ you trouble?”

Another shake of the head.

Daryl let out a long sigh, “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on, or you gonna keep makin’ me guess?”

Dallis hesitated. Then, in that small, careful voice of hers, she asked, “How do you know when someone likes you?”

Daryl blinked.

Oh.

Well, shit.

He was really not the person for this conversation.

Scratching at the stubble on his jaw, Daryl glanced up at the trees, like maybe the answer was hidden somewhere in the branches.

Hell if he knew.

He sure as shit didn’t have much experience with people liking him. “…I dunno,” he muttered after a while. “Guess they just… wanna be ‘round you. Look out for ya. Talk to ya even when they ain’t gotta.”

Dallis absorbed that quietly. Daryl glanced at her again. “Someone likin’ you?”

She didn’t answer.

Daryl sighed, “Kid, you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout none of that.”

Dallis tilted her head slightly, “Why not?”

“‘Cause,” Daryl huffed. “Ain’t got time for that kinda thing right now. World’s a mess. You got bigger things to worry about than—” He waved a hand vaguely. “—some kid likin’ you or whatever.”

Dallis was quiet for a long time. Then she mumbled, “Carl likes Beth.”

Daryl snorted, “Carl don’t know what the hell he wants.”

Dallis didn’t respond, just kept walking, shoulders slightly hunched. Daryl sighed, slowing his steps.

“…You thinkin’ ‘bout all this ‘cause of Carl?”

Dallis frowned, "No?"

Daryl exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Kid, listen. You don’t gotta—” He stopped, frowning. “Look, I ain’t good at this kinda talk, but you’re a good kid. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you. Ain’t ‘bout bein’ pretty or nothin’ like that.”

Dallis stayed quiet.

Daryl sighed, running a hand through his hair. Shit, he hated this kinda stuff.

“…Carl’s an idiot, alright?” he muttered. “He’ll figure that out eventually.”

Dallis finally turned her head toward him slightly, as if she was thinking that over. Then she just hummed softly, shifting Momo’s leash in her hands.

Daryl wasn’t sure if that meant she believed him or not.

Either way, he was done talkin’ about it.

“C’mon,” he grumbled, adjusting his crossbow. “Let’s find somethin’ to eat.”

Dallis nodded.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

-

Daryl didn’t bring it up right away. Hell, he didn’t even know why he wanted to bring it up. It wasn’t his business, wasn’t his problem. But something about the way Dallis had asked those questions; it just stuck with him.

The kid barely talked as it was. And when she did talk, it sure as shit wasn’t about feelings or people liking each other.
So for her to suddenly ask if she was pretty? If Beth was? Who was prettier, her or Beth?

That wasn’t nothing.

Which was why Daryl found himself walking up to Shane just after sunset, when most of the camp was settling in for the night. Shane was sitting near one of the cars, a rifle across his lap, looking like he hadn’t slept in days, none of them has.

Daryl stopped in front of him, “Need a word.”

Shane looked up, raising an eyebrow. “That right?”

Daryl grunted, “Yeah.”

Shane sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Alright. What?”

Daryl shifted his weight, glancing toward the fire where most of the group was gathered, “It’s ‘bout Dallis.”

Shane immediately tensed, his grip on the rifle tightened. “She okay?”

Daryl nodded, “Ain’t ‘bout that.”

Shane narrowed his eyes, waiting. Daryl exhaled through his nose. “She said some stuff today.”

Shane’s jaw tightened, “What kinda stuff?”

Daryl scratched at the back of his neck, feeling awkward as hell. “She asked if she was pretty.”

Shane blinked, “What?”

Daryl nodded, “Asked if Beth was pretty too. Then asked who's prettier.”

Shane stared at him, then scoffed. “That’s what this is about?”

Daryl frowned, “You think that’s nothin’?”

Shane shook his head, rubbing his temple. “She’s a kid, man. Maybe she’s just—hell, I dunno—curious.”

Daryl wasn’t convinced, “She don’t just ask shit for no reason.”

Shane sighed, stretching out his legs. “Alright. So she’s thinkin’ about… I dunno, boys or whatever. That what you’re worried about?”

Daryl exhaled sharply. “I dunno. Just—” He frowned. “You ever hear her ask shit like that before?”

Shane didn’t answer right away. After a moment, he shook his head. “No.”

Daryl crossed his arms, “Yeah. Exactly.”

Shane let out a long breath. “You think she’s upset about somethin’?”

Daryl hesitated, “I think… she don’t know where she stands with Carl.”

Shane’s brows furrowed. “You think she’s got some kinda thing for him?”

Daryl shrugged, “Maybe. Or maybe she just don’t wanna be left behind.”

Shane looked toward the fire, where Carl was sitting with Beth, talking about something neither of them could hear. “…That kid’s the only friend she’s got,” Daryl muttered. “Ain’t crazy to think she’s worried ‘bout losin’ him.”

Shane was quiet for a long time. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Christ, I don’t know how to deal with this shit.”

Daryl snorted, “Yeah, well. Join the club.”

Shane drummed his fingers against his knee, watching Carl and Beth, “You say anything to her?”

“Told her Carl was an idiot.”

Shane huffed out a short laugh, “Ain’t wrong.”

Daryl shifted his weight, Shane watched him for a moment, then asked, “What do you wanna do about it?”

Daryl grunted. “Ain’t like we can do much. Just… keep an eye on her."

Shane nodded slowly, “Yeah. Alright.”

They both sat there in silence for a while, watching the fire.

“…You ever wish they were normal kids?” Daryl muttered.

Shane exhaled through his nose, “All the time.”

Neither of them said anything after that. There wasn’t much else to say.

-

Shane found Dallis sitting by herself near the edge of camp, Momo curled up beside her. She was staring at the ground, her fingers idly running through the dog’s fur. The firelight barely reached her from this far out, making her look even smaller than she already was.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Daryl had put this in his lap, and now he had to figure out what the hell to do with it.

Walking over, he crouched down beside her. “Hey, kid.”

She didn’t look at him, “What.”

Shane huffed at her tone, “That’s real warm and welcoming.”

She didn’t respond, still staring, or not staring, at the dirt. Shane sat down beside her, stretching out his legs. “Daryl told me what y’all talked about.”

That got a reaction. Her shoulders tensed, and her hands curled into fists. Shane tilted his head at her, “You mad at him for tellin’ me?”

Dallis didn’t answer for a long moment. Then, quietly, “It wasn’t important.”

Shane raised an eyebrow, “Weren’t important, huh?”

She finally turned her head toward him, her brows drawn together. “It wasn’t.”

Shane studied her, noting the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her fingers were gripping Momo’s fur just a little too tight.

“…Alright,” he said finally. “Then tell me why you look like you wanna punch me.”

Dallis frowned deeper, “I don’t.”

Shane smirked, “You sure? ‘Cause I’ve seen that look before, and it usually means someone’s ‘bout to swing.”

Dallis exhaled sharply through her nose, looking away. Shane leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Listen, kid. I ain’t here to give you shit. Just wanted to check in.”

She was quiet.

“…Daryl seems to think you’re worried about Carl.”

Dallis tensed again, “I’m not.”

“You sure about that?”

She crossed her arms, “I don’t like Carl.”

Shane raised an eyebrow, “Uh-huh.”

She scowled, “I don’t.”

“Alright. If you say so.”

Dallis narrowed her eyes at him, like she didn’t believe he was letting it go that easily. Shane just leaned back on his hands. “So if you don’t like Carl, what was all that talk about Beth?”

Dallis hesitated. Then, quietly, “He likes her.”

Shane tilted his head, “And that bothers you?”

She clenched her jaw. “…No.”

Shane smirked, “You’re a real bad liar, kid.”

Dallis huffed, pulling her knees to her chest. Shane watched her for a moment, then said, “Listen. I get it. Things are weird right now. Everything’s changin’. Carl’s gettin’ older. He’s startin’ to notice girls. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

Dallis narrowed her eyes but stayed quiet.

Shane exhaled through his nose, “But that don’t mean he’s gonna forget about you.”

Dallis flinched slightly, just barely. Shane caught it. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Is that what this is about?”

She didn’t answer.

Shane shook his head, “Kid, Carl’s your best friend. Ain’t nothin’ gonna change that. Not Beth, not nobody.”

Dallis frowned at the ground, but she didn’t argue.

Shane watched her a moment longer, then nudged her with his elbow. “You ever think maybe he’s worried about losin’ you?”

Dallis blinked, glancing at him. “…Why would he?”

Shane smirked, “’Cause you’re important to him, dumbass.”

Dallis looked away, her grip on her knees tightening. Shane sighed, getting to his feet. “Look. Just talk to him. Don’t sit here stewin’ in your own head about it.”

Dallis didn’t respond.

Shane started to walk away, then paused. “And for the record?”

She finally looked up at him.

Shane gave her a small grin, one she could not see but feel, “You are pretty.”

Dallis’ face scrunched up in embarrassment, and she quickly looked away.

Shane chuckled to himself as he walked back toward camp.

Chapter Text

Dallis had spent the whole afternoon psyching herself up to talk to Carl. Shane’s words stuck in her head; just talk to him. That sounded easy enough, but the thought of actually doing it made her stomach twist.

She had never told Carl anything like this before. She wasn’t even sure what this was. It was just… a feeling. A weird, heavy feeling in her chest when he talked about Beth, or when he stopped coming to sit next to her first thing in the morning.

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. It was just something, and she didn’t like it. But Shane had made a point, and she was tired of pretending like it didn’t bother her.

So when she finally heard Carl’s footsteps approaching, she sat up straighter, hands gripping her knees. Momo, lying beside her, perked his head up at the sound of Carl’s voice.

“Hey,” Carl greeted, dropping down onto the grass next to her. He sounded excited. Dallis swallowed, nodding slightly. “Hey.”

Carl stretched his legs out, sighing. “Man, today was weird.”

Dallis tilted her head, “Why?”

Carl chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… you probably wouldn’t care, but…”

Dallis frowned, "Just say it."

Carl grinned, “Beth looked really pretty today.”

Dallis froze.

Her heart clenched in her chest, her breath catching slightly.
Carl kept talking, oblivious. “I mean, I know you can’t see, but Maggie braided her hair all nice, and she was wearin’ this light-colored shirt that just— I dunno. She looked really nice.”

He laughed a little, kicking at a rock near his boot. “It’s stupid, right? Just… I dunno, I never really noticed before. But she was real pretty.”

Dallis' fingers dug into the fabric of her pants. The words she’d spent all day building up in her head completely vanished.

For a second, all she could do was sit there, staring blankly in Carl’s direction.

“…Yeah,” she finally murmured. “That’s… nice.”

Carl, still caught up in his excitement, didn’t even notice how quiet her voice had gotten. “Right? I mean, it’s not like it matters or anything, but—I dunno, it’s just weird noticing stuff like that, you know?”

Dallis forced a nod, “Yeah.”

Carl kept talking, but she wasn’t really listening anymore.
She had been so close. She had finally worked up the nerve to say something, to let him know how she felt; whatever this feeling even was, but now it didn’t matter.

Beth was pretty.

Beth was on his mind.

Dallis wasn’t.

She sat there in silence as Carl rambled on, her stomach sinking further and further.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to say anything at all.

-

Carl’s heart was pounding as he ran across the field, dodging between the scattered cars and the small fires they had built the night before. His boots kicked up dust as he sprinted toward where Dallis usually sat with Momo, his breath coming fast with excitement.

A prison.

Daryl had found a real prison. A big one, with tall fences and solid walls; actual walls. They wouldn’t have to sleep out in the open anymore, listening to every tiny noise in the dark, worrying about walkers creeping up on them.

They’d be safe.

His mom could have the baby somewhere clean, somewhere that wasn’t the cold, hard ground.

He spotted Dallis sitting with Momo, her fingers idly running through the dog’s thick fur. She was sitting stiffly, her legs tucked underneath her, head slightly tilted like she was listening to something far away.

Carl grinned as he got closer, “Dallis!” he called, but she didn’t react.

He frowned, slowing down. Maybe she didn’t hear him? “Dallis!” he tried again, louder this time. Still, nothing.

Momo lifted his head slightly at Carl’s voice, but Dallis didn’t even turn toward him. Carl stopped a few feet away, catching his breath. “Uh, hello?” He waved a hand in front of her face before remembering; right. She wouldn’t see that.

She kept petting Momo in slow, deliberate strokes, completely ignoring him.

Carl frowned, “Dallis?”

Silence.

His excitement started to dim, replaced by something more confused; maybe even frustrated.

“What the hell, are you mad at me or something?” he asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot. No response.

Carl scowled, “Oh, come on. What’d I even do?”

Dallis still didn’t react.

Carl ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He had no idea what was going on. She’d been weird the last few days; quieter than usual, keeping her distance, barely even talking to him. And now, when they finally had good news? When things were actually looking up?

She was just going to sit there and ignore him?

“Okay, well—whatever,” Carl muttered, shifting on his feet.

“Just thought you’d wanna know that we found a prison. Like, an actual one. With walls and fences and everything.”

Dallis remained completely silent, Carl clenched his jaw.

Fine. If she wanted to be like that, whatever.

He turned on his heel and walked off, his excitement dulled by frustration.

Why was she acting like this?

-

The night settled heavy over the prison courtyard, the fire casting long shadows against the concrete walls. The group had cleared the yard earlier that day, but no one was willing to go inside yet; not until they were absolutely sure it was safe.

So for now, they camped out under the open sky, tired but relieved to have something real protecting them.

Dallis sat next to Shane, knees pulled up to her chest, her fingers lightly brushing over Momo’s fur as the dog rested beside her. She could hear the soft murmur of voices around the fire; Daryl talking to Rick, Lori whispering to Carl, Glenn laughing quietly at something Maggie had said.

Shane, sitting beside her, let out a deep sigh. "You ain't said much today."

Dallis shrugged, not really sure what to say.

After a second, she felt something land on her head; soft, worn fabric. She reached up, fingers brushing against the brim. Shane’s hat. Dallis tilted her head slightly, "Why?"

Shane let out a chuckle, leaning back on his hands. "Figured you could use it. Ain't got much else to give, and you look like you need somethin'."

She ran her fingers along the edge of the hat, feeling the roughness of the fabric. It smelled like sweat, dust, and something else that reminded her of Shane; gunpowder and old leather.

She adjusted it carefully on her head. It was too big, dipping slightly over her forehead. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the fire crackling in front of them.

After a while, Dallis spoke, her voice quieter than usual. "Do you think we’ll be safe here?"

Shane exhaled through his nose. "I think we'll be safer than we been. Ain’t perfect, but hell, it’s got walls. That’s better than the woods, better than sleepin' in cars."

Dallis nodded, fingertips still absently tracing the brim of the hat. Shane watched her for a moment, then nudged her lightly with his elbow. "You ever gonna tell me what's been goin' on with you?"

Dallis stiffened slightly, "Nothing."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

She didn't say anything.

Shane let out a tired sigh, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Look, kid—I ain’t the best at this kinda thing, but I know when somebody’s got somethin’ eatin’ at ‘em. You ain't gotta tell me, but just—" He hesitated, then added, "Don't shut yourself off, alright? Not from me. Not from them."

Dallis swallowed, gripping the edge of the hat.

"Yeah," she murmured.

Shane nodded, satisfied enough with that answer.

For a while, they just sat there, listening to the quiet hum of the camp around them.

-

Carl was grinning as he walked beside Dallis, hands in his pockets, excitement still buzzing through him. The prison was the best place they had found since everything went to hell. It had walls, real walls, and it felt safe, or at least, safer than sleeping in the dirt every night. The others had worked hard clearing out one of the cellblocks, and now everyone was picking their own cells, setting up some kind of home.

Carl already knew what he wanted. And who he wanted to share it with.

He nudged Dallis lightly with his elbow. "Hey," he said. "Wanna share a cell?"

Dallis turned her head toward him slightly, the police cap Shane had given her dipping over her forehead, "What?"

Carl grinned, "Yeah, we could stay up all night and read comics. It'd be cool, right?"

For a second, she didn’t say anything.

"Why don’t you ask Beth?"

Carl blinked, confused. "What?"

"Ask Beth," she said again, sharper this time. Carl frowned, stopping in his tracks, "Why would I ask Beth?"

Dallis crossed her arms over her chest, turning her head away. "You like her, don’t you?"

Carl paused, "What—?"

"You do," Dallis muttered. "You think she’s so pretty. You said so."

Carl felt his ears get hot, "Well—yeah, I mean—she is," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But—what does that have to do with this?"

Dallis scoffed, "You should just ask her to share a cell with you," she said, voice tight.

Carl stared at her.

Dallis had always been hard to understand. Even before the farm, she was just... different. But this? This was the first time he had ever seen her mad at him for no reason. Had he done something? He was pretty sure he didn't.

Carl narrowed his eyes, "Why are you acting weird?"

"I’m not."

"Yeah, you are."

Dallis didn’t answer. Carl huffed, crossing his arms. "Fine," he muttered. "I’ll just—get my own cell then."

"Good," Dallis said.

Carl frowned, turning on his heel and walking off, frustration burning in his chest.

He didn't get it. At all.

-

Carl sat on the cold prison steps, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring at the ground. He could hear the others setting up their cells, talking about rations and patrol shifts, but he wasn’t paying attention.

His stomach was in knots.

Dallis had never been mad at him like that before. Sure, back in the farm she had ignored him for a bit but that was onky because he said something dumb. He hadn’t done anything this time. It was different. It was sharp and mean, like she actually wanted to hurt him.

And the worst part? He had no idea why.

A shadow moved over him, and he looked up to see his dad standing there, watching him with that same tired, knowing look he always had. "You good, son?" Rick asked.

Carl shrugged, "Yeah."

Rick exhaled through his nose and sat down beside him, resting his forearms on his knees. "Try again," he said.

Carl hesitated, picking at the fabric of his jeans. He wanted to say it wasn’t a big deal, but that would be a lie. It was bothering him. And his dad could always tell when he was lying.

"It’s just... Dallis," Carl muttered.

Rick raised an eyebrow, "What about her?"

Carl sighed, shaking his head. "I don’t know. I asked her if she wanted to share a cell, and she just—got mad at me."

Rick frowned slightly, thinking. "What’d she say?"

"She told me to ask Beth instead," Carl said, frustrated. "And when I asked why, she just said I liked Beth and I got angry and walked off."

Rick was quiet for a moment. "Do you?"

Carl blinked, "Do I what?"

"Like Beth."

Carl’s ears went hot, "I—I guess?"

Rick huffed a small chuckle, "That ain’t really an answer, son."

Carl groaned. "I don’t know!" He threw his hands up. "I thought I did, but now Dallis is all mad at me and I don’t even know why."

Rick nodded slowly, scratching at his beard. "She’s jealous."

Carl froze.

He turned his head sharply toward his dad, "What?"

Rick gave him a knowing look. "She’s jealous," he repeated simply.

Carl’s heart jumped in his chest. That didn’t make sense. Did it? "Dallis doesn’t—she doesn’t even like me like that," he said quickly.

Rick raised an eyebrow. "She say that to you? Directly?"

Carl opened his mouth, then closed it. No. She hadn’t.

Rick sighed, patting Carl on the back. "Son, sometimes people don’t say what they mean. And sometimes, they don’t even know what they mean."

Carl furrowed his brows, "That’s dumb."

Rick chuckled, "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Carl sat back against the step, mind spinning.

Dallis was jealous.

Of Beth.

He chewed his lip, "So what do I do?"

Rick sighed, "Talk to her. But don’t push her."

Carl huffed. That was easier said than done. His dad squeezed his shoulder. "You’ll figure it out," he said, standing up. "Just don’t make it harder than it has to be."

Carl nodded slowly, watching his dad walk off before exhaling heavily.

Jealous.

Dallis was jealous.

And for some reason, he wasn’t as sure about Beth as he thought.

-

Carl sat at one of the tables in the prison cafeteria, pretending to be interested in the can of beans in front of him. His fingers drummed idly against the tabletop as he stared across the room.

Dallis was standing by the counter, sleeves rolled up, her hands dusted with flour as she helped Carol knead some kind of dough. Her hair, which had grown a little longer, was tied back in a loose ponytail. She looked... different.

Older.

Carl didn’t know when it happened, but she wasn’t the same quiet little girl clutching Bemo anymore

She was... pretty.

Carl swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"You keep staring like that, kid, you’re gonna burn a hole in her."

Carl jumped.

He snapped his head up to see Shane standing next to him, arms crossed over his chest. His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen; he was just staring at Carl. Hard.

Carl felt his face heat up. "I wasn’t staring."

Shane snorted, "Yeah? ‘Cause from where I was standin’, you were damn well starin’."

Carl pressed his lips together, looking away. Shane pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, drumming his fingers against the table. He didn’t say anything right away, just watched.

Carl tried to ignore him, but it was impossible.

"So," Shane finally said, tilting his head. "You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, or am I gonna have to guess?"

Carl groaned, "Nothing’s going on."

Shane leaned in slightly. "Right. Nothin’ goin’ on, but you been makin’ puppy eyes at Dallis all damn day."

Carl froze, "I have not!" he hissed, glancing around quickly to make sure no one heard.

"Oh yeah. You have."

Carl glared, "I don’t like Dallis like that."

Shane raised an eyebrow, "That so?"

"Yeah!"

Shane hummed, unconvinced. Carl crossed his arms. "Even if I did, why do you care?"

Shane’s smirk dropped, and just like that, the air changed.

"Because that right there? That's my kid," he said simply. Carl blinked, taken aback.

Shane leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "Now, don’t get me wrong—I ain’t got nothin’ against you, kid. You’re a good kid. My best friend's son and all. Hell, I changed your diapers back in the day." He tilted his head slightly. "But that girl over there? She’s my kid."

Carl furrowed his brows. Shane sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before nodding toward Dallis. "I raised that kid. I took care of her back in the quary, I took care of her when she wouldn’t talk to nobody, I protected her." His voice dropped slightly. "I ain't about to let some dumbass little boy mess with her head."

Carl stiffened. Shane smirked, "Oh, that get to ya?"

Carl scowled, "I’m not a dumbass."

"Sure you ain’t," Shane drawled. "Look, kid. I ain’t tellin’ you to stay away from her. You wanna be friends? Fine. But you start lookin’ at her different, start gettin’ ideas, start thinkin’ you’re gonna be somethin’ to her, then we’re gonna have a problem."

Carl swallowed. Shane leaned back in his chair. "That girl’s had a rough life. She don’t need some dumbass kid makin’ it harder."

Carl clenched his jaw.

Shane clapped him on the shoulder, "Glad we had this talk," he said, standing up and walking off.

Carl sat there, fists tight in his lap. His face burned with embarrassment. With anger. With something else.

He wasn’t a dumbass little boy.

And he sure as hell wasn’t gonna let Shane tell him how to feel.

Chapter Text

Carl hesitated at the entrance of the laundry room, hands shoved into his pockets. Dallis was inside, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Maggie, sorting through a pile of freshly washed clothes. The dim lighting cast soft shadows over her face, and she looked relaxed; content, even.

Carl swallowed, suddenly nervous.

After his talk with Shane, he’d spent the last few hours thinking. About Dallis. About the way she’d been acting. About how she used to always be by his side, and now it felt like there was a wall between them.

He didn’t like it.

Maggie noticed him first, looking up from the shirt she was folding. "Hey, Carl."

Dallis turned her head slightly, her blank eyes blinking up at him. Carl cleared his throat. "Hey."

Dallis hummed, going back to folding. She wasn’t ignoring him, but she wasn’t exactly welcoming him, either. Maggie stood, dusting off her knees. "I’ll leave you two to it," she said, patting Dallis on the shoulder before walking out.

Carl hesitated before stepping forward, sitting down beside her. He watched as she worked, folding a sweater with careful fingers.

"You’ve been avoiding me," he muttered.

Dallis didn’t pause, her fingers smoothing over the fabric. "No, I haven’t."

"Yeah, you have."

She didn’t argue.

Carl pressed his lips together, staring down at his hands. "Did I do something?"

Dallis’ movements slowed. Carl glanced at her, watching as her fingers curled slightly over the fabric.

"I don’t know," she admitted.

Carl frowned, "What does that mean?"

Dallis sighed, shaking her head. "It means... I don’t know."

Carl chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t understand. Things between them had been fine, hadn’t they? They were always together. They talked about everything.

But lately, she’d been different.

Distant.

And Carl hated it.

"You’re my best friend," he said suddenly, voice firm.

Dallis paused.

Carl clenched his fists, "No matter what. You’re always gonna be my best friend."

Dallis inhaled slowly, placing the sweater aside.

Carl swallowed and reached for her hand. She tensed slightly but didn’t pull away as he gently turned her palm upward. Then, carefully, he lifted his other hand, fingers brushing against the chain around his neck.

He guided her hand toward it, pressing her fingers against the small, metal bird pendant resting against his chest.

Dallis's hands stilled.

The necklace was stil intact—one she’d given to him months ago. Carl had never taken it off. Not once. Dallis’ fingers trembled slightly as she traced the shape of the bird.

Carl’s chest felt tight.

"You gave this to me," he murmured.

Dallis nodded faintly. Carl squeezed her hand. "I never took it off."

Dallis swallowed audibly, her lips pressing together.

Carl sighed. "I don’t know why you’ve been acting weird, but... I don’t want things to change between us." He hesitated before adding, softer, "I don’t want to lose you."

Dallis inhaled shakily. Carl waited.

Then, slowly, she turned her hand, squeezing his back.

"You won’t," she whispered.

-

The cell was dimly lit, the weak glow of a lantern flickering on the small table beside the bunk bed.

The prison was quiet now, everyone settling in for the night after another long day.

Carl lay on his back on the bottom bunk, the worn pages of a comic book held up in one hand while his other arm was tucked beneath his head. Dallis was curled up beside him, Bee clutched against her chest. The warmth of the blanket wrapped around them made the cold prison cell feel a little less dreary.

Carl cleared his throat and continued reading. "And just when they thought they had the monster cornered... it transformed!’"

Dallis let out a soft huff, "That’s stupid."

Carl grinned, "What? No, it’s cool. The monster was never just one thing—it could shift into different forms!"

"Yeah, but that’s just an excuse to make it impossible to beat," Dallis argued, her voice muffled against Bee’s fuzzy head. "It’s lazy."

Carl rolled his eyes, "It’s creative."

Dallis shook her head, "It’s dumb."

Carl smirked, "You’re dumb."

Dallis elbowed him lightly, "You wish."

Carl snorted and turned the page, "Fine, then you can stop listening."

Dallis went quiet for a second. Then, stubbornly, she muttered, "Keep reading."

Carl chuckled but did as she asked.

The comic book was one of the few things he’d managed to hold onto through the past few months, a worn-out copy of an old superhero series. He used to read it to Dallis back at the quarry, and even now, she still liked to listen, even if she pretended not to care.

Carl read a few more pages, occasionally glancing at Dallis as she hugged Bee closer, her blind eyes closed, listening intently.

Eventually, her breathing slowed. Carl turned his head slightly, watching her. "You asleep?"

Dallis hummed, "No."

"Liar."

Dallis shifted slightly under the blanket. "I just don’t want to move."

Carl nodded, adjusting so he was lying more comfortably. "Yeah. Me neither."

The prison wasn’t bad, not compared to the road. They had beds, walls, food, it was more than they’ve had in a long time. But still, something about it felt... strange. Like it wasn’t real.

Like it wouldn’t last.

Carl stared at the ceiling, "Do you think we’re gonna stay here forever?"

Dallis was quiet for a moment. "No," she finally whispered. Carl swallowed. He didn’t think so, either.

Nothing ever lasted anymore. But... at least this moment did.

Carl exhaled and turned on his side, facing her. "At least we have beds now."

Dallis nodded sleepily, "Mhm."

Carl smirked, "And blankets."

"Mhm."

"And pillows."

"Mhm."

"And an old man in the next cell who snores like a dying cow—"

Dallis giggled, Carl grinned. "I knew you were still awake."

Dallis sighed dramatically, "Shut up, Carl."

Carl chuckled.

A beat of silence passed. Then, softer, Dallis murmured, "Goodnight."

Carl closed his eyes, "Goodnight."

The prison might not last forever, but he knew their friendship would.

-

The sun hung low in the sky, casting warm orange light over the prison yard.

Carol and Dallis stood side by side near the fences, hanging damp clothes onto a long, sagging rope stretched between two metal poles. The air smelled like wet fabric and fresh grass, and the distant sounds of people moving around the prison made the place feel alive.

Carol clipped a pair of pants to the line and glanced at Dallis, who was fumbling with a shirt, trying to pin it up.

"You’re getting better at this," Carol said, a small smile on her lips.

Dallis huffed, "I don’t get why we have to do this. Can’t we just let them dry on the ground?"

Carol chuckled, "And have dirt all over them? No thanks."

Dallis sighed and finally got the shirt to stay. "Feels kinda useless."

"It’s not," Carol said gently. "Having clean clothes makes people feel human. And sometimes, that’s more important than food."

Dallis frowned slightly, her hands idly playing with a clothespin, "I guess."

Carol studied her for a moment, "Something on your mind?"

Dallis shrugged, "No."

Carol raised an eyebrow, "You sure?"

Dallis hesitated. Then, quietly, she asked, "Do you think I’m pretty?"

Carol blinked, a little surprised by the question. "Of course I do. Why?"

Dallis chewed on her lip, "No reason."

Carol wasn’t convinced. She tilted her head. "This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain boy, would it?"

Dallis stiffened, "No," she said quickly.

Carol smirked knowingly but didn’t push. "Well, just so you know, you are pretty. But more importantly, you’re smart, and kind, and strong. And those things last a lot longer than a pretty face."

Dallis was quiet for a moment, then muttered, "Beth is pretty."

Carol smiled softly, "She is. And so are you. But that doesn’t mean you have to compare yourself to her."

Dallis didn't respond right away, her fingers absently twisting a loose thread on her sleeve. Carol sighed and reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Dallis' ear. "I know how it feels to think you’re not enough. But you are. And if someone can’t see that, then they’re not looking hard enough."

Dallis swallowed, her fingers tightening around a clothespin. "Thanks, Carol."

Carol gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before picking up another shirt. "Anytime, sweetheart. Now, come on, let’s finish up before dinner. You wouldn’t want to miss Daryl’s fantastic cooking, would you?"

Dallis snorted, "That’s a joke, right?"

Carol grinned, "Absolutely."

Dallis actually smiled a little as she grabbed another shirt.

-

Carl was out of breath, his heart hammering in his chest as he ran back toward their cellblock, the echoes of shouting and panic filling the prison halls. Blood was smeared on his hands—Herschel's blood. He could still hear the awful sound of Shane's machete cutting through flesh and bone.

The moment replayed over and over in his head, making him feel sick.

When he stumbled into the cellblock, everyone was already crowding around Herschel, who was laid out on a bed, his face pale, his leg just... gone. Carol was pressing a cloth against the stump, her hands covered in blood. Lori hovered nearby, her eyes wide with terror.

Carl felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He turned away, scanning the room until his eyes landed on Dallis.

She was standing near the back of the cellblock, her plushie, Bee, clutched tightly in her arms. Her brows were furrowed, her expression a mix of confusion and fear. She didn't understand what was happening, but she could tell it was bad.

Carl rushed over to her, his voice shaky. "Dallis, I—Herschel, he—" His words tangled together, coming out as a mess. Dallis' grip on Bee tightened.

"Carl?"

"He got bit—his leg—Shane cut it off!" Carl's voice cracked, and suddenly, he felt a lump rise in his throat. He wasn't even sure why he was telling her, only that he had to.

Dallis' lips parted, "Is... is he gonna die?"

Carl didn't know. He shook his head. "I—I don’t know."

Dallis’ fingers twitched against Bee’s fur. She was silent for a long moment before she finally whispered, "I'm scared."

Carl swallowed hard, his whole body was trembling even though he tried to stop himself.

Me too.

That’s what he wanted to say.

But instead, he reached out and grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly.

Dallis squeezed it gently, she didn’t let go of his hand and in-turn Carl didn’t let go of hers.

-

The prison walls stretched high above them, casting long shadows in the morning light. Carl pulled the strap of his rifle higher on his shoulder as he walked beside Daryl toward the outer gate. It had been a couple of days since Herschel lost his leg, and tension was still thick in the air. Everyone had been busy tending to Herschel, keeping the prisoners under control, or making sure the cellblock was secure.

Carl, restless as always, had practically begged to go on a run. Daryl hadn’t said much, just nodded and told him to grab his gear.

Now, they were walking side by side, the woods stretching in front of them. It wasn’t too far; just an old convenience store on the edge of town that they hadn’t cleared out yet. Carl kept his pace steady beside Daryl, trying to match his confident stride.

“You keep your eyes open,” Daryl muttered. “Ain’t just walkers you gotta worry about."

Carl nodded. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was out here.

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds were the crunch of dirt under their boots and the distant rustle of leaves. Carl felt weirdly nervous. He'd been on runs before, but this was the first time it was just him and Daryl. The guy wasn’t exactly chatty, but Carl liked that. Daryl wasn’t like his dad or Shane, he didn’t treat Carl like a little kid.

After a few more minutes, Carl finally spoke. “You ever get scared?”

“The hell kinda question is that?”

Carl shrugged, “I mean… you always seem like you’re not scared of anything.”

Daryl huffed, “Ain’t about bein’ scared or not. It’s about what you do when you’re scared.” He glanced at Carl. “That’s what matters.”

Carl thought about that for a second. “I was scared when we cleared the prison,” he admitted.

Daryl smirked, “Yeah? Didn’t look like it. Saw you takin’ down walkers like it was nothin’.”

Carl felt his chest swell a little at the praise. “Yeah, but I was still scared.”

Daryl nodded, “Good. Means you’re still human.”

Carl kicked a rock in the dirt. He wanted to ask Daryl more, but he didn’t want to sound dumb.

They reached the store, and Daryl held up a hand, signaling Carl to stop. The door was cracked open, a faint groaning sound coming from inside. Daryl pulled out his crossbow and nodded toward Carl’s gun.

“You see one, you take the shot,” Daryl whispered. “Don’t hesitate.”

Carl gripped the rifle and nodded.

They stepped inside.

The place was a wreck; shelves knocked over, broken glass on the floor. Carl spotted a walker near the back, its legs crushed under a shelf. It reached for them weakly, growling.
Carl raised his gun. His hands were steady. He aimed carefully, just like Rick had taught him.

The shot rang out, echoing through the empty store. The walker slumped, lifeless.

Daryl nodded approvingly, “Nice shot, kid.”

Carl grinned a little, lowering his gun. “Thanks.”

They spent the next fifteen minutes scavenging, stuffing their bags with whatever they could find; cans of food, batteries, a half-empty bottle of painkillers.

As they made their way back, Carl didnt feel as bad as he had. He wasn’t just some kid tagging along, Daryl treated him like he belonged out here.

As they neared the prison, Carl looked up at Daryl. “Can we go out again sometime?”

“Yeah, alright. Long as you don’t slow me down.”

Carl grinned, “I won’t.”

Chapter Text

Dallis sat alone near the prison yard, running her fingers over the rough concrete. The afternoon sun was warm against her skin, but the slight autumn breeze sent chills through her thin sleeves. Momo lay curled up beside her, his quiet breathing the only sound she really focused on.

She wasn’t waiting for anyone. She wasn’t really doing anything at all. Just sitting, listening.

Footsteps approached. Not heavy ones, nothing like Daryl’s or Shane’s. Lighter, but still deliberate. Someone older, but not elderly. She tilted her head slightly, her blank eyes staring ahead.

"Mind if I sit here?" a voice asked. Deep, with a slight Southern twang.

She shrugged, "I don't care."

The man sat down with a grunt. Dallis recognized his voice from earlier when Rick and the others had been deciding what to do with the prisoners they found. Axel, is she remembered correctly. He was the one who talked a lot.

"You ain't much of a chatter, huh?" Axel said, shifting to get comfortable.

Dallis shrugged again.

He exhaled through his nose, "Guess I can't blame ya. Prison ain't exactly a place for makin' friends."

She turned her head slightly toward him, "Are you a prisoner?"

Axel chuckled, rubbing his beard. "Yeah. Sure am."

Dallis thought for a moment, "What did you go to jail for?"

Axel hesitated but then answered, "Robbed a convenience store."

She frowned, "Did you hurt someone?"

"Nah," Axel said quickly. "Had a toy gun, see? Thought I was bein’ smart, but when the cops searched my place, they found my brother’s real gun. Didn’t even know it was there. Got slapped with armed robbery anyway."

Dallis was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

"That's stupid."

Axel let out a loud laugh, "You ain't wrong, kid. Damn stupid."

Dallis didn’t seem to mind him. He didn’t feel threatening, not like the other prisoners. He sounded… normal. Just like someone who made a mistake.

But before she could say anything else, heavy boots stomped toward them.

"Get the fuck away from her."

Shane’s voice was hard, sharp.

Dallis turned her head toward the sound, her body tensing. Axel put his hands up, defensive. "Hey now, I was just talkin’—"

"I don't give a shit," Shane snapped. "I said back off."

Axel stood slowly, "Ain't doin' nothin’ wrong, man."

Shane got right up in his face, his voice low and dangerous. "You stay the fuck away from her. You and the rest of your little jailbird buddies stick to your side of the block. Got it?"

Axel held up his hands in surrender, "Alright, alright. No problem."

He took a step back before turning and walking away, muttering something under his breath.

Dallis clenched her fists, "That wasn’t fair."

Shane turned to her, "The hell it wasn’t."

"He didn't do anything," she argued, standing up. "He was just talking to me."

Shane’s jaw tightened, "You don’t know him."

"And you do?"

Shane exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his shaved head, it had started to grow again but the process was slow. "I don’t need to. He’s a damn criminal, Dallis. People like him don’t change."

Dallis gritted her teeth, "You don't get to decide who I talk to."

Shane glared down at her, "Yeah, I do."

She crossed her arms, angry.

"You’re not my dad."

Shane's face hardened, but something flickered in his eyes. He exhaled through his nose and shook his head. "No. But I give a damn about what happens to you. You might not see it, but I do."

Dallis didn't say anything. She just turned and walked away, her fingers gripping Momo’s fur as she stormed off.

Shane watched her go, exhaling through his nose. He knew she was pissed. He knew she'd probably stay mad for a while, but he didn’t care.

Keeping her safe was worth her anger.

-

Dallis sat between Carol and T-Dog near the prison's back hallway, Momo curled up beside her. The air smelled damp, a mix of concrete dust and sweat, but there was something peaceful about this quiet moment. It was rare now; these small breaks where nothing bad was happening.

An alarm blared.

A high-pitched, wailing siren screeched through the prison, shaking the walls and rattling Dallis’s bones. She jerked at the sound, her breath catching in her throat. “What the hell—?!” T-Dog started, pushing himself to his feet.

Dallis clutched her ears, the noise too loud, too overwhelming. Her body tensed, her muscles locking up as she struggled to process what was happening.

Then came the growls.

Low, guttural snarls filled the hallway. Heavy, shuffling footsteps. The smell of rot and blood.

Walkers. They were pouring in.

“Shit! Get behind me!” T-Dog shouted. Dallis didn’t move; she couldn’t. She was frozen, terror sinking its claws into her ribs.
“Dallis, move!” Carol grabbed her wrist, tugging her forward.

But before they could run, something crashed into T-Dog.

A walker lunged, rotten fingers clawing at his arms, teeth sinking into his shoulder. He shouted in pain, stumbling backward as another one tackled him from the side.

“No! No, no, no!” Carol gasped. Dallis felt Carol yank her back, pushing her toward the hallway, but she couldn’t move; she could hear everything.

T-Dog’s grunts turned into screams.

Flesh tore.

Bones crunched.

The sound of teeth ripping into his body sent a wave of nausea crashing over Dallis. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn’t block out the sickening, wet tearing noises. The gurgling. The way his screams turned into choking gasps. Carol grabbed her, pulling her back, but Dallis sobbed, her breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps.

“T-Dog—T-Dog—” She didn’t even know what she was trying to say. She just wanted him to stop screaming. She wanted it all to stop.

But it didn’t. The world never stopped for her.

Not until the only thing left was the sound of chewing. Carol pulled harder, “We have to go!”

Dallis was shaking violently, her legs barely working as Carol dragged her away.

They ran.

Footsteps pounded against the concrete, the sound of their ragged breathing mixing with the groans of the undead. Carol turned sharply, yanking open a supply closet door and shoving Dallis inside.

The door slammed shut, plunging them into darkness.
Dallis couldn’t breathe. Her body convulsed with sobs, her fingers digging into her arms. The sound of T-Dog’s death played over and over in her head, her stomach twisting violently.

Carol pulled her close, holding her tightly, whispering, “Shh, shh, we’re safe, we’re safe.”

But Dallis knew that was a lie.

Nothing was safe anymore.

-

The growling never stopped.

Dallis lay curled against Carol in the supply closet, knees drawn to her chest, stomach aching from hunger. She could hear the walkers just outside the door, their guttural snarls filling the silence. The stench of rot seeped through the cracks, thick and nauseating.

It had been days.

She was going to die here.

They were going to die here.

Her lips were dry, her throat raw from crying. She couldn’t stop; her body shook with every sob, and though Carol whispered for her to stay quiet, she couldn’t.

T-Dog was dead and it was her fault.

She could still hear it; his screams, the wet, sickening crunch of teeth tearing into him, the way his cries had turned into gurgles before going silent.

She wanted it to stop.

She wanted to go home.

But there was no home anymore.

Carol held her close, whispering soft reassurances that sounded weaker each time. "We’ll be okay,” Carol murmured.

“Someone will find us.”

Dallis wanted to believe her, but she couldn’t. It had been too long. They had no food, no water. She was so hungry it hurt, the dull ache twisting deep in her belly.

At some point, the hunger became worse than the fear.
She didn’t want to die, but she wasn’t sure if she was really alive anymore either.

She didn’t know how long they sat there, but at some point, Carol stopped talking.

Dallis felt her stillness and panicked.

“Carol?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. She shook her, gripping her arm.

Carol stirred, but it was slow. Weak. “I’m here,” she breathed. Dallis sniffled. “You stopped talking.”

Carol sighed, voice hoarse. “Just tired.”

Tired.

Dallis hated that word.

Tired meant giving up.

Tired meant she’d be alone again.

Tired meant she’d die here, in the dark, while the dead waited just outside.

She sobbed, pressing her face into Carol’s shoulder.

She didn’t want to be alone.

-

Dallis drifted between sleep and waking, floating in a world where hunger gnawed at her insides and the darkness never ended. She wasn’t sure if she was really alive anymore; her body felt too weak, too empty.

She wondered if this was what death was like.

Carol hadn’t spoken in a long time.

She could still feel her beside her, but she wasn’t moving much. Every so often, Dallis would reach out, searching for the slow rise and fall of Carol’s chest. When she found it, she relaxed, just a little. But it was getting harder to tell if Carol was still breathing.

Her head lolled to the side, and she thought she heard something. A thump. A scuff of boots against the floor. Her mind swam sluggishly, struggling to understand.

She stilled.

Footsteps.

Dallis tried to lift her head. She wanted to call out, but her throat was too dry, her voice barely a whisper.

She could hear wet crunchs. A body hitting the floor. The sharp, unmistakable sound of a knife sliding through flesh. She forced her lips apart, desperation fueling her.

“H—here—” Her voice cracked, weak and broken, but she kept going. “Here!”

A gun fired, close enough to shake the walls.

Then hands were on her.

Strong arms, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She whimpered at the sudden movement, her ribs flaring with pain. She was too tired to fight, too weak to hold on.

“Shit—shit, she’s so cold—”

Shane.

His grip on her tightened, like he thought she might disappear. He pulled her against his chest, cradling her like she was made of glass.

“C’mon, kid, wake up,” he murmured, his voice raw, desperate.
She wanted to tell him she was awake, but she couldn’t make the words come out.

“Dallis?” His voice broke.

She felt him shake her a little, trying to get her to respond.
“Fuck—she’s not—” He sucked in a breath, and suddenly, she was moving. Being carried. His heart pounded against her ear.

“Don’t do this, kid,” he whispered, like he thought she couldn’t hear. His voice was thick, shaking. “Don’t you fuckin’ do this to me.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant.

Was she dying?

Maybe.

It didn’t feel like she was alive anymore.

She wanted to tell him she was still here.

But she couldn’t move.

Chapter Text

Dallis stirred, her body aching with the kind of exhaustion that felt deeper than just tiredness. It was bone-deep, like the weight of the world had settled into her chest and refused to leave.

She was in a bed.

Her bed.

She recognized the feel of the mattress beneath her, the way the sheets smelled faintly of dust and old fabric. She reached out, fingers grasping at the empty space beside her.

She wasn’t alone.

She could hear the quiet, steady sound of breathing. Someone else was there.

“…Carl?” Her voice came out weaker than she wanted, barely more than a whisper.

There was a rustling noise, then the soft thud of feet hitting the floor. Carl was climbing down from the top bunk. She listened as he moved closer, then felt the bed dip beside her.

“You’re awake,” he said, but his voice sounded different, hollow even. Colder than she had ever heard it.

“What happened?” she asked tentively.

Carl let out a shaky breath. He didn’t answer right away. She could feel him fidgeting, his weight shifting like he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he spoke.

“I thought you were dead.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Dallis turned her face toward him, reaching out until she found his hand. She squeezed, but Carl didn’t squeeze back.

“My mom died,” he said, just like that. Flat. Empty. Like the words didn’t mean anything. But she knew they did.

Her chest tightened.

He sounded like he was holding himself together by a thread. “She had the baby,” Carl continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But she didn’t—she didn’t make it.”

Dallis’ fingers tightened around his.

Carl had always talked about how scared he was that his mom would have to give birth on the road. Now, even after finding the prison, it hadn’t made a difference.

She had still died.

“I—” she started, but she didn’t know what to say.

There was nothing she could say.

Carl let out a shaky breath, and then, without another word, he climbed into bed with her. He curled up beside her, burying his face against her shoulder.

And then he started crying.

Not loud, not sobbing, just quiet, broken tears that he tried to hold back but couldn’t. Dallis just held onto him, letting him cry, because she knew there were no words that would make it better.

-

Dallis lay there, staring at nothing, because there was nothing to stare at. She didn’t even know if it was morning or night. It all felt the same.

Empty.

She thought about the people who had died.

T-Dog. Lori. Carol... maybe.

T-Dog had been torn apart right in front of her. She could still hear it; the snarling, the ripping, the way he had screamed. She hadn’t been able to help him. She had just run. It was her fault.

Lori had died having the baby. Carl had told her that much. She didn’t know how, didn’t know if it had been quick or if she had suffered, but she knew Lori wasn’t coming back.

And Carol… Carol had been with her. Carol had held her when she cried, whispered reassurances in her ear even when she was too weak to believe them. But then Carol had stopped talking. Stopped moving. And Dallis had been alone.
She didn’t know if Carol was dead. Maybe Shane had saved her too, or it was too late. Maybe she was gone.

Dallis felt nothing.

She should be crying. She should feel something, anything. But she didn’t. She really didn't.

Just emptiness.

She curled in on herself, squeezing her eyes shut.

She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.

-

Dallis woke up to the feeling of cold sheets beside her. The warmth that had been there last night, Carl curled up beside her, crying into her shoulder, was gone. She reached out, but the bed was empty.

For a second, panic flared in her chest. Had it all been a dream? Had she really been found? Or was she still trapped in that supply closet, starving, listening to Carol’s breathing grow weaker?

No. She was in her bed. The mattress was firm, the pillow soft, the air smelled like the prison; stale, a little damp. She recognized the sounds of people moving outside, talking in hushed voices.

She was safe. Mostly.

“Good, you’re awake,” a familiar voice said. She turned her head toward it, “Herschel?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” Herschel said, his voice gentle but firm.

“You need to eat something.”

She heard the sound of something being set on the bedside table, then the slight creak of him sitting down in a chair beside her. “I’m not hungry,” she muttered.

“That’s not an option,” Herschel said. “You need to eat, and you need to take these."

He pressed something into her hand; small pills. Vitamins, probably.

Dallis hesitated. She could already hear Shane in her head, telling her to listen to Herschel, telling her not to be difficult. So she swallowed them dry, even though they felt weird going down.

Herschel hummed approvingly, “Maggie and Glenn went out to get formula.”

Dallis frowned, “Formula?”

“For the baby,” Herschel said. “She’s a healthy baby girl.”

Dallis stilled. A baby girl.

Lori had died, but the baby had lived.

“What’s her name?” she asked, her voice quiet. Herschel sighed, “They’re still deciding.”

Dallis ran her fingers along the blanket. A baby. She couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine how small she must be. How fragile. She hesitated before asking, “Carol… is she okay?”

Herschel was quiet for a moment and Dallis closed her eyes.

“She’s malnourished,” he finally said. “Like you. But she’s alive.”

Dallis’ breath hitched.

Alive.

Carol was alive.

For a moment, she just sat there, processing it. Carol hadn’t left her. She hadn’t died in that closet.

She wasn’t gone.

“…Thank you,” Dallis whispered.

Herschel patted her hand, “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

-

Carl took her hand as they left the cell. He walked slow, his grip firm but careful, like he thought she might break if he pulled too hard. Dallis hated feeling weak, but right now, she was.

She tried to keep up, but her legs still felt shaky, like they didn’t fully belong to her. She missed a step and stumbled forward, bumping into Carl’s shoulder.

“Careful,” Carl muttered, tightening his grip on her.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, but she let him guide her anyway.

The canteen smelled like food; not much, but something warm. She could hear the quiet murmur of voices, the scrape of metal utensils against plates. The group wasn’t as loud as they used to be. Everyone sounded tired, worn out.

Carl helped her sit down. She let out a breath, relieved to be off her feet. Then Beth was in front of her.

“Here,” Beth said gently.

Dallis barely had time to process before she felt something warm and tiny placed into her arms.

She went still. The baby.

The little thing shifted slightly against her chest, letting out a soft, breathy sigh. Dallis tightened her arms instinctively, holding the baby closer. Her skin was soft, so much softer than Dallis expected. Her tiny body was warm, fragile.
Dallis felt something in her chest squeeze, something unfamiliar.

She smiled softly, tilting her head down. She kissed the baby’s head, breathing in her scent. She smelled clean, new. Safe.

“What’re you gonna name her?” she asked quietly. Carl shifted beside her.

“I dunno yet,” he admitted. Dallis hummed, running her fingers gently over the baby’s blanket.

She had never been around a baby before. She didn’t know what to say, what to do.

She held the baby just a little closer.

When Carl left to go talk to Beth she heard someone sit down beside her with a heavy sigh.

The chair creaked under their weight, but Dallis didn’t react. She just sat still, holding the baby close, running her fingers over the soft fabric of the blanket wrapped around her.

“I was worried when I found you,” Shane said after a long pause. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

Dallis didn’t say anything. She just traced slow circles against the baby’s back, listening to her tiny breaths.

Shane exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit, kid. You scared the hell outta me.”

She swallowed but kept quiet. She felt the baby shift slightly, a tiny hand brushing against her arm. Shane hesitated before speaking again. “How you holdin’ up?”

Dallis thought about it. Thought about T-Dog, about Lori, about how she and Carol had stayed hidden in that closet, weak and starving, waiting to die, she wondered how long she was in there for.

Thought about how she felt empty now, like she was still floating somewhere between life and death.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. Her voice was small, hoarse.

Shane was quiet for a long moment. Then she felt a shift beside her, the air moving slightly as he reached out. His hand covered hers, warm and solid.

“You’re here,” he murmured. “That’s somethin’.”

Dallis nodded slightly, though she wasn’t sure if it was enough. Shane pulled his hand back, and a second later, she felt the baby stir in her arms.

“She’s real small,” Shane muttered. His voice was softer now, almost cautious. Dallis ran a hand over the baby’s tiny fingers.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

She heard movement beside her, then a faint chuckle.

“Lori would be real proud."

Dallis didn’t answer, but when the baby reached out, she gently guided Shane’s hand toward her. After a brief hesitation, he let the baby’s tiny fingers curl around his.

Shane let out a quiet breath, “Damn.”

For a while, they just sat there in silence, feeling the baby’s small movements, listening to her soft breaths.

Dallis still felt empty. Still felt lost.

But atleast she didn’t feel completely alone.

-

Dallis made her way through the dimly lit prison hallway, her steps careful and slow. She still felt weak, unsteady, but she had to check on Carol.

She counted the cells as she passed, running her fingers along the cold bars to guide her way. When she reached Carol’s cell, she hesitated before speaking.

“Carol?”

There was a rustling sound inside, then a quiet voice. “Dallis?”
Dallis followed the sound and stepped inside. The air smelled musty, and she could hear the faint creak of the bed as Carol shifted.

“I wanted to see you,” Dallis murmured.

Carol let out a weak chuckle, “I should be the one checking on you.”

Dallis shook her head, “You almost died.”

Carol sighed, “So did you.”

Silence settled between them. Dallis carefully reached forward until her hand found the rough fabric of Carol’s blanket. Carol took her hand and squeezed gently.

“I thought you were gone,” Dallis admitted. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Carol’s grip tightened, “I thought the same about you.”

Dallis swallowed hard, her throat aching. “I heard T-Dog…” She trailed off, not sure if she could finish the sentence. Carol’s voice was softer now.

“I know.”

They sat there quietly for a long moment.

Finally, Carol broke the silence. “We’re still here, Dallis.”

Dallis nodded slowly, “Yeah.”

Dallis paused as the noise from downstairs reached her ears; hurried footsteps, urgent voices. Something was wrong.

Carol fully sat up from her position on the beb, the mattress silently creaking beneath her. Gently she took Dallis's hand, "Come on, let’s see what’s going on."

Dallis let Carol guide her down the hall, her body still weak but her mind racing. When they reached the main floor, Carol hesitated. “Stay here.”

She hated that phrase, she heard it too often.

Dallis felt Carol let go of her hand, and before she could protest, she heard Carol’s footsteps move away. A familiar voice spoke beside her.

"Dallis," Carl said.

She turned her head toward him, recognizing the tension in his voice. "What’s happening?" she asked.

“They found a woman outside the gate. She’s got a sword.”

Dallis frowned, “A sword?”

“Yeah,” Carl muttered. “And—” He hesitated.

“What?”

“She had formula with her.”

Dallis scrunched her nose, “Formula?”

Carl hummed, his voice quieter now. “Yeah. The same kind Glenn and Maggie were supposed to get.”

Dallis felt her stomach tighten.

"Where are Glenn and Maggie?"

Carl didn’t answer right away. The silence told her everything.

Dallis could hear Shane’s voice from afar; sharp, commanding, but edged with something else. There was tension in the air, something she could almost taste, even though she couldn't see the scene unfolding before her. She listened closely, trying to make sense of the conversation.

“Where are they?” Shane's voice cracked through the air, low but intense. “You better start talking if you know what’s good for you.”

The woman’s voice, calm yet firm, followed. “I know where he took your people,” she said. Her words sent a chill through Dallis, though she couldn’t explain why. Something about her tone didn’t sit right.

She could hear the woman’s steady breathing, her calmness in the face of Shane’s rage. It unsettled Dallis, sending a wave of unease through her.

Dallis could hear Shane’s boots scuff against the floor as he moved closer, “Then talk. Where are they?”

Glenn and Maggie were still out there, somewhere. The woman had information. That was good, right?

She felt Carl’s presence beside her, but he didn’t speak. They both waited in silence, listening as the woman continued, "He most likely took them to a gated community, the same place he took me."

Dallis’s breath hitched, "She knows where they are." The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

Carl stood quietly beside her, “We’ll get them back,” he said, his tone serious, but Dallis could hear the worry in his voice, too.

He wasn’t as confident as he was trying to sound.

Chapter Text

Dallis sat on the cold prison floor, fingers tracing the rough texture absentmindedly. The air was heavy with tension as everyone prepared to leave. She could hear the sounds of weapons being checked, footsteps moving quickly, and low voices murmuring plans.

She turned her head slightly when she heard Daryl’s boots scrape against the ground near her, “Daryl?” she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

“Yeah, kid?” he answered, his voice gruff but not unkind.

She hesitated, hands tightening into fists in her lap. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

Daryl grunted, breathing in, the kind of deep breath he took when he didn’t want to lie but also didn’t want to tell the truth.

“Dunno,” he admitted after a beat. “We’ll move fast. Get in, get ‘em, get out. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Dallis nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely reassured.

“You worried ‘bout us?” he asked.

She bit the inside of her cheek, “Yeah.”

Daryl shifted, then reached out, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to us. I’ll make sure of it.”

She believed him, at least, she wanted to. But the world had a way of breaking promises, no matter how good the intentions were.

“…And you?” Daryl asked, his voice a little softer. “You gonna be alright while we’re gone?”

Dallis nodded again, “I’ll be fine.”

Daryl didn’t push her on it, just gave her shoulder another squeeze before stepping away, the weight of what was coming settling over all of them.

After a whike another set of familiar footsteps reached her.

Shane crouched down in front of her, one hand on her shoulder, the other holding his hat. Dallis could hear the strain in his breathing, the tension in the way his fingers pressed lightly against her jacket.

“Listen to me, alright?” he said, his voice steady but firm. “You stay put. Don’t do nothin’ reckless. You hear me?”

Dallis nodded, though her throat felt tight.

She hated this.

The waiting. The uncertainty.

Shane sighed, then placed something on her lap. She ran her fingers over the fabric, recognizing the shape instantly; his cap.

“Hold onto that for me,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Ain’t losin’ it.”

She swallowed hard, “You better come back for it.”

Shane huffed a small chuckle, then pulled her into a tight hug. It was warm, grounding, the kind of hug that meant something in a world where so much had been lost.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered. “Promise.”

And then he pulled away, the warmth disappearing as he stood up.

Dallis clutched the cap in her lap, listening as his footsteps faded, the sound of the gates opening and closing behind the group. She sat there long after they were gone, gripping the cap tightly, trying to ignore the hollow feeling growing in her chest.

Carl found her sitting on the floor near their cell, Shane’s cap still in her lap. He nudged her foot lightly with his own.

“C’mon,” he said. Dallis tilted her head, “Where?”

“There’s a broken bridge thingy on the fence,” Carl explained. “Walkers are starting to stumble inside. Figured we should check it out.”

Dallis hesitated, her fingers tightening around the cap. She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. Shane told her to stay put. But, she also didn’t want to sit here doing nothing either.

She pushed herself up, Carl grabbing her elbow when she swayed slightly. She was still weak from being sick, but she steadied herself quickly.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s go.”

They moved through the prison, the sounds of the others fading behind them as they reached the yard. Carl guided her carefully over uneven ground, stopping when they reached the fence.

Dallis could hear it before Carl even spoke. The groaning. The wet, shuffling sounds.

“They keep getting stuck,” Carl said. “The bridge thingy collapsed, but the walkers are still trying to push through.”

Dallis frowned, her grip tightening on the cap in her hands. She didn’t need to see it to know what it was.

“Should we do something?” she asked. Carl was silent for a moment. Then he pulled out his gun, the click of the safety loud in the quiet.

“Yeah,” he said.

-

Carl was the first to notice them.

“Wait,” he muttered, grabbing Dallis’s arm.

Dallis stopped, tilting her head. “What?”

“There’s people,” Carl whispered.

Dallis’s stomach clenched. People? Out here? She could hear the low murmur of voices beyond the broken fence, the soft crunch of feet on dirt.

“How many?” she asked.

“Five, I think,” Carl said. His voice had gone tight, cautious.

Dallis’s fingers found the edge of Shane’s cap. She wasn’t sure what to do. Shane told her to stay put, but now she was out here, and there were strangers standing just outside their home.

She could hear the faint sound of heavy boots on the dirt, hushed voices murmuring among themselves. She could hear the fence rattling as they moved.

Carl stepped forward cautiously, “Hey,” he called out.

The voices stopped, Dallis reached for Merle's knife straped securily to her waistband, she never took it off.

A man’s voice; deep, steady. “We don’t want trouble, kid.”

Carl gripped his gun tighter, “Who are you?”

There was a pause before the man answered.

“Name’s Tyreese. This is Sasha, Allen, Ben, and Donna.”

Dallis shifted uneasily. She wasn’t used to new people.

Carl was silent for a moment before he spoke again. “How’d you get in?”

“The bridge back there collapsed,” the man, Tyreese, explained. “Walkers were pushing through, so we followed. Figured maybe there were people inside.”

Dallis could feel Carl’s tension next to her. “What do we do?” she whispered.

“We need to tell the others.”

-

Dallis tensed for half a second. She hadn't heard the boy approach

"Sorry," the voice said quickly, "Didn't mean to scare you."

Dallis shook her head, relaxing. "You didn't."

She reached out, fingers trailing through Momo's thick fur. He huffed a little, shifting closer, his tail thumping against the floor.

"He's a cool dog," the boy, someone from the other group, Ben maybe, said again. His voice was lighter now, curious. "What's his name?"

"Momo," Dallis answered.

"Like, from Avatar?"

She frowned, "From what?"

Ben let out a small laugh. "Never mind." There was a pause before he added, "Can I pet him?"

Dallis considered it for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Yeah. Just let him smell your hand first."

She heard the soft shuffle of Ben kneeling, the hesitant way he moved. Momo sniffed him before letting out a quiet, approving huff. "Cool," Ben murmured.

Dallis listened as he ran his fingers through Momo’s fur, scratching gently behind his ears.

"He's really soft," Ben said. "Yeah," Dallis agreed.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Dallis still didn't know what to make of these new people, but Ben didn't seem so bad.

Ben hesitated for a moment before asking, “Are you… blind?”

Dallis stiffened slightly. People usually didn’t ask so bluntly.

"Yeah," she said after a pause.

Ben didn’t say anything right away, which she was used to. Some people got awkward about it, not knowing what to say. Others started apologizing, like they had anything to do with it.

But Ben just hummed, “That’s kinda cool.”

Dallis blinked, “What?”

“I mean, not in a bad way,” he said quickly. “Just… I dunno, it’s different. I’ve never met anyone who was blind before.”

Dallis frowned, “It’s not cool.”

Ben was quiet for a second. “No, I guess not.”

He scratched Momo’s head. “Still, you seem like you do fine.”

Dallis didn’t really know how to respond to that. She shrugged. “I get by.”

Ben let out a small laugh, “Yeah, I can tell.”

She hard the familiar stomping of Carl's boots, he stopped infront of them, clearing his throat. “You should go back to your own group.”

Ben sounded amused, “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Dallis tensed, already irritated. “Carl—”

“I don’t know him,” Carl interrupted, his voice firm. “And I don’t trust him.”

Ben snorted, “Dude, we just got here.”

“I don’t care,” Carl shot back. “Go back to your own people.”

Dallis sighed, shifting where she sat on the floor, feeling Momo’s warm fur under her hands. She was getting real tired of people deciding who she could and couldn’t talk to. First Shane, and now Carl.

Ben didn’t move, “You’re being a dick.”

Carl’s breath came out sharp, “I’m keeping my people safe.”

“Carl, knock it off,” she snapped. Carl turned toward her, his voice defensive. “What?”

“You’re being rude,” she said, gripping Momo’s collar. “He’s just talking to me. It’s not like he’s got a gun to my head.”

Ben let out a quiet laugh, “Yeah, Carl. Just talking.”

Carl’s frustration was obvious in the silence that followed. Dallis shook her head. “I’m sick of people telling me who I can talk to. First Shane, now you? I can make my own choices.”

Carl hesitated before muttering, “Fine.”

His footsteps stomped away, leaving Dallis sitting with Momo and Ben. Ben let out a low whistle, “Damn.”

Dallis sighed, running a hand over her face. “He’s just—”

“Overprotective?” Ben finished. “Yeah, I figured.”

Dallis heard the familiar rumbling of cars outside, the low vibrations rattling through the ground beneath her. She tightened her grip on Momo’s fur, feeling the dog shift beneath her touch. Her stomach twisted; not from fear, but from anticipation.

They were back.

Without thinking, she rose to her feet and made her way toward the entrance, leaving Ben behind. She could hear the others moving too, murmurs of excitement and relief mixed with the hurried shuffle of boots on concrete.

Then, she heard his footsteps; heavy, familiar, steady.

"Shane?" she called out, her voice barely above a whisper.

The sound of his boots stopped, and then, just as quickly, she felt strong arms pull her in, holding her tight against his chest. She buried her face into his jacket, feeling the rough fabric press against her skin. He smelled like sweat, dirt, and something else, something metallic, like blood. But she didn’t care.

Shane exhaled, his grip tightening for just a second before he eased back. “Told you to stay put,” he murmured, his voice gruff but warm.

Dallis clung to him anyway, “You came back,” she said softly.

“Course I did,” Shane said, rubbing a hand over her back.

“Ain’t ever gonna leave you behind.”

Dallis smiled softly, her fingers brushing the familiar cap as she picked it up from it's loop strapped to her waistband.

Slowly, she placed it back on Shane's head, adjusting it carefully. It had been his cap, the one he’d given her before he left, and now it was in her hands again, where it felt right. Even though she couldn't see it, she knew the shape of it well enough to place it gently back where it belonged.

"Here," she said, her voice quiet but confident.

Shane paused for a moment, his hand resting on the cap as she finished fixing it. He let out a soft, almost amused sigh.

"Thanks," he muttered, his tone lighter than it had been when he left.

Dallis hesitated before asking, her voice tinged with uncertainty, "Did you get Glenn and Maggie back?"

"Yeah," Shane replied, his voice steady but with a flicker of relief underneath. "They’re safe."

Dallis’ shoulders relaxed at the answer, a weight lifting from her chest. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been holding onto the worry until now, when it was gone. It didn’t fix everything, but it was something.

“Good,” she whispered, feeling the comfort of Shane's presence, the way his hand still lingered on her back. “I’m glad.”

Dallis stood, her fingers gripping tightly to Momo's fur. “Where’s Daryl?” she asked, her voice more worried than she intended.

Shane hesitated. She could hear it in his breath, the weight of something he wasn’t ready to say, but he finally exhaled. “He left with Merle.”

Dallis blinked, as if trying to comprehend what he’d said. “Merle?” Her voice wavered slightly, a flicker of excitement creeping in, “He’s alive?”

Shane shifted, his boots scraping against the ground, and Dallis could feel the change in his posture. He was uncomfortable, his words slow and deliberate. “Yeah, he’s alive. But Daryl... he had to leave with him. We couldn’t let Merle come back with us.”

Dallis’ breath caught, the moment of joy she’d felt vanishing as quickly as it came, “What?” she asked, trying to make sense of what Shane had said, her voice rising now, the hurt creeping into her tone.

“Why not? Why couldn’t Merle come back with us? He’s alive! He’s family, right?”

Shane remained silent for a moment, not sure how to explain. He finally spoke, his words heavy, like they carried too much weight. “Merle... You know him Dallis. A lot of things happened with him, and not all of them are things we can just forget. He made a lot of enemies, and we don’t know if we can trust him.”

Dallis’ hands clenched into fists. Her emotions swelled, confusion, frustration, hurt, and she couldn’t understand why Shane and the others didn’t see it the way she did.

“I don’t care about that!” Dallis snapped, waving her hands around, her movements sharp and agitated. “He’s family! You don’t just leave someone behind because they’ve made mistakes! You don’t just leave them out there alone!"

Her words felt louder than she expected, and for a moment, she was sure everyone in the prison would hear her.

She took a step forward, her hand swinging out without thinking, and she hit Shane’s chest with as much force as she could muster. The slap was barely a whisper compared to the anger that burned in her.

“I hate you,” she spat, her voice breaking, the emotions threatening to choke her. “How could you not let him come back? He’s not just a guy you throw away because he made mistakes! You don’t just abandon people like that!”

Shane’s breath hitched, and Dallis could feel the tension in his body, the way he stood motionless in the wake of her anger. His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh as he let the silence stretch between them.

“I’m sorry, Dallis,” he said quietly, his tone softer now, regret lacing his words.

“I know it’s not easy, but sometimes... sometimes the world doesn’t let us choose who we want around.”

Dallis shook her head, her hands trembling, not sure if she was shaking from the emotions or the anger that still surged within her. She could hear the faint rustle of others in the prison, the distant sounds of the world continuing, but she couldn’t shake the ache in her chest.

Merle was the first person she had met when everything fell apart. He had been there when her dad died, and despite the harshness of his personality, he had never let her suffer alone. And Daryl... Daryl had been the one to protect her when no one else could. They were the only ones who had kept her going. And now, they were both gone.

“Why didn’t you let him come back?” she asked again, her voice quieter now, but the hurt and the anger still seeping through her words. “Why couldn’t you just... try to make it work?"

Shane opened his mouth, but the words faltered. He didn’t have an answer.

What could he say?

How could he explain something so tangled up in history, trust, and survival to a child?

Dallis stepped back, her head lowered, tears threatening at the edges of her blind gaze. “I hate this... I hate this so much,” she whispered, as if trying to speak to herself more than Shane.

She felt her hands ball into fists again, the helplessness overwhelming her. “You can’t just let people go... You can’t just... choose who gets to live with you and who doesn’t. You can’t leave people like that.”

Shane took a step closer, his voice quiet now, filled with something close to regret. “I know, Dallis. I know it’s hard. I wish things were different, but we’re not the ones who get to decide. Sometimes... sometimes we have to make choices that hurt.”

Dallis didn’t respond right away.

She was too angry, too sad, too lost in the whirlwind of her thoughts. She could feel the pressure in her chest, the lump in her throat. But she wasn’t sure she could talk anymore.

Instead, she turned and walked away from him, her feet moving in a hurried pattern as she headed for a corner of the camp. She couldn’t be near him anymore, not when the pain was so fresh.

As she walked, Momo at her side, she felt the weight of her emotions crash over her.

She hated that it had to be like this.

She hated that everything felt out of her control.

She hated that she couldn’t fix the world, couldn’t bring Daryl and Merle back.

Dallis sank down to her knees by a tree, pressing her forehead against it as the tears finally spilled from her eyes, her fingers curling tightly around the plushie that was looped to her waistband.

She didn’t know what to do anymore.

Chapter Text

Daryl’s boots crunched through the dry leaves and underbrush, the woods surrounding him thick with the smell of pine and the distant calls of birds.

Merle walked beside him, the two of them moving in sync but in complete silence, save for the occasional grumble from Merle. Daryl kept his eyes on the path ahead, not wanting to look at his brother, not wanting to acknowledge how the tension between them was thickening with every step they took away from the group.

“Hell, baby brother,” Merle finally spoke, breaking the silence with his usual biting tone. “I still don’t get it. You really wanna go back to that ragtag group of city clickers?” He let out a laugh, but it was harsh, dry. “They’re gonna be gone soon enough anyway. The Governor’ll make sure of that.”

Daryl didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight as he kept walking, the sound of his brother’s voice grating against him. He had been quiet for the most part, but now the words simmered in his chest, and it was only a matter of time before they came spilling out.

“Their problem ain’t our problem,” Merle said.

Daryl glared at the ground, “I ain’t like you.” he said, his voice low but sharp. He barely glanced at his brother, but the words were heavy, carrying a weight he didn’t often show.

Merle scoffed, adjusting the grip on his rifle as he kept pace with Daryl. “You’re a damn fool, that’s what you are. You think they give a damn about you, Daryl? Ain’t no one waitin’ on your ass. Hell, half of 'em probably don’t even care.”

Daryl’s temper flared, his pace picking up as the frustration surged through him. “I don’t give a damn what they think,” he shot back, the edge in his voice sharper now. “There’s one person that matters, and she’s back there.”

Merle raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued by Daryl’s shift in tone. He shot a sideways glance at his brother, still processing the words. “Who? Ain’t no woman worth all this trouble. Damn, Daryl, you let that city slicker mentality get to you. Ain’t nobody out here gonna be holdin’ your damn hand.”

Daryl clenched his fists, the emotion rising in him again. He could feel it tightening in his chest, like a coil winding up, ready to snap. “The kid,” Daryl muttered, almost to himself, but loud enough for Merle to hear.

Merle’s footsteps slowed, his head turning toward his brother with an almost mocking expression. “The kid?” he repeated, his voice tinged with surprise and confusion. “The kid, huh? What, you mean Mr. Magoo? The blind girl?”

Daryl’s hand instinctively went to the crossbow slung over his shoulder. He could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, his voice quieter this time, but there was no mistaking the intensity in it. “Her.”

Merle paused, his head tilting slightly as he took in his brother’s reaction. Daryl wasn’t usually this... open about anything. But there was something in his voice now, something like protective instinct.

Merle’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment before he spoke again, his tone more thoughtful than Daryl expected. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Merle muttered under his breath, “The blind girl? She survived this long?” He whistled low.

“Impressive. I gotta admit, kid’s got some guts. Woulda figured she’d be long gone by now.”

Daryl didn’t respond right away, instead focusing on the path ahead, his hand tightening on the strap of his crossbow. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Merle’s words were a mix of surprise and grudging respect, and Daryl didn’t know how to feel about it.

He didn’t understand why he cared. She was blind, for God’s sake. He’d seen the way people pitied her, how she had to depend on others, how she’d had to learn to survive in a world that had no mercy. And yet she was still here, still fighting.

Still surviving.

“She’s been through hell,” Daryl muttered, his voice low. “But she’s tougher than she looks. Tougher than you’d think.” He glanced over at Merle, then quickly looked away.

Merle raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Daryl’s tone, but he said nothing for a while. The silence stretched between them as the forest hummed with the sounds of nature, the occasional rustle of a branch or the distant cry of an animal.

Finally, Merle spoke again, his voice more serious now.
“You really care for her, don’t you?” he asked, his words heavier than Daryl had expected.

Daryl gritted his teeth, irritation flaring, but this time it wasn’t aimed at his brother. It was aimed at the vulnerability Merle’s words had unlocked. It was aimed at the fact he left.

But she had Shane, she wasn't alone. He would have never left her if she was alone, atleast he thinks he wouldn't.

-

Shane sat on the edge of the watchtower, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the prison. His hands trembled slightly, and he rubbed them together to quell the anxiety building in his chest.

Everything felt like it was falling apart.

His eyes darted to the new group they’d taken in, the samurai woman; people he didn’t trust.

They hadn’t been vetted, and it pissed him off that Rick hadn’t done more to keep control. But Rick was… different now. The man he used to know had crumbled ever since Lori’s death. It was like he wasn’t even the same person anymore.

Shane ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands in frustration. Rick was going off the rails, spiraling into madness. He could see it in his eyes. The guilt, the grief, the hollowed-out look that came from losing someone you loved.

And Shane was stuck with the burden of trying to hold everything together.

Rick wasn’t listening to him anymore. He was lost in his own head, consumed by the death of his wife, as if that wasn’t something they all had to deal with. Hell, everyone had lost someone. But Rick couldn’t see past it. He couldn’t see the danger approaching.

The Governor was out there, still alive, still planning his next move. Shane had no doubt about that.

Shane’s mind raced, trying to keep up with all the variables. The Governor was coming. The attack was inevitable, and the group was spread thin. They didn’t have enough weapons. They didn’t have enough people. And most of all, they didn’t have enough time.

He had to take control. There was no other choice. The others were looking to him now, even if they didn’t realize it. It was his responsibility to lead them, to make sure they survived this.

He couldn’t count on Rick anymore.

Not with the way he was now.

But no matter how hard Shane tried to push forward, his thoughts kept circling back to one thing: Dallis. She wasn’t talking to anyone. Not to him, not to Carl, not to anyone. She kept to herself, her eyes hollow, her shoulders hunched like she was carrying some unbearable weight.

And it hurt him.

More than he could say.

He hated seeing her like that. It was like everything that had made her strong, everything that had kept her going, was slowly slipping away.

Shane let out a frustrated breath.

Why did Merle have to come back? Why did Daryl leave?

She had been so full of life before. She used to talk to him, used to laugh with him (at times). She’d be out there, helping out when things got bad, even though she couldn’t see. But now, all she did was sit in the corner, wrapped in silence. It was like she was dead.

He couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t bring her back. All he could do was watch her retreat further into herself, knowing that it was partially his fault. His decisions, his need to control. He didn’t know how to make things right, not with her. Not with anyone.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned. It was Carl, looking like a mini-version of Rick; except the hardened, bitter edge in Carl’s eyes was something Shane had never seen before in the boy.

It unnerved him.

Carl had grown up too fast, and it was all because of this goddamn world. Shane knew it, but it still made his stomach turn.

“Dallis is still not talking to you,” Carl said flatly, his tone devoid of the childlike innocence Shane had once seen in him. It had been replaced by a quiet anger, the same anger that had started to bleed into Carl after everything that had happened. He was colder now, had been since Lori's death.

Shane nodded, not trusting his voice to answer. He just stared out at the prison gates, willing himself not to crack under the pressure.

Carl took a step closer, “She doesn’t trust you anymore. She doesn’t trust anyone.”

“I know,” Shane muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “I know she doesn’t trust me.”

Carl stayed silent for a long moment. Then, he spoke again, quieter this time. “She doesn’t even talk to me anymore either.”

Shane closed his eyes. He wanted to respond, to comfort Carl, but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t fix this. Not with Dallis, not with Carl, and certainly not with Rick. The whole damn group was falling apart, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“You need to talk to her, Shane,” Carl said, his voice almost pleading, though it was still guarded. “She’s not going to get better if we leave her alone like this, remember Sophia?”

Shane turned to look at Carl, his eyes tired and weighed down. “I don’t know what to say to her, Carl. I don’t know how to make this right.”

Carl nodded slowly, as if he understood. “Sometimes, just being there is enough. She doesn’t need words. She just needs to know we’re still here. That we’re still… together.”

Shane couldn’t argue with that. He could try. He had to try. For Carl. For Dallis. For everyone.
"I’ll try again later,” Shane said, his voice hard but lacking the usual edge. He wasn’t going to let this fester anymore. He couldn’t afford to let it. They didn’t have time. Not with the Governor closing in.

Not with everything else going to hell.

Carl didn’t say anything else. He just nodded and turned, walking back toward the others.

Shane stayed where he was for a few more minutes, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to think of something, anything, that could bring Dallis back to them. But the truth was, he didn’t know what to do. All he had was hope, and hope only went so far in this world.

Finally, he stood up, his legs stiff from sitting too long. It was time to stop thinking and start doing. There wasn’t much time left before things got worse. He felt the weight of everything pressing down on him. The responsibility, the fear, the anger, it all settled heavy in his chest.

He couldn’t fix everything, but maybe he could fix Dallis. He had to.

With a final glance toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set, Shane made his way back toward the others.

He had no idea how he was going to do it, but he couldn’t sit back and wait for everything to fall apart.

Not again.

-

Dallis sat cross-legged on her cot, the cold prison walls pressing in around her. Everything felt distant, like she was trapped in a fog that dulled the sounds outside her cell.

The murmurs of the others, the scrape of boots against the concrete floor, even the faint cries of the baby; none of it felt real. It was all so far away.

She turned the knife over in her hands, the familiar weight of it grounding her in the present. Merle’s knife. The same one he had given her back at the quarry, back when he used to be there, before he vanished and left her behind.

But he had been back. He had been alive.

And he hadn’t even come to see her.

Dallis gripped the knife tighter, her fingers running along the edge. The sting was quick, sharp. She pulled her hand away, feeling a thin line of warmth trickle down her fingertip.

She barely reacted, only pressing her thumb to the cut as she faintly remembered another time, a different kind of warmth; Dale’s hands wrapping her fingers in bandages, his voice patient and kind.

Dale was gone now. Just like T-Dog. Just like Lori. Just like Sophia.

Everyone she cared about always left, one way or another.

Her grip tightened around the handle, her breathing shallow. The silence in her cell felt suffocating, pressing against her ribs, weighing down her chest.

She shifted, running her fingers along the fabric of her pants before carefully tugging them up to expose her thigh.

Her breath hitched as she pressed the blade against her skin, not deep, just enough to feel the cool metal against her warmth.

The pressure was grounding, in a way.

It was something she could control, something that made sense when everything else around her had crumbled.

She didn’t think about it, not really. She just pressed a little harder, dragging it slowly.

She exhaled shakily, eyes burning though no tears came. She had cried too much already, screamed too much in her mind.

The world had taken so much from her.

Maybe this was just a way of taking something back.

-

Shane had been looking for her.

He knew Dallis had been shutting everyone out, barely speaking since Daryl left. She wasn’t eating much, wasn’t sitting with Carl like she used to. She just existed in her own space, too far away for anyone to reach. And that scared the hell out of him.

So when he passed by her cell and saw her sitting on her cot, too still, something in his gut twisted.

Then he saw the knife.

And the blood.

“Jesus Christ, Dallis!”

He was inside the cell before he even realized he’d moved, snatching the knife out of her hands and hurling it across the room. It hit the floor with a sharp clatter, but she barely reacted. She just sat there, silent, her expression unreadable.

Shane knelt in front of her, his hands hovering over her legs, over the thin, red lines that hadn’t yet bled fully. His breath was heavy, his pulse hammering in his ears.

“What the hell are you doin’?” His voice was rough, frantic.

“Huh? What the fuck is this?”

Dallis didn’t answer. She just stared past him with those pale, distant eyes, like she wasn’t even really here.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was shaking. He could hear it shaking. “What the fuck is this?” he repeated.

Dallis just sat there, silent, her pale, unfocused eyes staring past him. Shane gritted his teeth, running a hand over his face before gripping her arms gently but firmly. “Dallis—”

She flinched, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants.

“I—” Her voice cracked, and it was barely more than a whisper.

Shane exhaled sharply, trying to keep himself steady. His hands were shaking. God, when was the last time his hands shook?

“You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice rough. “You don’t get to do this, you hear me?”

Her bottom lip trembled. She looked so small, curled in on herself, her face pale and hollow.

“I—Merle didn’t even—” She sucked in a sharp breath, like she was fighting to hold herself together. “He didn’t even come see me. He just left.”

Shane’s throat burned. His vision blurred.

“Merle’s a goddamn idiot,” he said, voice hoarse. “But you don’t get to give up. You—” He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

“You don’t.”

Her breath hitched, and she turned her face into her knees. “It’s not just them,” she whispered. “Everyone keeps leaving. Everyone always leaves.”

Shane felt something in his chest shatter. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently. “Not me,” he choked out, his voice thick with something heavy, something painful.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at him either.

He broke.

Tears burned down his face, falling hot and fast, and he couldn’t stop them. His chest was tight, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. He hadn’t cried since; hell, he didn’t even remember.

But this, seeing her like this, was too much.

He reached out and pulled her against him, holding her as tightly as he dared. She was stiff for a moment, then she crumbled, her small fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. Shane held her like he was afraid she’d disappear.

“You got people here,” he murmured, voice breaking. “People who love you.”

Her breath hitched against his chest.

Shane pressed his forehead against the top of her head, his whole body shaking. “I got you, kid,” he whispered. “I got you.”

She didn’t say anything.

But she didn’t let go.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of gauze and Hershel’s gentle voice as he worked. Dallis sat stiffly on the cot, her hands curled into the blankets beside her, heart pounding as Hershel cleaned and bandaged the cuts on her thighs. The sting of antiseptic made her flinch, but she didn’t say anything.

She just sat there, staring at nothing; because there was nothing to see. There hadn’t been in a long time.

She could feel Shane’s presence more than she heard him, that tense, heavy energy he always carried pressing in from the doorway like a stormcloud about to break.

“Deep,” Hershel said quietly, more to himself than to her. “Not enough to kill, but… it’s a cry for help if I’ve ever seen one.”

Dallis’s throat tightened. She hated that. Hated being called a cry for help.

“I’m fine,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“You’re not,” Shane replied, his voice flat, gravelly with restrained emotion.

She turned her head toward the sound, the familiar weight of his voice grounding and infuriating all at once. “I said I’m fine.”

There was a pause. Then footsteps; Shane crossing the room, the floor creaking under his boots. He stopped in front of her, and even without seeing him, she knew he was kneeling. She felt the warmth of him there. Close. Too close.

“I walked in,” Shane said, his voice suddenly cracking, “and I saw you there. Blood on your hands. On your thighs. And all I could think was—God, Dallis, I thought I was too late.”

His words hit harder than she expected. He never sounded like this. Shane was always rough, gruff, half-shouting orders, throwing punches, fixing things with brute force. But now… now he just sounded sad and it was her fault, it was always her fault.

“I’ve lost too many people,” he continued, softer now. “I can’t lose you too.”

Dallis swallowed hard. Her chest ached, like something hollowed out inside her and left the shell behind.

“I didn’t mean to die,” she whispered. “I just… I just wanted to stop feeling like this.”

Shane didn’t respond right away. She felt the shift of his weight as he sat back on his heels. “I get it,” he said quietly.

“More than you know.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t want to be watched all the time.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But right now, I need to know you’re safe. Hershel agrees. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Dallis knew where this was going before he even said it. The tension in his voice, the worry in Hershel’s earlier words, it was all leading somewhere she didn’t want to go.

“We’re gonna move you,” Shane said carefully. “Into my cell. Just until things calm down.”

“No,” she said immediately, her voice firm. “I don’t want that.”

“You need someone nearby.”

“I said no.” Her voice shook now, trembling with more than just anger. “I don’t want to be in your space. I don’t want to be… watched like some child.”

Shane stood slowly, and she could hear the scrape of his boots against the floor. “This ain’t about treating you like a kid, Dallis. This is about keeping you alive.”

“I don’t need you to save me,” she snapped.

“I’m not trying to save you,” Shane said, his voice rising for the first time. Then he stopped himself, let out a heavy breath. “I’m trying to keep you. You’re one of us. You matter.”

She didn’t answer.

The silence stretched long, heavy between them. Eventually, she heard the soft shuffle of Hershel standing, gathering up his supplies.

“We won’t force you,” Hershel said gently. “But the offer stands. We want you safe.”

Dallis turned her head slightly toward the door, toward the sound of their retreating footsteps.

“I didn’t want to die,” she said again, more to herself than anyone else.

Shane lingered a moment longer, and then she felt the shift in the air as he stepped out of the room.

Once she was alone again, the silence returned like a wave, filling every corner. She lay back on the cot, fingertips brushing over the bandage on her thigh. Her eyes stung, though no tears came.

They never came anymore.

-

Momo's warm, steady breaths filled the small space of the cell, his head resting across Dallis’s lap. The dog's presence was the only thing grounding her to the now. She sat curled up on the cot, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms around them.

One hand lazily rested against Momo’s back, fingers buried in his short fur. He barely stirred, sensing her mood, sensing everything like he always did.

Dallis didn’t know how many days had passed. Everything blended together now; shadows of sound and smell and memory. The air in the prison was always cold, the scent of must and damp concrete never far, and sometimes she imagined the distant echoes of the walkers outside the fence were voices she used to know.

Her dad. Sophia. Dale. T-Dog. Lori. Merle. But Daryl hadn’t come back. He hadn’t even said goodbye.

The soft shuffle of feet made her tense. Her grip tightened slightly on Momo's fur, and the dog lifted his head and gave a faint grunt.

“Dallis?” Carl’s voice echoed just slightly in the open space of the cellblock before softening as he stepped inside. “Hey. You awake?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Momo didn’t bark; just laid his head back down like he knew this wasn’t the time. Carl hesitated, standing in the doorway for a moment. He walked slowly across the cell, the noise of his boots dulled by the soft blanket on the ground.

“Hershel said you got hurt,” Carl said quietly, kneeling beside her bed. “He told me not to bother you… to give you time.”

He waited. No answer.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone,” he admitted after a few moments. “I just… I didn’t know if you wanted me here.”

Still, she said nothing. Her head turned slightly toward the sound of his voice, but she didn’t speak. Momo let out a soft breath.

Carl climbed up carefully onto the narrow cot, adjusting his weight until he was lying beside her. It was a tight fit, but neither of them were that big. The bunk dipped beneath them, and Dallis shifted just slightly at the feel of his arm brushing against hers.

He didn’t try to say anything wise. He just found her hand beneath the blankets and curled his fingers into hers.

“I miss my mom,” he said after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. “All the time. I keep thinking maybe it’ll hurt less after a few days. Or weeks. But it doesn’t. It just changes.”

Dallis’s fingers twitched in his.

“I know you miss Daryl,” he added, even softer now. “I know he didn’t say goodbye. That’s not fair. He should’ve.”

The words finally cracked her.

“I hate him,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, shaky. “I hate him for leaving. For not saying anything. For not coming back. He… he was supposed to be there.”

Carl nodded, resting his forehead lightly against her shoulder. “I hated my dad for a while too. After Mom died. I blamed him for everything. I guess I'm still mad at him.”

They lay in silence for a while, the low hum of the prison distant beyond the walls. Momo shifted once, and Carl reached out with his free hand to pet the dog gently.

“He didn’t even come see me,” Dallis said eventually. “Merle either. They were the first people I met. Daryl used to check on me every night at the quarry. I used to listen for his voice, just to know I wasn’t alone. And now… I don’t even know if I’ll ever hear him again.”

“You will,” Carl said, and there was a quiet certainty in his voice.

“How do you know?” she asked, bitter, raw.

“Because he loves you,” Carl answered without pause. “And you don’t just stop caring about someone. Even when you leave.”

Dallis turned her face toward him, not that she could see him; but she could feel him, his breath warm near hers, the steadiness of his hand still holding hers. She wanted to believe it. She really did.

Carl spoke again, this time quieter. “I asked Shane about it. About Daryl. He didn’t want to tell me much, but I heard him talking to dad. Said Daryl didn’t want to leave you. That it killed him to do it.”

Her lip trembled, “Then why did he?”

“Because Merle’s his brother,” Carl replied. “And sometimes… even when you know something’s wrong, it’s still hard to turn your back on family.”

Dallis exhaled slowly, shakily. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to put into words how much it hurt, not just Daryl leaving, but everything. The fear. The loneliness. The memories.

Carl squeezed her hand, "You’re not alone. Not really. I’m here.”

She tilted her head toward him again. “Do you ever think about what it was like before? When your mom was alive? When… when there were still schools and playgrounds and people?”

“Yeah,” Carl said. “All the time.”

“I miss my dad,” Dallis said, her voice breaking. “I miss the sound of his laugh. I just miss him."

Carl pressed closer, his arms wrapping around her carefully. She let herself cry then; not the loud, messy sobs, but quiet tears that slid down her cheeks, hidden by her hair.

Momo stirred again, lifting his head and nuzzling her side gently, whining like he didn’t know how to help but wanted to.

“I miss Dale,” she added, her voice muffled now. “And Sophia. And Lori. And T-Dog. And Hershel’s leg.”

Carl gave a faint, almost-smile against her shoulder.

“Hershel’s still got his brain. That’s what counts.”

That made her laugh, just a little. It hurt to laugh, but it felt good too.

For a long time they just lay there, arms tangled, warm in the tiny bed with Momo curled against their legs. The world outside the cell still felt like it was falling apart; but in here, just for now, there was a moment of peace.

“You can stay,” Dallis murmured.

Carl looked up, “What?”

“You can stay here. In this bunk. With me. Just for tonight.”

He nodded quickly, “Yeah. I want to.”

She rolled onto her side and let him hold her properly. She was still scared. Still angry. Still hurt. But the weight of Carl’s arms around her, the rise and fall of his breath, and the solid, quiet presence of Momo made the darkness seem a little less heavy.

“I think he’ll come back,” Carl whispered. “Daryl. I think he misses you too much not to.”

And in her heart, Dallis hoped that was true.

Because some part of her still listened for his voice at night.

Just to know she wasn’t alone.

-

Dallis sat with her legs curled under her on the bunk, Momo's head resting against her thigh as she stroked behind his ears. Carl had left early that morning, whispering that he’d be back soon, that he’d sneak some extra breakfast for her.

She didn’t smile, but her lips twitched.

That boy was too kind for the world they were living in.

The sound of footsteps outside the cell caught her attention; light ones, not as heavy or firm as Shane’s, not as careful as Carl’s. There was a familiar shuffle to them, a rhythm she hadn’t heard in days. She straightened slightly just as the cell curtain was brushed aside.

“It’s just me,” Carol said softly, her voice smooth and easy.

“Hi,” Dallis said, her voice dry. She hadn’t spoken much today. Or yesterday. Time had blurred.

Carol stepped inside, took a moment to scan the small space. “Smells like dog in here.”

Dallis cracked the smallest of grins, “That’s Momo."

“Well, he’s loyal. I’ll give him that.” Carol lowered herself down on the edge of the cot, letting her weight settle slowly. Dallis felt the bed dip beside her.

Momo wagged his tail once but didn’t get up.

There was a long pause between them, soft with understanding. Then Carol gently bumped her shoulder against Dallis’s.

“I heard Carl’s been sneaking in here every night,” Carol teased.

Dallis gave a small shrug, hiding her face behind her hair. “He’s just… he doesn’t like being alone.”

Carol chuckled, “Mmhmm. Sure. And I’m twenty-two with a modeling contract.”

Dallis shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re annoying.”

“Only to people I like.”

They sat in silence again. The laughter faded, replaced by something quieter, heavier. Dallis could feel the change in the air before Carol even spoke again. Her voice softened with seriousness.

“I know you miss him,” she said. “I miss him too.”

Dallis pursed her lips, “Feels like everyone’s gone. Daryl. Merle. My dad. Everyone just leaves.”

Carol reached over and found her hand, squeezing it gently. “Daryl didn’t want to go. Shane told me what happened. About Merle. About why they couldn’t come back."

“But he still left,” Dallis said. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I know.” Carol’s voice trembled just slightly. “And it wasn’t fair. But Daryl… he’s always had a hard time saying things. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

Dallis didn’t reply. Her throat was too tight.

Carol gently brushed a strand of Dallis’s hair back from her face. “I know he’ll come back."

“How?” Dallis asked, voice cracking. “How can you know that?”

“Because he loves you,” Carol said simply. “You and that dog and the boy curled up beside you at night. He’s stubborn, Dallis, but he’s not heartless. He’s probably out there driving Merle crazy with how much he wants to come back.”

That made something twist inside Dallis.

Carol's hand lingered on hers. Then her voice lowered further. “Shane told me… what you did. What he found.”

Dallis stiffened.

Carol didn’t pull away, “You can’t do that to us,” she said gently, but firmly. “To me. To Carl. To Shane. You don’t get to disappear just because it hurts. I know it hurts, baby. I do. But you’ve got people here who love you.”

“I wasn’t trying to…” Dallis swallowed. “I didn’t want to die.”

Carol nodded, voice quiet. “I know. You just didn’t want to feel anymore.”

Tears prickled at Dallis’s eyes.

Carol leaned closer, wrapping her arms around her. Dallis leaned into the embrace like a child, burying her face into Carol’s shoulder, breathing her in. She smelled like herbs and prison soap, like warmth. Familiar. Steady.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Carol whispered. “And I promise you, Daryl will come back. We’ll be here when he does.”

Dallis clung tighter. For the first time in days, she let herself cry into someone else’s arms.

And Carol held her. Like she’d never let go.

Chapter Text

The woods were too damn quiet.

Daryl could hear everything out here. The crunch of leaves under his boots. The low buzz of flies near a carcass. Merle’s breath behind him, wheezing just a little from too many years of smoke and spite.

It had been days since they’d left the prison. Daryl’s body kept walking, but his mind was somewhere else—locked behind fences, curled up in a bunk, clutching a dog and shaking in silence. He tried not to picture her face, the pale stretch of it, eyes clouded with blindness but somehow still filled with fire.

“You got a tick in your ass or what?” Merle muttered, kicking a loose branch. “You keep pacing like a dog that lost his bone.”

Daryl didn’t answer.

They were moving along the edge of a long-dried creek when they heard the scream.

High. Short. Young.

Daryl froze.

Merle kept walking.

“Leave it,” Merle said. “It ain’t our problem.”

But Daryl was already moving.

He pushed through the brush and down a small slope and saw the kid; couldn’t have been more than ten. His clothes were ripped, one sneaker missing, scrambling backward in the dirt while three walkers closed in. One of them had something stuck in its ribs, a screwdriver maybe, like someone tried to fight back and failed.

Daryl reached for his crossbow.

Merle didn’t move.

And Daryl wasn’t fast enough.

The scream cut off.

The sound that followed was wet and awful.

Daryl stood there, breath stuck in his throat. His hand clenched around the grip of his crossbow so tight it hurt.

He couldn’t move.

The kid was gone. Just like that.

Daryl didn’t realize he was shaking until Merle stepped up beside him, slow and unaffected. “That’s how it is, baby brother. You ain’t gonna save everyone.”

Daryl turned to him, his voice low. “What if that was Dallis?”

Merle narrowed his eyes. Just barely.

Daryl took a step closer. “What if that was her? You’d just let her die too?”

“Don’t go makin’ this personal,” Merle warned. “You’re gonna get yourself killed for strangers.”

“She ain’t a stranger.”

Merle scoffed, “She ain’t your kid.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched. “Don’t matter.”

The two of them stared at each other in the silence of the woods. The walkers were still chewing. Daryl couldn’t look.
“You know what Rick would’ve done?” he asked finally.

“He’d have saved that kid.”

“Oh, here we go,” Merle said, throwing his arms up. “The Rick Grimes fan club—”

“Shut up,” Daryl growled. “You talk a lot of shit about people who were tryin’ to do right by others. About people who kept her safe when you weren’t there.”

Merle narrowed his eyes, “Don’t turn this on me.”

But Daryl wasn’t done. “I left ‘cause of you. I walked away from people who trusted me. From her. From the only real family I ever had. And you know what I realized?”

Merle didn’t answer.

Daryl’s voice dropped. “They maybe weren' blood but they were sure ass hell my family. My real family."

Merle’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Daryl turned away and started walking.

“Daryl,” Merle said after a beat.

He didn’t stop.

“You really goin’ back?” Merle called.

Daryl paused, not turning. “She’s waitin’.”

The silence stretched again. Just the trees. The wind. The rot.

Then footsteps.

Merle cursed under his breath and caught up. “Damn it. You always were the soft one.”

Daryl didn’t look at him, “You comin’ or not?”

Merle sighed, “Ain’t lettin’ you get yourself killed alone.”

They walked in silence after that.

-

The stairs creaked beneath her careful steps.

Dallis winced as she descended, every movement a reminder of what she’d done. The cuts on her thighs still throbbed, hidden under loose pants Hershel had insisted she wear. Her fingers curled around the banister, her other hand trailing the wall for guidance. Momo padded ahead of her, pausing every few feet to make sure she was still there.

The kitchen was mostly empty, the soft clatter of pans echoing faintly against the concrete walls. The air smelled like canned beans and overcooked rice, but it was warm, and quiet, and that was all Dallis needed right now.

She stood near the counter, running her hand carefully over the rough surface until she found the pot she was looking for. Her fingers were a little clumsy today. The ache in her thighs was duller now, but it lingered just enough to remind her.

She didn’t talk much anymore. Didn’t eat much, either.

“Hey.”

The voice made her flinch slightly. Male. Young. Not Carl.

She tilted her head, “Who’s that?”

There was a pause. Then footsteps.

“It’s me—Ben. From Tyreese’s group.”

She blinked slowly, the name ringing a faint bell but not landing anywhere solid.

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” he added, sounding awkward.

“Oh…” she said softly. “Sorry. I don’t really… remember you.”

A beat passed, awkward and heavy.

“We met by the dog. Momo,” he said. “I said he was cool, and you said he was your dog.”

Dallis reached down, touching Momo’s head. He was curled near her feet, always her shadow. “I think I remember that,” she said, unsure.

“It’s okay,” Ben said, his voice gentler now.

Another pause.

“You okay?” he asked.

Dallis ran her fingers over the rim of the pot. It was cold now. She hadn’t even lit the stove.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Then added, “You don’t need to check on me.”

“I wasn’t—” Ben stopped. “I mean, I just wanted to say hi. It’s cool if you don’t remember me.”

She turned slightly, her blank gaze aimed somewhere to his left, “I forget a lot of things lately.”

Ben shifted his weight, the floor squeaking beneath his boots. “Well… if you ever wanna talk or whatever, I’m around. I mean, I’m not as cool as you, but I’m not awful."

Dallis didn’t smile, but she didn’t tell him to leave, either.

“Thanks,” she said eventually, voice quiet.

He hesitated, then stepped away. “See you, Dallis.”

And then he was gone, his footsteps fading down the hall. She reached down and touched Momo’s head again. Momo shifted closer, his warm weight a small comfort.

Dallis stood in the still kitchen, not cooking, not eating. Just listening.

Trying to feel something. Anything.

-

Dallis shuffled down the hall, arms full of freshly laundered clothes. They were warm against her chest, smelling faintly of soap and the dusty sun. Carol had told her to take them back to her cell; some were hers, some belonged to Carl, Shane, even Beth.

But the pile was too high. She could barely feel the floor beneath her shoes, and her balance still wasn’t the best. Her thigh ached when she shifted her weight.

A sudden slip; one of the shirts slid out from the top, and then, like a slow-motion tumble, everything followed. Socks, pants, folded undershirts, all scattering across the cold concrete.

She muttered a soft, frustrated sound and crouched slowly, reaching out blindly, feeling for fabric.

“I got it,” came a voice, a little breathless.

She paused.

“Ben?”

“Yeah,” he said, kneeling beside her. “You dropped half the laundry.”

“I noticed,” she mumbled, brushing her hand across a pair of socks.

Ben chuckled softly and started gathering things, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” It came out sharp, more than she meant. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“S’all good,” he said. “Let me help you carry it. Where’s your cell?”

“Down the hall, second left.”

“Cool. I’ll follow.”

She let him take most of it from her arms, leaving her with only a smaller stack. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, and she appreciated that.

The walk was quiet. Momo padded along beside her, and she heard Ben’s steady footsteps behind her. When they reached her cell, she stepped aside so he could pass.

He laid the pile gently on her bed, “There.”

“Thanks,” she said, folding her arms.

“No problem.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, unsure what came next. He lingered in the doorway, not quite ready to leave.

“You and Momo doing okay?” he asked finally.

She nodded, “We’re fine.”

“Good.”

Another silence. Then, before he turned to go, he added, “You ever need help with anything… I don’t mind.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ben gave a small nod she couldn’t see, then took a step back. “Later, Dallis.”

“Bye, Ben.”

He walked away. She reached out and brushed her hand across the clothes on the bed, most still neatly folded and still warm. Then she sat beside them and scratched Momo’s head.

Carl pushed through the curtain. He stepped in, brushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand, the other loosely gripping the comic he’d found earlier.

Dallis sat on the lower bunk, slowly folding a shirt. Momo was curled up at her feet, his tail flicking now and then. The stack of clothes beside her was smaller now, mostly sorted.

Carl didn’t speak at first.

“Why was Ben in here?”

Dallis paused, fingers still on the edge of a pair of pants. Her head tilted slightly in his direction. “He helped me carry the laundry.”

“That’s it?”

She frowned, “Yeah.”

Carl dropped the comic onto the foot of the bed and sat beside it, his legs bouncing slightly. “You could’ve asked me.”

“I didn’t know where you were,” she said calmly, still folding.

“And it’s not like I can exactly see who’s around.”

“You could’ve asked someone to find me,” he said, quieter. “I would’ve helped.”

She sighed, not in frustration, but in that tired way that meant she didn’t feel like arguing. “It's not that big a deal.”

Carl leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ben doesn’t even know you. Not really.”

She felt the edge in his voice, “Neither did you,” she said softly. “Not at first.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “It just is.”

Dallis set the folded shirt aside and turned slightly toward him. Her hand found the bedpost, something solid to orient herself. “You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad.”

Carl didn’t answer right away, “I just don’t like people acting like they know you when they don’t.”

“Ben didn’t do anything wrong.”

He glanced at her. Her face was unreadable as always; calm, composed, but there was a distance in her voice, something that tugged at him in a way he didn’t have words for.

“I’m not mad at Ben,” he said finally, quieter now. “I’m just... I dunno. I miss when it was just you and me hanging out.”

She folded another shirt, “We still hang out.”

“Not like we used to.”

Her hands slowed a little. She didn’t have an answer for that, because he was right.

“You’re still mad about Daryl,” he added.

She nodded once.

“I miss him too.”

“I know.” Her voice dropped. “But he left."

Carl looked down at the floor, his boots scuffed with dried mud.

Silence.

Momo shifted at their feet, pressing closer to Dallis. She reached down and stroked the top of his head. Carl watched them for a long moment. Then, hesitantly, he slid closer on the bed until their shoulders touched.

“I don’t like when you get quiet,” he said, voice almost a whisper.

She titled her head.

Carl turned toward her. “You could’ve told me about the cuts.”

She flinched.

“I would’ve listened,” he added, softer.

“I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered.

“I know.” He paused. “But you didn’t have to be alone with that.”

She wiped at her cheek quickly, like maybe she thought he couldn’t see it. He reached out and took her hand; tentatively, gently. “You’re my best friend. I’m always gonna care.”

She nodded, small, just once. Then leaned her head lightly on his shoulder.

“I miss my dad,” she whispered.

“I miss my mom,” he replied.

They sat like that for a while, the room filled only with the sound of their breathing, Momo’s quiet huffing, the occasional rustle of fabric.

Carl glanced toward the cell door, “You think Daryl’s okay?”

“I hope so,” she said.

He gave her hand a soft squeeze.

Carl leaned back against the wall, pulling her with him gently, letting her rest against his side. “I don’t care if Ben wants to be friends,” he said after a moment. “I just don’t want him to be closer than I am.”

“You’re already closer,” she said.

He smiled, not saying anything after that.

The sudden crack of gunshots shattered the quiet of the cell. Dallis’s body tensed, and her head snapped toward the sound, trying to place where it came from. Momo, startled, sprang to his feet and padded nervously at her feet, his low growl rumbling in the silence.

Carl's grip on her hand tightened. His voice came low but urgent, "Stay here."

Dallis instinctively bristled at his tone, the protective edge in it. She wasn't a child anymore, she had survived this far, after all, but she didn’t argue. Not now. Not when the tension in his voice was so thick. She gripped the edge of the bed to steady herself, the sting from her thighs reminding her that she wasn’t quite as capable as she wished she was.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carl didn’t answer immediately. She could hear him moving, the slight shuffle of his boots against the floor. He’d never left her side this quickly before, and the urgency in his movements scared her more than she wanted to admit.

The air around them felt heavy, and she could hear his breath catch in his throat. Was he scared? She had never really asked him about his fears; she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

"Stay here, Dallis," Carl repeated, his voice firmer this time.
Her heart skipped a beat at the command, the sharp edge in it pulling at her chest. She hated feeling helpless, like she had to wait while everything else moved on around her.

"I can help," she protested, her voice small.

Carl’s footsteps paused, and she heard him let out a soft exhale, almost like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. "I know you can," he said, a quiet sincerity in his tone, but it didn’t change the fact that he was already walking toward the door. "But not right now. Please. Just wait here."

Before she could protest further, he was gone, leaving her with only the soft rustle of Momo’s paws on the floor. She could hear the distant sounds of shouting, the rapid fire of gunshots echoing through the prison. Every shot made her flinch, her mind racing to try and make sense of it all.

Who was shooting? What had happened?

Dallis clenched her jaw, frustration building in her chest as she fought the helplessness rising inside her. The fear, the uncertainty; it was all consuming. She reached down for Momo, her fingers trembling slightly as she stroked his fur.

The dog pressed his head against her hand, offering her a semblance of comfort in the chaos. She tried to calm her racing thoughts, to ground herself in the moment. Carl was out there. He’d be okay, right? He had to be.

Dallis sat motionless on the cold floor, her fingers wrapped tightly around Merle's knife. Her heart pounded in her chest, and every breath felt shallow as she held herself as still as possible. Momo sat beside her, his body tense, every muscle alert.

The silence around her was suffocating, broken only by the distant, muffled sounds of chaos beyond the walls of the prison.

Carl was gone. She was alone; again.

Her mind raced, but she focused on one thing: survival. She had to stay calm, stay hidden, because if it wasn’t walkers who would come for her, it could be something far worse.

Something she couldn’t fight with her blindness.

Her grip tightened on the knife, the cold steel steadying her trembling hands. She closed her eyes, hearing only the sound of her breath and the soft scratching of Momo's claws against the floor. She had to keep it together. She had to.

Then, just as the weight of the silence grew too much to bear, she heard footsteps.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her throat. They were heavy, deliberate, not the shuffle of walkers, but the purposeful stride of someone human.

She held her breath, praying that whoever it was wouldn’t find her. She tucked herself further under the bunk, pulling Momo close to her chest. The darkness wrapped around her, the knife still clutched in her hand, the only weapon she had.

The footsteps grew louder. Closer.

And then, just as she was about to lose herself in panic, she heard a voice.

"Dallis?"

The voice was low, rough; a voice she hadn’t heard in so long.

Her stomach twisted in a mix of disbelief and dread. It couldn’t be. But it was.

The footsteps stopped, and for a long, excruciating moment, there was only silence. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear him, the slight rustle of his jacket, the steady breath as he waited.

And then, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper,

"You still alive, girl?"

Dallis’s heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

Was it really him? Or had the world finally broken her mind?

Everything felt like it was closing in around her.

Chapter Text

Dallis gripped the handle of Merle’s knife so tightly her knuckles ached. Every sound beyond the cell walls had faded into a low, constant buzz. She was curled up under the bunk, Momo’s head on her lap, the weight of silence heavy on her chest. Her thighs still throbbed faintly, her whole body humming with tension as she waited.

She didn't know where Carl was. No one had come for her. Again.

Her fingers twitched. If someone, or something, came in here, she’d be ready.

The footsteps outside the cell were slow and deliberate. Not heavy like Shane’s or light like Carl’s. There was a drag to them. A limp.

Dallis’s breath caught in her throat.

She strained to listen, her whole body going still. Her grip loosened slightly on the knife as the footsteps came to a stop right outside her cell.

“Mr. Magoo,” a voice rasped, thick with Carolina drawl and laced with disbelief.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Dallis gasped. The knife clattered to the floor as she scrambled out from under the bunk, half stumbling, her hands feeling their way out. “Merle?” she choked, her voice cracking.

“C’mere, girl,” Merle muttered, voice softer now.

She didn’t hesitate.

She ran toward the voice, nearly tripping over Momo as she went. Her hands found his chest first, broad, worn leather, and then she launched herself into him. Her arms wrapped tight around his ribs as if afraid he’d vanish if she let go. Her face buried against his shirt.

“You asshole,” she sobbed. “You didn’t come back. I thought—I thought you were dead.”

Merle stiffened for a second, but then his good arm came up and wrapped awkwardly around her, pulling her in tighter. “Hell, kid… you’re still kickin’? You blind, scrawny little raccoon, you really made it this long?"

She didn’t laugh. Just cried harder.

Merle sighed, long and quiet, his chin resting on her head. “Still a crybaby though.”

She pulled back just enough to hit his chest with her fist, her face twisted in a sob, “I missed you.”

“Damn right you did,” he said, his voice a little rougher.

“Missed you too, Mr. Magoo.”

She clung to him again, and for a while, neither of them said anything.

Dallis sniffled against Merle’s chest, her hands still clinging tightly to his jacket like she was scared he’d disappear if she let go. But slowly, that old ache pushed forward again; the one that had been sitting in her ribs like a stone.

She pulled back just slightly and whispered, voice rough, “Where’s Daryl?”

Merle hesitated. She could hear it in the silence between his breath. “He’s lookin’ for ya,” he said finally. “He’s around. He ain’t far.”

That was all she needed.

With a determination that startled even herself, Dallis turned toward the door, Momo immediately sensing the urgency and sticking to her side. “Wait—where the hell you goin’?” Merle asked, but Dallis was already moving, one hand brushing along the wall, the other clutching at Momo’s fur for balance.

She couldn’t see, but she didn’t need to.

Daryl was here and she was going to find him.

She picked up speed, her feet almost too fast for her to keep steady. Her thigh ached with each step, but she didn’t stop.

She nearly stumbled down the hallway, heart pounding like a drum in her ears. She bumped into someone, Ben, maybe, judging by the way he said her name, but she barely registered it.

“Dallis, wait—!”

She kept going, breath shaky, a sob caught somewhere in her chest.

Then—

Strong arms.

Familiar, safe.

She knew the way they held her, the smell of sweat and pine and leather, the way his chest rose and fell a little faster now like he’d just been running.

“Daryl,” she breathed, and then the sob broke free.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled her in, arms tight, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped around her like he was afraid she’d vanish.

“I thought—I thought you weren’t—” she choked.

“I’m here,” he rasped against her hair. “I’m here, kid.”

She cried harder, hands clutching the front of his shirt like an anchor, like she might never let go.

Momo pressed against both of them, silent and watchful.

Daryl held her there in the hallway, in the middle of everything. No one else mattered. Not the footsteps around them, not Merle standing somewhere behind, not even the war still looming ahead.

Just Dallis and Daryl.

Back.

Dallis didn’t let go.

Her fingers stayed curled in the fabric of Daryl’s shirt, her cheek pressed tight against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her ear. It was the only thing grounding her, the only thing that told her this wasn’t another cruel dream.

That he was really here.

Alive.

He didn’t say much. Daryl never did. But his arms wrapped around her like armor as he shifted slightly and then, without a word, lifted her up off the ground. She didn't protest; she just gripped him tighter, the edge of Merle’s old knife bumping against her thigh from where she still had it tucked into her waistband.

She didn’t hear the others. Didn’t know if they were watching or talking or asking questions.

It didn’t matter.

The only sound that mattered was Daryl’s breath, warm and close.

The only feeling that mattered was the way he held her like she was something breakable. Like she still mattered. It's been so long.

Her head fell to his shoulder as he carried her through the hallway. Her body, small and tired, sagged against him. Momo trotted close to his heels, his tags jingling quietly, tail brushing Dallis’s leg every now and then like a gentle reassurance.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask what happened. Where Merle was. If they were safe now.

She didn’t need answers.

She just let her eyes close.

Let the tension finally ease from her bruised body.

-

Dallis stirred slowly, the warm press of Momo at her feet and the soft rustle of blankets grounding her before her mind caught up.

She could feel Carl beside her like he always was, his presence familiar, steady. His breaths weren’t even; he wasn’t asleep.

Her voice was soft, a whisper in the dark. “Carl?”

She heard him shift slightly, the mattress creaking. “Yeah,” he answered, quiet.

She reached out, her hand brushing against his arm, needing the contact. “What… happened?”

Carl was silent for a moment, like he didn’t know where to begin. Finally, he sighed. “The Governor came back. Declared war.”

Dallis swallowed, her throat tight. Everything always hurt these days. Her legs still ached from the cuts, her chest still felt hollow.

But then a memory sparked; arms wrapping around her, strong and safe. A scent she knew. A voice in the dark.

“…Daryl and Merle came back,” she whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it vanish.

Carl’s silence made her heart drop, just for a second.

“Right?” she asked again, more desperately. “They came back?”

Carl’s hand found hers. He held it gently. “They did,” he said, a small smile in his voice. “You weren’t dreaming. They’re really here.”

Dallis let out a shaky breath, something between relief and disbelief. Her fingers curled around Carl’s tighter, and she nodded slowly.

“Okay,” she whispered.

And then she lay still, listening to the world outside her cell, but for once, not afraid of it.

-

Daryl sat alone near the edge of the prison yard, the sun dipping low behind the fences. He was cleaning his crossbow, jaw clenched, mind restless. He’d barely had a moment to breathe since coming back; since holding Dallis against him and feeling her shaking in his arms like the kid she was.

The crunch of boots across gravel broke the quiet. Daryl didn’t look up. He didn’t have to.

“Want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?” Shane’s voice cut sharp and angry through the cool air.

Daryl exhaled through his nose, wiped down the limb of the bow, still not looking at him. “Ain’t got time for your lectures, man.”

“Well, make time,” Shane snapped. “You don’t get to disappear, roll back in like nothing happened, and not hear about it.”

Daryl finally looked up, brows low, eyes flinty. “You got a problem, Shane?”

“Yeah,” Shane growled. “I got a problem. You left that little girl. You left her with no one but a dog and a bunch of people barely keepin’ it together, because your damn brother—your piece-of-shit brother—showed up."

Daryl stood, fast. “Watch it.”

“Or what?” Shane stepped closer. “You gonna swing on me? After you left Dallis behind with nothin’? Not even a goodbye?”

“She ain’t my responsibility,” Daryl shot back, even though the words burned in his throat the second he said them.

Shane’s face twisted, “Bullshit. You know what happened while you were gone?”

Daryl didn’t answer.

“She cut herself,” Shane spat. “Her thighs. Deep. Because she thought you weren’t comin’ back. Because she thought you didn’t care. And I was the one who found her. Bleedin’. Cryin’. Thinkin’ she was all alone.”

The words hit Daryl like a punch to the gut. He stood frozen, jaw slack, breath caught. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard, his throat working.

Shane’s voice dropped, bitter now, grief heavy in his tone. “She didn’t say nothin’ for days. Wouldn’t talk to nobody. She stayed in my damn cell, curled up with that dog, waitin’ for someone who never came.”

“I never meant for that to happen,” Daryl muttered, forcing the words out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Shane bit out. “You didn’t.”

Silence hung between them, hot and painful.

Daryl looked away, eyes burning, throat tight. “I thought… I thought she’d be okay.”

“She’s blind, Daryl,” Shane snapped. “She’s blind, she’s a kid, and she loved you and your brother like you were family. You were the first ones she had after her dad died, and you just left.”

Daryl’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

Shane took a step back, letting the silence stretch. “You wanna fix it?” he said, quieter now. “Then be here. For her. 'Cause next time she breaks, we might not catch her in time.”

Daryl didn’t say a word as Shane turned and walked away. But he didn’t go back to cleaning his crossbow either. He just stood there, staring at the spot where Shane had been, the weight of everything he’d done pressing harder than ever.

-

The prison was tense; everyone could feel it. The Governor had declared war, and the group was constantly on edge, making plans, stacking ammo, setting watch shifts. Daryl was always off somewhere, talking with Shane or Rick or posted up on lookout, crossbow slung across his back.

Dallis didn’t like how quiet it all felt.

So she stuck close to Merle.

She couldn’t see him, of course, but she could hear the way his boots scraped across the floor. He grumbled a lot, but he always let her follow.

They were sitting just outside one of the inner cellblock rooms, where the sun from the narrow high windows could reach them. She sat cross-legged on the cold concrete, Momo curled against her hip.

Merle was leaning against the cold stone wall of the prison corridor, sharpening his knife with short, rhythmic strokes.

She was idly tracing the texture of the wall beside her with one hand when she heard soft footsteps approach. Momo gave a small chuff but didn’t growl.

“Hey,” a voice said.nDallis tilted her head, “Ben?”

“Yeah. Thought you might like this.” She felt something press lightly into her hands. It was a bar, maybe granola or chocolate.

She blinked in surprise. “Oh… wow. Thanks.”

“Figured you deserved something sweet,” he said, voice a little too casual.

“Um. Thanks,” she said again, not really sure what to do with the gesture. She didn’t eat much lately, but she held onto it carefully.

There was a long pause, then Ben cleared his throat. “Well… I’ll see you around.”

She nodded, and he started walking away. As soon as he was gone, Merle gave a short, smug snort.

“What?” Dallis asked.

“Kid’s got a crush on ya.”

Her brows furrowed, “What?”

“You heard me.” Merle finally looked up, a smirk tugging at his lips, not like she would know. “Little Romeo over there gave you a candy bar like it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Dallis frowned in confusion, fingers still clutching the wrapper. “No, he was just being nice.”

“Pfft.” Merle chuckled. “Darlin’, I may be many things, but I know what a boy with a crush looks like."

She frowned, Merle just shrugged. “You’ll see. Or, well—you know what I mean.”

Dallis gave a half-hearted smile at the joke.

Merle leaned back on his elbows, the sharpening stone forgotten for the moment as he looked toward Dallis with a crooked grin. “Alright, Mr. Magoo,” he drawled, “important question for ya.”

She kept petting Momo absentmindedly, completely ignoring Merle's earlier comment. “What?”

“Which one you like better? Benny boy with the chocolate bars…” he paused, “or the other one, what’s his name… Carl? The one who told you back at the quarry you couldn’t catch frogs ‘cause you a blind lil girl.”

Dallis’s eyebrows lifted, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

Merle smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “You know what I mean. You’re at that age. Time for crushes and holding hands in the dark and all that teenage drama crap. So which one is it? Blondie with the awkward voice or cowboy hat junior?”

“I don’t—what?” she said again, her voice pitched higher in confusion. “They’re just my friends.”

Merle let out a short laugh, “Yeah, alright. That’s what y’all say until one of ‘em tries to hold your hand and you get all flustered. So you gonna make me guess, or you gonna pick one so I know who I gotta give the big scary Merle Dixon talk to?”

“I don’t like anyone,” she said firmly, face burning even as she said it.

Merle raised an eyebrow, “Uh-huh. So if I find Carl and tell him you said he was the one, that won’t be a problem?”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, hugging Momo tightly like the dog could shield her from this nonsense.

“Figured as much.” Merle chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Still. If one of ‘em breaks your heart, you let me know. I’ll put the fear of Dixon in ‘em. Family looks out for each other, even if we’re a little unconventional.”

Dallis was quiet for a second, then murmured, “You think we’re family?”

Merle gave her a light nudge with his boot. “’Course we are. You’re the only kid I’ve ever let sleep on my arm and drool on my flannel without throwin’ a fit.”

That made her smile.

-

Merle guided Dallis carefully through the dim hallway, one hand on her shoulder while the other held a flashlight low to the ground. The prison was quieter at night, only the soft murmur of a few conversations echoing down the concrete walls, and the occasional cough or creak of metal.

When they reached her cell, Dallis reached out and felt along the edge of the doorway, then stepped inside. Momo padded in after her, tail wagging slowly. Merle stepped in too, glancing around like he always did in unfamiliar spaces; habit, instinct.

His eyes immediately landed on the top bunk. Folded neatly at the end of the mattress was a pile of boy clothes; jeans, a hoodie, a pair of socks tucked in the collar of a shirt.

Merle squinted, “Whose crap is that up there?”

She was halfway to her bed, hand brushing the wall to find her way, when she answered casually, “Carl’s. We share.”

Merle blinked, “You what?”

Dallis stopped, head tilting slightly at his tone. “We share a cell. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big—” Merle stepped further inside, gesturing wildly toward the bunk. “You’re tellin’ me Daryl let a teenage boy sleep in the same room as you? At night? Like, overnight??”
Dallis frowned. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because you’re a girl and Carl’s a boy and y’all are at that age where things get… complicated!” Merle paced a step, hands on his hips, like he couldn’t wrap his head around it. “I leave for five minutes and the whole damn world forgets how to parent.”

“We’re not doing anything weird, Merle,” Dallis said, annoyed now. “We just sleep. That’s it. He makes me feel safe, and I don’t like being alone.”

Merle stared at her for a beat longer before groaning. “Goddamn, Daryl’s gettin’ soft.”

“He trusts Carl,” she said simply, petting Momo’s head as she sat on her bunk.

Merle muttered under his breath, something about needing to have a “chat” with “Sheriff Junior” in the morning.

Dallis smirked a little, “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Girl, when you’re older and your hormonal teenage kid shares a room with another hormonal teenage kid of the opposite gender you'll understand what I mean.”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Goodnight, Merle.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, still muttering as he turned to go. “Unbelievable. Daryl better have a damn good explanation.”

-

Dallis carefully climbed up into the top bunk, her movements slow and cautious as she felt for the edge. She could hear Carl shifting slightly, the faint rustling of blankets as he adjusted his position to give her room.

With a quiet sigh, she slipped under the covers, the warmth a welcome relief from the chill in the air.

Carl was already lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He turned slightly toward her, not saying anything, just shifting so they were facing the same way.

There was an understanding between them—not deep or emotional, just... mutual. They’d both seen enough, been through enough.

Sometimes silence was easier than conversation.

As she settled in, Carl reached up briefly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. It wasn’t overly gentle, just something done out of habit. Then, without saying a word, he reached over and grabbed his battered cowboy hat.

He placed it carefully on her head, a playful glint in his voice when he spoke.

“There. Now you look like a proper cowboy.”

Dallis smiled softly, her fingers brushing the brim of the hat. She could feel the weight of it, the familiar shape that felt like a piece of Carl’s world. It was comforting, a reminder of the time before everything went wrong, when they could still have moments like this.

She let her muscles relax. The steady rhythm of Carl’s breathing beside her, the muffled quiet of the room—it all felt grounded. Not peaceful, exactly, but stable enough.

“Thanks,” she muttered, the word barely louder than the sound of the blankets shifting.

Carl didn’t say anything back. He just pulled the covers a little tighter around her shoulders, then let his hand fall back near his side.

Dallis turned a bit, adjusting her position. Her fingers briefly brushed against his as she moved, but neither of them commented on it.

For a long moment, the only sounds were their quiet breaths, the soft rustle of the blankets, and the occasional creak of the prison walls.

Her mind lingered on what Merle had said.

She closed her eyes, content for the first time in what felt like ages, letting herself drift off into sleep with the steady, familiar presence of Carl beside her.

Chapter Text

Dallis sat up in Carl's bunk, her hands resting on her lap.

She could hear the sounds of the prison settling into the night, the distant murmurs of people talking and the soft shuffle of feet. Everything felt calm, though she knew it wouldn’t last. With the Governor and everything else it was only around time before everything to fall apart.

As she tried to find a more comfortable position, she suddenly heard something; a faint, sharp scraping sound coming from the hallway outside their cell.

It wasn’t the usual clanging of the prison doors, or the faint echo of footsteps from the guards on patrol. This was different. It was the sound of metal against metal, rhythmic, deliberate.

A knife being sharpened.

Dallis tilted her head, straining her hearing. She couldn’t place who it was, but there was something oddly familiar about the sound. The rhythm was steady, patient. She didn’t recognize the sound right away, but it had the same feel as Merle when he’d be tinkering or cleaning his knife back at the quarry. Still, this wasn’t him. Too smooth. Too calm. Too quiet.

She shifted quietly, trying not to wake Carl, who was still asleep beside her. Her fingers grazed the edge of her bunk, trying to orient herself in the stillness. She got out of the sheets, the bottom of her feet pressing hesitantly against the ladder and she climbed down steadily.

She reached down for Momo, who lay curled on her bottom bunk. The sound of the knife scraping was almost hypnotic, and the more Dallis listened, the more intrigued she became. She didn’t know who would be sharpening a blade at this time of night, I mean she assumed it was jight since Carl was still asleep, but something about it made her feel uneasy.

Curiosity got the better of her. She climbed down the bunk slowly, her bare feet making no sound on the cold concrete floor. Momo lifted his head, his ears perked up as if sensing her movement. Her hand hovered towards where she knew he'd be. She patted him softly, and he lay back down, content to wait for her.

She grabbed Merle’s knife from below her pillow, her fingers brushing the handle. It was familiar, comforting. Now that Merle was back she should give it back to him she thought.

Dallis crept through the darkened hallways, carefully feeling her way around the cold walls of the prison. The scrape of the knife grew louder, sharper, until it was as if it was right beside her. She felt a twinge of fear in her chest, but she pushed it down. She had to know who was making that sound.

When she rounded the corner, she paused. She could hear it clearly now. The knife’s scrape stopped for a moment, and then Dallis heard her voice; low, smooth, and calm. Unfamiliar.

“You know, it’s not a good idea to sneak up on people.”

Dallis turned her head in the direction of the voice, trying to place it. It didn’t sound familiar. It wasn’t Carol, or Maggie, or anyone from her usual circle.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Dallis said, her voice steady, though she scrunched her nose, a nervous habit. “Who’s there?”

There was a short pause before the voice spoke again. Dallis could hear the rustling of fabric as she stood up. “Michonne.”

Dallis furrowed her brow, not quite recognizing the name. “Michonne?” she repeated softly, maybe this was just another Ben moment. “I don’t think I know you.”

“Michonne,” she repeated. “I helped your people bring Glenn and Maggie back.”

Dallis stood straighter. She hadn't met all the new people who had come in recently. She’d been... avoiding most people. Hiding, really. She had guessed this woman was someone from Ben's group but now she knew who it was.

“You’re the one with the sword,” Dallis said quietly, more to herself than anything. “Carl said you had one. Said it was big.”

Michonne let out a soft, surprised breath—maybe a laugh. Dallis couldn’t tell.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

There was silence for a moment. The sound of the whetstone resumed.

“You're blind,” Michonne said carefully, not rudely, just like she was confirming something she already knew.

Dallis didn’t respond right away.

“Yeah,” Dallis replied eventually.

A beat of silence.

Dallis tilted her head toward the sound of the blade. “Why a sword?” she asked after a while.

Michonne paused mid-sharpen. “Quiet. Doesn’t run out of bullets.”

Dallis smiled faintly, “Smart.”

She listened for a moment longer, fingers still running over Momo’s ears. “You kill a lot of walkers?”

“Yeah.”

“People?”

There was a pause, longer this time, but Michonne didn’t lie.

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and Dallis could almost feel the woman studying her.

“Are you… are you staying here now?” Dallis asked cautiously, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Maybe,” Michonne replied after a beat. “I don’t know. I’m still figuring that out.”

“I’m sorry,” Dallis said, unsure how to approach the situation. “I didn’t mean to... to disturb you. I was just curious. I don’t know who’s out here.”

"It's alright."

Then came the quiet shhk of the sword being sheathed.

“I’ll see you around then, Mr Magoo.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Dallis reached down, feeling Momo’s warm fur again. She was still half sure this was a dream.

-

Dallis sat cross-legged on the floor of the cell, Momo curled beside her, his soft snoring a comfort as she ran her fingers slowly along the edge of the knife. Merle’s knife. She knew it by feel, the handle worn down in just the right places, the grooves of the grip molded from years(?) of use.

It was the one he gave her all that time ago in Atlanta, when he had left. The cold steel sat heavy in her hand. Not just because of its weight, but because of what it meant.

She stood, careful not to disturb Momo, and made her way out of the cell. Her bare feet padded softly against the cool concrete, one hand gliding along the wall for guidance, the other clutching the knife. The prison was quiet. It always was at night, when the day's noise died out and only ghosts seemed to linger.

She found him sitting outside the block, back against the wall, probably supposed to be keeping watch. She heard the scuff of his boots first and then the unmistakable drag of a lighter sparking.

The scent of cigarette smoke drifted to her.

Merle.

“Hey,” she said quietly, stopping in front of him.

He grunted, not surprised. “Figured you’d be up. You walk around like a damn mouse, y’know that?”

She didn’t respond to the teasing. Instead, she held out her hand, the knife resting flat on her palm. “Here.”

He frowned and flicked his cigarette to the side, its orange glow vanishing into the dark. “What’s this?”

“Your knife,” she said simply.

Merle raised an eyebrow and took the blade slowly. He turned it in his hand, inspecting the handle, the wear and tear on it, the notch he remembered carving into the side years ago. “Huh. Thought I lost this one.” Then he paused, gaze flicking up to her. “Where’d you get it?”

“You gave it to me,” Dallis said.

“In Atlanta. When you left with the group, remember?”

Merle squinted, trying to place the memory. Then it hit him like a punch in the chest. “Shit,” he muttered. “Yeah. I remember now. You kept bitching bout me and Daryl leaving.”

“I was scared,” she said, not ashamed.

He turned the knife over one more time, then reached out and closed her fingers back around it.

“You keep it,” he said. “You’ve had it this long. Probably knows you better than it ever knew me.”

Dallis hesitated, “But it’s yours.”

“Nah,” Merle said, settling back with a grunt. “Ain’t been mine since the day I handed it to you. You took care of it. Probably better than I ever did.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she said nothing. She just stood there, knife clutched tight in her hand.

“I gave you that knife so you could protect yourself,” Merle continued, voice lower now. “Not just from walkers, but from people too. World’s meaner than it was when you were born, Mr. Magoo.”

She smiled faintly at the nickname. “You’re the only one who calls me that.”

“Damn right,” he said. “Ain’t nobody else earned the right.”

A long silence stretched between them. Dallis stood, breathing in the smoky air, listening to the quiet shift of Merle beside her. Softly, she asked, “Why didn’t you come see me when you found Daryl?”

Merle didn’t answer at first. He scratched his chin, his stubble rasping under his fingernails.

“Didn’t think you’d made it.” he finally said.

She sat down next to him, the cool floor pressing against her legs. “I was pissed.”

“I know.”

“I thought you were dead, and then you weren’t but I couldn't know for sure because you werent even the one to tell me.”

Merle leaned his head back against the wall. “Family’s complicated, kid.”

“I’m not family,” she said, not accusing, just stating it.

He turned to her, really looked at her for a moment, not like she could look back. “You ain’t blood,” Merle said. “But you are family. Anyone who stuck with me and my brother through that shit back in Atlanta, who cried over us when we were gone—yeah. That’s family to me.”

She let that sit there, like a stone dropped in water, ripples slow and far-reaching.

“I missed you,” she admitted.

“I missed you too, Magoo.”

They didn’t hug.

That wasn’t Merle’s thing.

Instead, he bumped her shoulder with his, just hard enough to jostle her.

She smiled faintly.

‐

Dallis hadn't meant to eavesdrop.

She was just walking Momo, one hand tangled loosely in his collar, her feet brushing the grass as they circled the outer fence. The warm air smelled like rust and wet leaves, and somewhere off to the right, she could hear the soft hum of adult voices. Her head tilted slightly, curiosity tugging at her chest.

Rick’s voice stood out, low and tired but unmistakable.

“If we give him Michonne, this ends. He said he’ll leave us alone. No more attacks. No more blood.”

Dallis froze.

She stood just behind the old burned-out van near the edge of the yard, a safe distance away, close enough to hear, far enough to pretend she hadn’t.

“I don’t like it either,” Rick continued, and she could almost hear the pain behind the words. “But I’m thinking about the people in there. About the kids. We can’t take another hit."

There was a long silence. Maybe no one else knew what to say.

Dallis didn’t wait to hear more.

She tugged Momo’s collar gently. “C’mon, boy,” she whispered.

Back inside the prison, the air felt colder.

Her hands brushed the wall as she walked, using the small familiar bumps in the bricks and doors to orient herself. She wasn’t even sure where she was going, just away from what she’d heard.

Rick wanted to give Michonne up. To the Governor.

She hadn’t known Michonne long. The woman didn’t talk much, and her voice was sharp and cool like the sound of drawn steel. Dallis only knew her by the sound of her gait; light, steady, and never hesitant. Like a sword walking through a world of glass.

But still.

She bit her bottom lip and turned toward Cell Block C. She figured if she was going to find Michonne anywhere, it’d be there, maybe near the back where people kept their weapons or talked quietly about things kids weren’t supposed to hear.

“Michonne?” she called out softly as she walked.

No answer. Just the quiet hum of wind pressing through the cracks in the building.

She paused near the stairs, listening. Not for voices now, but for Michonne’s walk; that sure, deliberate stride. A second later, she heard it, quiet but unhurried, heading toward the front gate.

Dallis followed, her steps almost silent as she trailed the sound.

The closer she got, the more her heart started to hammer.

She was going to tell her. Warn her.

That’s what you do, right? You protect people. You don’t just… let them walk into something like that.

But then something made her stop.

Just inside the main corridor, she stood still, one hand resting on Momo’s head, the other curled inside her jean pocket, around Merle’s knife, or she guesses it's her knife mow. Something hard twisted in her stomach.

Michonne wasn’t her people. Not really. Not like Carl. Not like Shane or Carol. Not like Merle and Daryl.

Wasn’t this the kind of thing leaders did? Picked the path that saved the most lives?

And wasn’t that what Rick was doing?

She blinked hard, like it might clear the mess of thoughts crawling through her skull. She thought about Judith; soft baby noises in the middle of the night, Beth singing lullabies she barely remembered. She thought about Carl holding her hand when no one else knew how to talk to her. About Shane pulling her back from a dark place she hadn’t known she was falling into.

Was Michonne worth all that?

Would Michonne die so the rest of them wouldn’t?

Was it bad if she did?

Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her knife. Momo gave a soft whine at her side, and she crouched automatically, rubbing his ears as her thoughts kept spinning.

Was it selfish? To think about her people first?

Maybe.

But hadn't she lost enough?

Her dad, Sophia, Dale, Lori, T-Dog… Daryl and Merle—even when they were alive, they kept leaving. Everyone left eventually.

Michonne had been here, what? A week? Maybe less?

She wasn’t part of the beginning. She wasn’t family.

She thought of Michonne calling her Mr. Magoo. No one else called her that. Only Merle. And now Michonne.

That meant something, didn’t it?

Still crouching, Dallis pressed her forehead to Momo’s side. His breathing was warm and solid and real.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

Momo didn’t answer. He never did.

A moment passed. Then another.

Finally, she stood up.

She turned toward where Michonne’s steps had gone, and then she turned away.

She didn’t tell her.

She walked back toward her cell with Momo beside her, not saying a word, not stopping. The knife felt too heavy at her side. Her legs ached with every step, and her throat burned, but she didn’t cry.

She wasn’t sure who she was trying to protect anymore.

Maybe she was a coward.

Or maybe she was just a little girl faced with too big decisions.

-

The kitchen was warm, the scent of cooking filling the air, and Dallis could hear the soft clatter of utensils as Carol prepared lunch.

It had become a sort of routine for them, a steadying part of her day, one where she didn’t have to think too hard. Everything felt safe here, surrounded by the sounds of people working, the low hum of conversation in the background.

She was helping Carol chop some vegetables, the knife’s handle fitting snugly in her hand. Her senses were attuned to the rhythm of the kitchen; the faint scratch of the knife against the cutting board, the flick of Carol’s movements as she moved around the stove. Everything had become so much more manageable over the last few months. It was easier, quieter.

Then the door to the kitchen opened, and Dallis felt the shift in the air. She knew who it was before the voice even spoke.

Merle.

She didn't know exactly why he was here, but his presence alone shifted everything around her. He was just one of those people, like Daryl, whose mere presence changed the atmosphere in a room. She didn’t need to see him to know it. He had that weight to him, that sharpness.

"Hey, kid," Merle’s voice broke the quiet, a rough edge to it that she didn’t often hear. It caught her attention, and she turned, her hands pausing mid-chop.

Dallis blinked, her mind racing to connect the pieces.

Something about his tone felt... different.

"Merle?" she asked, her voice soft, uncertain. Merle’s footsteps echoed across the floor, and he stood just out of reach, like he was giving her space.

"I’m headin’ out for a bit," Merle said, and Dallis felt a strange weight settle in her chest. His words didn’t exactly sound final, but there was something in the way he said it, like he didn’t want to say the rest.

She didn’t respond at first, only continued with the vegetables in her hands, her grip tightening ever so slightly.

"Headin’ out?" she repeated, trying to find the right words. “Where?”

Merle didn’t answer right away, but she could hear the hesitation in his voice. He shifted on his feet, the movement slow, deliberate. "Just—somewhere. Need to sort sum shit out."

Dallis frowned, "Okay," she said, the single word holding more weight than it should have. She wasn’t even sure what she meant by it.

She thought about asking if he’d be back soon, but she didn’t have to. She could already feel it.

"You’ll be back, right?" The question escaped her lips before she could stop it.

There was a long pause.

She’d learned that silence often spoke more than anything else in this world.

She pressed her lips together, stepping forward to where she knew he stood, her movements slow, deliberate. Her hands shook just slightly, betraying the calm she tried to keep. She took a small step forward, felt around her, and then when she found the familiar shape of Merle, she didn’t hesitate.

She stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his chest, burying her face against the fabric of his shirt.

She heard him suck in a breath.

"Merle," she whispered, voice muffled. "Please come back."

There was no response at first, and it stung, the silence echoing in her mind. Yet, Dallis didn’t let go. She couldn’t. Not now. Not again.

"I’m not... I’m not good with this stuff, kid," Merle muttered after a while, his voice quieter now, a little softer, like he didn’t know how to handle what was happening between them.

Dallis didn’t move. She stayed right where she was, her face pressed against him, her fingers gripping his shirt tighter, as if she could hold him here by sheer will alone. She didn’t care if it made him uncomfortable. She didn’t care if he didn’t know how to respond. She just needed him to understand that she didn’t want him to leave.

"I don’t know what’s gonna happen," he added, the roughness still there, though it seemed worn down by the strange softness in his voice. "But you’ll be alright, kid. You’ve been alright before."

Dallis shook her head slightly, her grip not loosening. “I’ll be better with you here.”

Merle was quiet again, and for a moment, she almost thought he hadn’t heard her. But then, she felt the faintest pressure on her back, he wasn’t hugging her, but it was something. He wasn’t pulling away, either.

"Yeah, well... that’s real nice, but you don’t need me. You’re stronger than you know," he muttered, and Dallis could feel the shrug in his voice. "Always have been."

It didn’t make her feel any better.

Her grip tightened once more, almost desperately, before she slowly let go, her hands trailing down to her sides. She stepped back, taking a breath. Her face felt flushed with embarrassment, but she refused to show it.

"Just come back," she said again, her voice steady but her heart fragile.

Merle didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything more, and that silence, heavy and unspoken, left her standing there, feeling small and alone, even with Carol still in the kitchen, still cooking.

Merle wasn’t the kind of person who offered comfort in the way others did. But Dallis had learned that over time. He wasn’t Daryl, and he never would be, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t care about him, even if he didn’t know how to say it back.

"Be good, y’hear?" he said gruffly, ruffling her hair like she was a child again, she definitely felt like jt. “Don’t go breakin’ no more hearts while I’m gone.”

She didn’t laugh. She couldn’t.

“Does Daryl know you’re leaving?” she asked, voice cracking.

He didn’t answer that either.

"Keep that knife clean, alright?" Merle said as he turned away, his footsteps heavy again.

Dallis stayed rooted to the spot, her hand lingering on the countertop, her ears straining to hear his retreating steps. He had left before she could answer. She wondered if this was the last time she would see him before things started to change again.

The feeling gnawed at her; how many people had come and gone, how many had promised to be there and never returned. And here she was, doing the same thing she had always done: holding on to something that might slip away.

She didn’t move for a while, not until the sound of Merle’s footsteps faded completely and Carol’s hand landed on her shoulder, guiding her back to the kitchen counter.

Slowly, she let herself breathe again.

Chapter Text

The cell was quiet except for the soft breathing of Momo, curled up contentedly on Dallis’s lap. Her fingers moved gently through his fur, finding comfort in the rhythm, in the stillness. The air in the prison was still warm from the late afternoon sun, though the stone walls never let her fully feel it.

She could hear the faint sounds of people moving downstairs; voices echoing, boots against concrete, but here, in her cell, it felt like the world was holding its breath.

She paused when she heard footsteps; heavier than most, purposeful. She didn’t have to ask who it was.

“Dallis.”

She turned toward the sound of the voice before Daryl had even stepped fully into the doorway. She could tell from his tone he was tense, more than tense maybe. There was something under it, something knotted and sharp.

Momo lifted his head and gave a soft growl before settling again.

Daryl exhaled, “You seen Merle?”

Dallis blinked, “He came by earlier… said he was leaving for a bit.”

“Shit.” The word was muttered under his breath, nearly swallowed by frustration. He stepped inside, boots scuffing the floor. “He say where?”

She shook her head, “No. Just said goodbye.”

Daryl let out a rough breath and leaned his back against the wall. She could hear the leather of his vest creak and the drag of his hand through his hair.

“I think he took Michonne.”

The words landed with weight, like a brick to the chest. Dallis sat up a little straighter. “What?”

“Gone,” Daryl muttered. “Both of ‘em. No one’s seen her since late this morning. Tyreese said he saw Merle headin’ out, Rick thinks he’s takin’ her to the Governor.”

Silence wrapped around her for a moment. It was all there. All the pieces.

Rick’s voice earlier. Talking to the adults just outside. Words she wasn’t supposed to hear.

'If we give him Michonne, he’ll leave us alone.'

Daryl was quiet for a beat, then kicked the base of the bunk in frustration. “Goddamnit, Merle…”

He sounded… angry. More than angry. There was something panicked underneath it, something she wasn’t used to hearing from him. He moved away from the wall, pacing now, footsteps restless across the floor.

“Why would he do that?” she asked, her voice soft, confused.
Daryl didn’t answer right away.

“Because he thinks it’ll help,” he said finally, voice tight. “Thinks if he does the dirty work, maybe Rick’ll see he’s not a complete piece of shit.”

Dallis frowned, brows knitting. “By giving up Michonne?”

“He ain’t smart like that,” Daryl snapped. “He don’t think it through. He just… acts. Thinks he’s doin’ the right thing, but he’s just makin’ everything worse.”

Dallis reached down and rubbed Momo’s head, trying to ground herself. Her hands were shaking.

“Is she going to die?” she asked.

Daryl stopped pacing.

“I’m gonna find her,” he said quietly. “I’m gonna find both of ‘em and bring her back.”

She nodded slowly, “Is he going to die?”

Daryl was silent again, and that told her more than words could. He didn’t know. Or maybe he did; and didn’t want to say.

“He ain’t", he finally said.

She felt him start to leave, his steps turning toward the door again.

“Daryl?”

He paused.

“I… I think he meant to say goodbye today,” she whispered. “He didn’t say it, but I could feel it. He knew.”

He didn’t respond, but she heard the way his breath caught for a second and then his footsteps faded down the hall, the sound of them heavy, hurried, and laced with something desperate.

The cell felt colder once he was gone.

Dallis leaned back against the wall, heart thudding as the weight of it all settled on her. She gripped the fabric of her shirt near her stomach, trying to hold herself together.

Merle had taken Michonne to deliver her like some kind of offering.

To the Governor.

And he’d said goodbye to her like it was the last time.

She thought of how Merle hadn’t answered when she’d asked him to come back. How he let her hug him, even though he hated that sort of thing. How his voice had softened at the end, just for a moment, like he was trying to leave something behind without saying it.

He knew he might not come back.

He was making peace.

The realization cracked something inside her.

He hadn’t just been leaving the prison.

He’d been leaving her.

And maybe trying to do one good thing before the end.

-

Dallis sat on the edge of her bunk, her fingers loosely threaded through Momo’s fur. The dog was half asleep, tail giving the occasional twitch as he dreamed. But Dallis couldn’t settle. Not since Daryl had left. Not since she’d put the pieces together.

She kept thinking about Merle’s voice when he told her goodbye. The quiet weight of it. The way he let her hug him and didn’t tease her about it. She kept thinking about the way the air had shifted around her, how the stillness after he left had felt permanent.

Her heart was heavy with something she couldn’t name. A quiet dread. A knowing.

Then she heard the sound of feet rushing down the hall, quicker than usual. Carl’s voice followed, soft but urgent.

“Dallis?”

She turned toward the sound, standing. “What is it?”

He stopped just inside the doorway, breath short like he’d run. “Michonne’s back.”

Her breath hitched, “What?”

“She just got back. A few minutes ago. She’s downstairs. But…”

Carl hesitated.

That pause was everything.

“But Merle’s not,” she finished for him.

He didn’t say anything.

Dallis turned sharply, reaching for the doorway, her hands brushing the cold stone for guidance. She heard Carl move to help her, but she didn’t want help. Not right now. She needed to move. She needed to know.

Momo padded beside her as she made her way down the hallway, then to the stairs. The voices of the others drifted up to her; the sound of relief, confusion. Dallis kept going.

The moment she stepped onto the ground floor, she turned toward the voices, listening.

“Michonne?” she called out.

The room went a little quieter.

“Where’s Michonne?”

There was a pause then a quiet voice: “Over here.”

It was her.

Dallis followed the sound, steps slow, cautious. She reached out until she felt cloth beneath her fingertips; Michonne’s jacket, stiff and damp with the cold.

“Where’s Merle?” Dallis asked.

The silence was loud.

She waited.

Michonne didn’t say anything.

Dallis’s hand trembled as she pulled it back, fingers curling into a fist at her side.

“Is he… dead?”

Still no answer.

That was answer enough.

Her throat clenched, chest tightening as her lips trembled. “Did he suffer?”

Michonne’s voice, when it came, was quiet. “He made a choice. Tried to stop the Governor on his own.”

Dallis’s knees buckled, and she would have hit the ground if someone hadn’t caught her. Gentle hands wrapped around her, guiding her to sit on the cold floor. Carol.

The older woman knelt beside her, one arm around her back, the other holding her hand.

Dallis didn’t fight it. She let herself fold forward, her head pressing into Carol’s shoulder, the tears coming faster now. It wasn’t loud. Not sobbing. Just soft, broken cries that came from the center of her chest.

“I knew,” she whispered. “I knew he wasn’t coming back…”

Carol stroked her hair, “I know, baby. I know.”

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Dallis choked. “I mean—I did—but not like that. Not the real kind.”

Carol tightened her hold. “He knew you loved him. I think that mattered more than anything.”

Dallis shook her head. “He was such an asshole… but he was mine.”

“I know.”

For a while, they just sat there, the weight of it settling over the room.

Dallis turned her face into Carol’s shirt. “He didn’t have to do it. I would’ve forgiven him for everything if he just came back.”

Carol kissed the top of her head, “He was trying to protect you in the only way he knew how.”

“I didn’t want protecting,” Dallis said, voice breaking. “I just wanted him.”

Carol didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. She just held her, and that was enough.

Michonne was still nearby, and though Dallis didn’t say it, she was grateful the woman came back. That Merle hadn’t died for nothing.

But that knowledge didn’t stop the ache in her chest, didn’t stop the way the world felt smaller now.

Like something important had been cut out of it, and no matter how many people were still left… she’d never get that part back.

.

.

.

Somewhere in Another Universe

The air outside the prison smelled different today.

Dallis sat on the front steps of the courtyard, Bemo curled at her feet like a well-worn blanket. The sun touched her skin lightly, filtered through the overcast sky above. She could hear people moving in the garden nearby, someone sharpening a blade, a baby crying distantly in the cellblock.

Her head tilted, nose twitching slightly.

Footsteps. Two sets. One heavy, one lighter. One limping.

Bemo’s ears perked.

The heavy one stopped. A muttered curse. Familiar. Southern.

“…Son of a bitch,” the voice said, and Dallis stopped breathing.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Her hands tightened into fists, breath caught halfway in her throat. She stood slowly, cautiously, as if moving too fast would make it disappear. The cane she sometimes used lay abandoned by her side.

Bemo stood too, but didn’t bark. He just gave a low, uncertain whine.

“Who’s there?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The boots came closer.

“C’mon, now. You really think I’d sneak up on you, Mr. Magoo?”

She froze.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Her breath hitched.

“Merle?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me.”

She didn’t wait for confirmation. She didn’t need proof. She knew.

Dallis ran. Full speed. Barefoot on the rough concrete, dress whipping at her knees. She tripped slightly on a crack, but didn’t care, didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate.

She collided into him hard, arms wrapping tight around his waist, hands clutching the back of his grimy shirt. She buried her face in his chest and broke. The sob tore out of her like it had been waiting there the whole time; weeks building pressure behind her ribs, and now it finally split open.

“You’re real,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You’re really here—”

His hand came up, rough and calloused, cradling the back of her head. He let out a breath that sounded choked. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“I thought you were gone—I thought you died—!”

“I know.”

“Why did you—why did you go—why didn’t you—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and that was the part that finally did her in.

Merle Dixon didn’t say sorry.

Not unless he meant it.

“I looked for you,” she cried. “Everywhere. I listened to every voice, every footstep. I thought—I thought maybe you were just hiding. Or maybe you were hurt. Or maybe—”

He pulled her tighter. “You thought too much.”

She cried harder at the nickname, the one only he could get away with, the one that reminded her of rough hands and soft words and the kind of love that looked like a grumpy man walking two steps behind her just to make sure she didn’t fall.

“Why’d you do it?” she whispered. “Why’d you leave me?”

“I didn’t want to,” he muttered. “Thought I had to.”

“You promised you’d come back.”

“I know,” he said again, and his voice broke.

They stood like that in silence, her face buried in his chest, his arms wrapped tight around her like he could protect her from everything that had ever hurt her; including himself.

“I missed you,” she murmured.

They didn’t move for a long time.

Eventually, Merle gave a soft grunt and shifted back just enough to look at her face. “You got taller,” he said. “What, they been feedin’ you miracle beans or somethin’?”

She let out a watery laugh. “No, just Carol’s soup.”

He tapped a finger under her chin. “Still got that same smart mouth, though.”

“Still got that same ugly voice.”

“Hey now,” he grinned. “Watch your mouth, kid.”

Dallis reached out carefully, running her hands up the sides of his face. She felt the beard stubble, the slight cut on his cheek, the familiar slope of his nose, the scar just above his brow. Her fingers trembled, but she smiled.

“It’s really you.”

“It’s really me.”

She dropped her hand and swallowed. “Are you… Are you staying this time?”

Merle was quiet. Her heart dropped.

“Merle…”

He placed both hands on her shoulders, gentle but firm. “I’m stayin’. I ain’t goin’ anywhere again, you hear me?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “You promise?”

“I promise.” His voice was low and gruff, but steady. “I left once. Thought it was somethin’ I had to do. But I was wrong. Should’ve stayed. Should’ve never left you like that. Never again.”

She launched forward and hugged him again, tighter this time, like she was trying to memorize every line of him through muscle memory alone.

“I don’t care why you left,” she whispered. “I just care that you’re here.”

“Damn right I am.”

A wind blew through the yard, rustling the leaves of the young garden, kicking dust along the concrete.

“Everyone thinks you’re dead,” she said into his chest.

“I figured.”

“They’re gonna freak.”

“Let ‘em,” he muttered. “Ain’t my problem.”

She stepped back and held out her hand for him to take. “Come on. Everyone needs to see you.”

He didn’t move.

She tilted her head. “Merle?”

He sighed, “You sure they won’t shoot me on sight?”

She grinned. “I’ll get Carol to stand in front of you.”

“Terrifying woman,” he muttered.

“Exactly.”

He finally took her hand.

They walked back toward the prison slowly, her cane forgotten behind them, Bemo trailing loyally at their heels. Dallis didn’t need to see to feel the weight of him beside her; his warmth, the way he shifted with that uneven gait, the quiet grunt every few steps.

It was him. It was really him.

She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

“I missed you, Mr. Magoo,” he said.

“I missed you more, One-Hand.”

Chapter Text

Five months had passed.

The prison was no longer a place of fear and uncertainty. The Governor was gone, his people scattered, and the world outside had begun to feel less like a constant threat. In those five months, Dallis had buried her pain. She had mourned Merle, and though the weight of his loss would never leave her completely, she had found a way to live with it. Life, however strange and imperfect, had to go on.

The prison had transformed. The cold, oppressive structure, had now become a home. Gardens flourished now, vibrant and green, and for the first time in a long while, there was a feeling of something like normalcy.

Dallis didn’t get to feel the sunlight on her face, but she could hear the difference. She could feel the warmth in the air when she stepped outside, the ground beneath her feet softening as it grew full of life.

She sat beside Carol, as she often did these days, on one of the benches near the entrance to the main cell block. Carol was talking softly, the usual lightness in her voice, while Dallis fidgeted with her hands. The dog, Momo, lay at her feet, occasionally lifting his head to listen to the sounds of the prison or the wind shifting through the trees.

Life was different, and for the most part, Dallis was okay with it.

That was until a boy approached them.

She didn’t notice him at first, her focus was elsewhere, as always, but Carol did. Dallis heard Carol's voice soften, a tone she hadn’t heard in a while.

“Hi there,” Carol said, and Dallis could hear the warmth in her voice.

A new voice, young, around her age, maybe a little older, spoke next. “Uh, hi. I’m Patrick. I wanted to introduce myself.”

Dallis didn’t respond immediately. She wasn’t particularly eager to meet new people. She had her friends. She had her space, and that was enough.

“Nice to meet you, Patrick,” Carol said, ever polite.

Dallis let out a small sigh, not loud enough to be rude, but enough to convey her disinterest.

She felt Momo shift next to her, and her hand absently reached down to stroke his fur, her fingers catching a tangle of it. She let her mind wander as the conversation continued, her attention half on Carol’s voice and half on the ambient sounds; the creak of the metal gates, the hum of distant voices, the soft rustle of leaves.

“Yeah, we’ve been here a while,” Carol said.

Patrick cleared his throat, "I’ve seen you around. I didn’t know you were blind.”

Dallis’s head jerked up slightly, her senses snapping to attention. She could feel Carol’s glance, and she knew she was waiting for her to respond.

“Yeah?” she said dryly, almost too bluntly.

There was a moment of awkward silence, but Carol didn’t seem phased by it. “Dallis doesn’t really like talking to new people,” she teased lightly, her voice full of affection.

“I didn’t say that,” Dallis muttered, but the words came out more defensive than she meant.

The boy, Patrick, seemed unfazed. “I get it. I just wanted to say hello. I’ve seen you around, and I thought I’d introduce myself.”

The conversation lasted another few minutes before Patrick finally took the hint, perhaps sensing Dallis’s clear lack of enthusiasm. “Alright, I’ll leave you two to it. Just wanted to meet you.”

“Thanks, Patrick,” Carol called after him, and Dallis could hear him walk away.

She could feel Carol’s gaze on her, and a small, amused chuckle escaped from Carol’s lips.

“What?” Dallis snapped, irritated but trying to hide the edge of defensiveness in her voice.

“He’s a nice boy.” Carol teased.

“I’m not interested,” Dallis muttered.

Carol leaned a little closer. “Didn’t say you had to be. But he was cute.”

“Carol,” she groaned, tugging her hood over her head as if that would shut the conversation down.

Carol laughed, soft and warm. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.”

Dallis leaned back, arms crossed, her expression tight even though no one could see it. She hated how quickly things changed. One minute it was quiet. Safe. The next, a bunch of new people she didn’t know entered their life and suddenly the prison was all loud and lively.

Carol touched her hand. “You’ve got time, sweetheart. No one’s rushing you.”

-

The grass was softer now.

Dallis could tell by the way her knees sank into the earth as she knelt, palms brushing over the patch she knew by heart.

She didn’t need her eyes to find it; the tiny cross she'd built with her fingers months ago was right where it always was. Two sticks, bound by string Carl had helped her with. It tilted slightly, always had, but it stood.

Dallis sat cross-legged in the courtyard, just like she had every week for months, and rested her fingertips against the top of the wood.

“Hey, Merle,” she murmured, her voice low, barely above the breeze.

Momo sat beside her, chin resting on her boot. He didn’t move much these days when she came out here. Somehow, even the dog knew this was sacred.

“Things are... quiet. Mostly,” she said. “The Governor’s gone. Carol says he ran away, but I figure you know already. You always had a way of knowing things before the rest of us.”

She picked at the cuff of her sleeve, fingers nervous, twitching. “His people live here now. I don’t know most of their names. Patrick’s one of them. He talks a lot. Carol says he likes me, but I don’t really get what that means. Not like he’d really... I dunno. I’m not someone people like, not like that.”

She reached out, laying her palm flat over the dirt in front of the cross. It was cool beneath her hand, firm. Real. “I still have your knife,” she whispered. “I'm glad you told me to keep it, I... I only use it if I need to. I just... I don’t want to forget what it meant. That day you gave it to me.”

Her throat tightened, but she pressed on, blinking fast even though there was no light to chase away.

“Daryl’s still here. He’s been busy with all the runs, hunting and keeping things safe. He doesn’t say it, but I know he misses you too. He's really tired I can tell, sometimes I hear him walking at night outside my cell like he’s trying to keep everyone safe by himself. That sounds like you too, don’t it?”

She let out a soft, light laugh. “You two are the same in a lot of ways. Stubborn. Always trying to fix things with your fists first. But you were good to me, Merle. You were. No one else got it.”

A breeze picked up, tugging at her hair. She tucked it behind her ear absently, pausing. “I’m trying to be good. I don’t yell so much anymore. I don’t cry either. Except sometimes when no one’s around. I miss you, Merle. I wish you’d come back like you always did.”

Her voice cracked, and for a moment she didn’t speak at all. Just sat there with her hands in her lap, fists clenched around the edge of her sweater like it was the only thing holding her together.

“Carol says it’s okay to miss people, but it doesn’t feel okay. It just feels like... like I’m gonna carry this hole around forever.” She took a shaky breath and leaned forward slightly, resting her forehead against the crooked wood of the cross. “I bet you're raising hell wherever you are.”

She stayed like that for a while. Silent. Breathing. Listening to the wind ruffle through the grass and the distant sound of people working near the fence. It was peaceful in a way that made her chest ache. Like everything was trying to move on without her.

Momo’s ears perked up, and she felt him shift beside her, body tense in that alert way he always got when someone approached.

Dallis lifted her head just slightly. “Momo?” she whispered, brushing her hand along the dog’s back.

Footsteps. Slow and familiar. She knew them well by now; the slight limp in the left step, the steady drag of boots across gravel.

Daryl.

She didn't turn around as he came closer. He didn't say anything at first either, just stood a few feet away, letting her feel his presence like a shadow stretching long and steady behind her.

“I figured you’d be out here,” Daryl said quietly.

His voice was rough, like it had weathered too many thoughts before finding its way to her.

“You always find me.”

He walked closer, stopping just beside her. Momo leaned against his leg in greeting. Dallis reached out and lightly touched the toe of Daryl’s boot, just to be sure. “I was telling him about Patrick.”

Daryl snorted, “That loudmouth kid?”

“Yeah,” she said with a smirk. “Merle probably wouldn’t have liked him.”

Daryl chuckled under his breath, and then there was silence again, the two of them sitting in it like old friends. He lowered himself slowly to sit beside her, knees pulled up, elbows resting on them.

“You been out here long?”

“A while.”

“You eat?”

“No.”

Another beat passed.

“You should,” he said gruffly, but softer than usual.

“I will.”

She felt his hand settle gently on top of hers, rough calloused fingers over her trembling knuckles. “He wouldn’t want you out here feeling sorry for him.”

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m feeling sorry for me.”

He snorted, not arguing with that. “It’s okay. Ain’t weakness.”

Dallis tilted her head toward him. “Do you think he knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That I loved him. Like... he was mine. In a way. Hr said we were family.”

Daryl was quiet a long time before answering. “Yeah. I think he knew. I think it’s what kept him going.”

She squeezed his hand. “You think he was scared?”

“Nah,” Daryl said. “Merle weren't scared of nothin'.”

She let out a quiet laugh. He helped her up gently after that, brushing the dirt off her back like an older brother would, tugging her hood into place as she clutched the sleeve of his jacket for balance.

“Come on,” he said. “Food’s probably ready.”

She reached down to pat the top of the little cross once more. “Bye, Merle,” she whispered.

Then she followed Daryl back across the courtyard, hand loosely gripping his sleeve, Momo trailing close behind.

Behind them, the tiny wooden cross stood tall in the wind.

-

Dallis had barely kicked off her boots before collapsing onto the bottom bunk, her arms wrapping instinctively around Momo as the dog nosed at her stomach and flopped across her legs with a satisfied huff. The cell smelled like soap and hay and that faint earthy scent of iron from the cell bars. The end-of-day sounds from the rest of the prison hummed in the distance; voices fading down the hall, the clang of a pot, someone laughing two cells over.

She’d just gotten comfortable when the door creaked open, and Carl’s boots hit the floor harder than usual.

She didn’t need eyes to know he was in a sour mood.

He let out a long, annoyed groan before throwing himself up onto the top bunk with a flump of blankets and irritation.

She raised her head slightly, a teasing smile already forming on her face. “Someone’s in a mood.”

“Shut up,” Carl grumbled, voice muffled against his pillow.

Dallis giggled and settled back again, fingers idly stroking Momo’s ears. “What happened now? Did someone eat the last of the pudding again?”

“No,” Carl snapped, then after a beat, “I mean—yes. But that’s not the point.”

Dallis tilted her head toward the top bunk. “Okay, what is the point, your royal grumpiness?”.

Carl groaned again and leaned over the edge, his hair brushing the air just above her. “Dad’s being a total ass.”

“Oh no,” she said dramatically. “Not your dad being overprotective again. Say it ain’t so.”

“He said I couldn’t go on the run with Daryl tomorrow,” Carl snapped. “Even though I’m fourteen now. Fourteen. That’s not even young anymore!”

Dallis stifled a laugh, but not well. “Fourteen? Someone get this man a mortgage and a divorce.”

“Dallis!”

She grinned, “Come on. You know how your dad is.”

“It’s so dumb,” he muttered. “I’ve been on plenty of runs before. Hell, I’ve killed more walkers than half the grown-ups here. But nooo, now suddenly I’m ‘still a kid’.”

Dallis sat up slightly, Momo grumbling as he shifted on her lap. She leaned back against the cold wall, arms crossed, and launched into a ridiculous, over-the-top impression of Carl’s voice; nose pinched, tone scratchy and dramatic.

“‘Ugh, I’m Carl Grimes, I’m fourteen, basically an adult. I drink coffee now and wear flannel and don’t need anyone tellin’ me what to do.’”

Carl sat up on the top bunk like he’d been shot. “I don’t sound like that!”

“‘I shoot zombies and collect pudding cans like trophies,’” she went on, smirking.

Carl threw a pillow down at her, laughing despite himself. “I seriously do not sound like that!”

Dallis caught the pillow with a grin and tucked it behind her. “You kinda do, though.”

“I don’t,” he said, climbing down from the bunk. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a cowboy hat.”

“I am,” she said easily. “And I’m not the one whining about not being invited to the big scary run with Daryl.”

Carl stood in front of her now, arms crossed, expression clearly somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You’re the worst.”

“You love it,” she said, leaning her head back against the wall, the smirk still lingering.

He hesitated for a second before sitting down beside her, their knees touching lightly. Momo snorted but didn’t move from her lap, his warm weight anchoring her to the moment.

“I just... I dunno,” Carl said after a while, softer. “I want to help more. Everyone’s doing their part and I’m just... here.”

Dallis let the joking fall away a little, her expression softening. “You do more than enough, Carl.”

“Yeah, but... it’s different. My dad doesn’t see me like that. Not yet.”

“He sees you,” she said. “He’s just scared. Parents get like that. Trust me.”

Carl glanced at her, and for a moment there was something unreadable in his face. “I know. I just... I thought maybe Daryl would back me up. He didn’t say anything though.”

“He probably didn't say anything infront of you but I bet he's talking to Rick right now."

That got a small smile out of him, “Guess you’re right.”

She nudged his leg with her knee, “Of course I am.”

They sat in silence for a little while after that, their bodies
relaxed in that way only possible with someone who truly understood you. Carl reached down and scratched behind Momo’s ears, and the dog gave a happy grunt, tail thumping lazily.

“You gonna mock me again?” Carl asked eventually, glancing down at her.

She grinned, “‘Oh no, my dad said no, my life is over. Guess I’ll go write moody poetry in my notebook and cry into my cowboy hat—’”

Carl tackled her gently, careful not to disturb Momo too much, and she squealed as he tried to cover her mouth with his hand.

“You’re the worst!”

“I know!” she gasped through laughter, trying to wriggle free.

"Get off, Grimes, before I unleash the dog on you!”

“Bet!” he laughed.

Eventually, they collapsed back onto the floor beside the bunk, breathless from giggles. Momo, disturbed by the movement, sighed dramatically and flopped a few feet away, giving them a look of long-suffering canine patience.

Carl shifted to sit against the wall again, pulling his knees to his chest. Dallis leaned against his shoulder, bumping it lightly.

“You know,” she said quietly, “if it were up to me, I’d let you go on that run.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re annoying, but you’re good.”

Carl smiled faintly, voice low. “Thanks.”

“Besides, someone has to carry back the pudding, and I’m pretty sure Daryl won’t.”

He laughed, “Now that’s true.”

They fell quiet again, the warmth of the moment lingering like sunshine through the bars.

Chapter Text

The mess hall was buzzing softly with conversation, metal spoons clinking against chipped bowls, the occasional laugh echoing through the concrete and steel. Dallis sat at the end of one of the long tables, legs tucked up under her, one hand carefully balanced over her tray to keep Momo’s nose from sneaking any bites.

She didn’t need to hear them to know they were coming, they always did. Shane's boots had a distinct stomp, and Daryl shuffled like he was constantly annoyed to be walking.

"There's my girl," Shane said, his voice cutting through the noise like it always did; bold, loud, a little smug.

"And our dog," Daryl muttered, dropping into the seat beside her with a grunt. He set his tray down with less care than necessary, sloshing whatever passed for stew over the edge.

Shane sat across from them, already digging into his food like it was going to vanish in the next ten seconds. “You eat yet?”

“Started,” Dallis replied, spoon tapping around the bowl until she found a solid chunk of potato. She brought it to her mouth, chewed, then made a face. “This is terrible.”

“Better than squirrel,” Daryl said through a mouthful.

“Squirrel’s gourmet next to this,” Shane added.

“Both of you, shut up. Carol cooked it,” Daryl said, stabbing at a piece of meat. “And she’s right over there.”

Shane scoffed, “Carol’s a saint, but even saints can burn soup.”

Dallis smiled, quietly enjoying their banter. It was weird, sometimes, how different they were. Shane was all fire and thunder, always talking too loud and laughing with his whole chest. Daryl was quiet and gruff, the kind of guy who rarely said anything unless it mattered; but when he did, she listened.

“Did you get more pudding?” Shane asked her, reaching over to poke at her tray.

“No,” she said, swatting his hand. “Ben traded the last one for... I think rope.”

“Who trades pudding for rope?” Daryl muttered.

Shane leaned back in his chair with a scoff. “Boy needs better priorities.”

Dallis grinned, “You just want pudding.”

“Damn right I do.”

Daryl elbowed her lightly. “You eatin’ enough?”

“Yes,” she replied for the hundredth time that week.

“You ain’t skin and bones, but I swear I could pick you up one-handed.”

“Do it,” she dared.

He grunted. “Later. When you’re not holdin’ soup.”

They fell into an easy silence after that, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. It just was. Dallis picked around her food, occasionally slipping a piece to Momo when she thought neither of them was looking. Shane caught her once and said nothing, just smirked. Daryl caught her too and muttered something about “spoiling that damn mutt.”

Eventually, Dallis leaned back in her chair, bowl mostly empty. “You guys are lucky,” she said.

“Yeah?” Shane asked.

She nodded, “I let you eat with me.”

Daryl huffed a laugh. “Oh, that’s how it is?”

“Yep,” she said proudly.

Shane reached across the table and ruffled her hair with a grin. “Damn right we’re lucky.”

Even though Dallis couldn’t see them, she felt the warmth of their presence, heard the fondness in their teasing, and knew, without question, that she was exactly where she belonged.

-

Ben was trying to do the voices.

It wasn’t going well.

“And then—Captain Blazer, uh, blazed into the—wait, hang on, I think I skipped a page,” he muttered, flipping the corner of the comic while Carl leaned over, trying not to sigh too loudly.

“I told you it goes from the left page to the right,” Carl mumbled.

“I know that, Carl.”

“You say that, but you skipped the part where the alien king zaps the tower.”

Dallis sat on the blanket beside them, legs criss-crossed, her fingers tangled in Momo’s ears. The Doberman was flopped on his side, long legs stretched out and tongue lolling, clearly having the best day of anyone. She only half-listened to the back and forth. Her face was tipped toward the sun, the warm light soaking into her cheeks, and her hand ran soothingly down Momo’s side.

He thumped his tail every so often against the ground.

“You’re not even listening,” Carl accused.

“I am,” she said.

“What’s happening then?”

She paused. “…Captain Blazer is blazing something?”

Ben snorted. Carl sighed again, dramatically.

Dallis laughed. “I’m busy. Momo’s more important than alien kings.”

She paused, her eyes twitching. Footsteps, she could hear them, light ones. Crunching softly on gravel, followed by a hesitant voice.

“Um… is it okay if I pet your dog?”

Dallis blinked, her head lifting slightly. She turned in the direction of the voice. It wasn’t a grown-up, and it definitely wasn’t one of the boys.

She sat up straighter. “Who said that?”

“I’m Lizzie!” the girl said. “I just moved here with my little sister and my dad. He said I could come outside, and… I saw your dog.”

Dallis’s heart jumped. Another girl. Not just a kid, not just someone younger—a girl her age.

Since Sophia, she hadn’t spoken to someone like her. There were babies, toddlers… a few teens who barely said a word. But this—this was new.

She scrambled up a little too fast, forgetting how to balance herself for a moment. “You can pet him. His name’s Momo.”

Lizzie stepped closer. Dallis could tell by the shift of gravel on the ground and the sound of her voice, closer and lighter now. Momo’s tail gave a couple friendly thumps.

“He’s really pretty,” Lizzie said, crouching to run a hand down his sleek back.

Dallis shifted, her fingers brushing Momo’s collar like an anchor. “You’re new?”

“Yeah,” Lizzie said. “We came from Woodbury. After everything happened.”

Dallis nodded slowly, “You been here long?”

“Couple days. It’s kind of nice. Safer.”

Carl cleared his throat from behind them. “She likes comics too, you know.”

Dallis’s eyebrows shot up, “Really?”

“Uh-huh. My sister says they’re dumb, but she's 9, so…” Lizzie trailed off with a soft laugh. “Do you like them?”

“Sometimes,” Dallis said. “When the boys don’t argue the whole time.”

“Hey,” Carl protested.

“Or skip pages,” she added, aiming it toward Ben.

Lizzie giggled, and Dallis found herself grinning too.

It had been so long since she’d heard that kind of laugh; one that wasn’t Carl's or adult. Just silly and light and like they were still kids. Like they could still be kids.

Lizzie petted Momo’s head gently. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah,” Dallis said. “Sit."

Carl scooted aside to make space, and Lizzie joined them on the blanket.

For a moment, all four of them were just there; Ben flipping pages, Carl quietly beaming, Dallis resting her hand on Momo’s belly, and Lizzie sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed.

-

The sun was dipping low, casting warm orange light across the courtyard. Most of the noise had faded; kids were finishing chores, adults were doing last checks on the gates, and the soft sounds of garden tools clinking came from somewhere nearby.

Dallis sat with her back against the wall, legs pulled up, arms loosely wrapped around them. Carl was next to her, so close their shoulders brushed every now and then. Momo lay stretched across their feet, twitching in a lazy doze.

She couldn’t see the way Carl was looking off across the yard, but she could feel his quiet energy, the way he kept fidgeting with his hat in his lap instead of wearing it like usual.

Something was on his mind.

“Something wrong?” she asked, her voice soft.

Carl blinked, looked over at her, then down at the hat in his hands. “Nah. Just thinking.”

She bumped her knee into his. “About what?”

He hesitated. “Nothing important.”

“Liar.”

He let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “Just… stuff. My dad. Everything. I dunno. Doesn’t matter.”

There was a pause. Dallis rested her chin on her knee. “Sometimes I think about dumb stuff too.”

Carl glanced over, "Like what?”

“Like whether Momo dreams about chasing squirrels.”

He smiled, “Probably does.”

They sat in silence again, the kind that wasn’t awkward. Dallis picked at the seam of her sleeve. She reached for his hat and put it on, crooked and way too big. “How do I look?”

“Like a blind cowgirl.”

She grinned, “Perfect.”

And there they stayed, side by side, Momo sprawled over their feet, the world quiet for just a little while.

-

The library at the prison had been mostly untouched when they'd taken it over; dusty shelves, a few scattered pages, and tattered paperbacks. Not many people wandered in there except for Beth, sometimes Hershel, and now Patrick. He liked the quiet.

Dallis was sitting in the courtyard with Carl, legs folded beneath her, Momo snoring softly with his big head resting on her foot. She was listening to the wind, the way it whispered through the fences and made the trees rustle like secrets being passed between leaves.

“Hey, Dallis!” Patrick’s voice was gentle, careful. She tilted her head slightly toward the voice. “Yeah?”

Patrick stepped closer, then gently pressed something into her hands. A small, rectangular book. The cover was rough, not like the smooth paperback ones, and her fingers brushed over raised dots.

“I found it in the library,” Patrick said. “Didn’t know if you could read it but… it’s braille, right?"

Her breath caught.

Her fingertips glided across the bumps. She didn’t recognize the words, not yet, but the feeling of them pulled something out of a far-off corner of her mind.

She remembered the scratch of a table beneath her small hands, the patient voice of her dad, the way he guided her fingers.

“Feel the letters, Dally. Not just with your fingers. With your brain too.”

She blinked fast and swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “I… yeah,” she whispered. “I know how. I think. My dad taught me. A long time ago. I just haven’t… I haven’t done it in a while.”

She guessed Patrick smiled, “Thought you might like it.”

Carl stood off to the side, arms crossed tightly. He’d watched the whole thing unfold, eyes flicking between Dallis’s face and Patrick’s awkward smile.

“Thanks,” Dallis said, running her thumb along the edge of the pages. “Really. This means a lot.”

Patrick gave a shy nod, she guessed, then murmured something about lunch prep and walked off, leaving her with the book pressed to her chest.

Carl didn’t say anything right away.

“You’re mad,” she said, even though he hadn’t spoken.

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are. I can tell. You get quiet when you're angry.”

He sighed, “Okay. I’m just—why didn’t you tell me you could read braille?”

She paused, “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It does!” he burst. “You’ve been bored out of your mind, just sitting there sometimes. I would've found every damn braille book in this place for you if I knew.”

Dallis’s brows knit together. “Carl…”

“I’m serious.” His voice was thick. “You—you just sat there in silence sometimes and I thought it was because you didn’t want to do anything or talk to anyone. But you could’ve been reading. You could’ve had something—something to do that wasn’t just waiting around for things to happen.”

She frowned, “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

“I know. I just…” His voice cracked. “I want you to have things, Dallis. To feel normal. I don’t want you thinking this is all there is.”

She reached out, found his hand, and held it. Her fingers were cold against his warmth.

“I didn’t forget,” she said softly. “I just… didn’t want to remember. Braille meant my dad. It meant before. And I’ve spent so long trying not to think about before.”

Carl squeezed her hand, “I get it.”

“But now that I have this,” she added, lifting the book slightly, “maybe I can try again.”

He nodded, and though she couldn’t see it, she could feel the warmth in his silence. Then, after a beat:

“You still could’ve told me first,” he muttered, half-teasing, half-serious. “Not let Patrick swoop in with the hero moment.”

Dallis grinned, “Jealous?”

“Yeah. A little.”

She laughed, and Carl couldn’t help but smile too.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go to the library later. We’ll find more.”

Dallis leaned her head against his shoulder, still holding the book tight in her arms.

“I’d like that,” she whispered.

-

The prison was quiet.

Outside, the night wind blew gently through cracks in the walls, and far off in the distance, the groaning of walkers blended with the hum of the forest beyond the fences. But in their little cell, beneath the heavy blanket that hung over the bottom bunk like a makeshift fort, everything felt still.

Carl lay on his side, facing Dallis.

His breath slowed with hers, their legs tangled, Momo curled up at their feet like a furry heater. The only light came from a tiny battery-powered flashlight wedged into the corner, casting a soft yellow glow across the cell.

She ran her fingers along the dots, voice soft and steady as she read aloud. The story wasn’t anything exciting, something about a boy planting a garden, but Carl listened like it was the greatest tale ever told, smiling every time she stumbled on a word and grumbled at herself.

“Why are all these books for babies?” she muttered.

“They’re all I could find.” Carl shrugged.

Dallis snorted, “Should have searched harder.”

He laughed under his breath and nudged her gently. “I'll do that tomorrow, keep going.”

She did. Her voice was calm, careful, growing more confident with each page. Carl watched her fingers move with such purpose across the braille, and he found himself wondering how her mind translated the tiny bumps into words, into sentences, into stories.

Eventually, she paused. She turned her head toward him. “Want to learn?”

Carl blinked, “Braille?”

She nodded, “You read me comics all the time. Let me teach you something.”

He hesitated only a second before shifting closer. “Okay.”

She took his hand carefully, turning it palm-down so his fingertips touched the page. Her hands were smaller, cooler, but steady as she guided his index finger across a set of raised dots.

“That’s A,” she said quietly. “Just one dot.”

Carl squinted, “That? That tiny thing?”

“Yeah,” she said with a grin. “You’ll get used to it. You can feel them, right?”

He nodded, feeling the faint bumps under his skin.

She moved his finger to the next cluster. “B. Two dots, stacked.”

“Okay. So A is one, B is two...”

“Don’t guess,” she warned gently. “Feel. Let your brain connect it.”

Carl chuckled, “Now you sound like a Sensei.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Shut up and learn.”

For the next ten minutes, she walked him through the alphabet, letter by letter. Sometimes he got it right. Other times he didn’t. But every time he hesitated, she patiently guided him back, and all the while, her voice stayed low, rhythmic, safe.

Under the blanket, time didn’t exist.

There was no dangers, no walkers, no fences. Just two kids and a book that didn’t have pictures, teaching each other how to see the world in different ways.

Eventually, Carl let his head fall against her shoulder.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured.

“At reading?”

“At teaching.”

Dallis smiled, letting the book fall shut. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence passed, filled only by the soft breathing of Momo and the quiet hum of safety.

Then Carl whispered, “I want you to teach me all of it.”

She turned her head toward him, their foreheads almost touching. “I will.”

Beneath the covers, with nothing but a braille book and each other, they drifted into sleep; her hand still holding his, his finger resting gently on the final letter of the page.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun was warm against Dallis’s face as she sat in the grass near the outer fence, Momo stretched beside her, panting lazily. She could hear the faint hum of bees in the garden behind her and the soft, scuffing footsteps of Lizzie and her younger sister, Mika, in the dirt nearby.

Mika was humming something under her breath, a little tune that reminded Dallis of lullabies. Dallis smiled faintly and reached down to scratch behind Momo’s ears.

She liked the girls. It had been too long since she’d had someone her age to talk to, and both Lizzie's Mika’s presence was calming.

"Here you go," Lizzie whispered just ahead of her. "Eat up, okay?"

Dallis turned her head, “Who are you talking to?”

Lizzie giggled softly, the sound oddly sweet. “My friend.”

Dallis furrowed her brow. “You brought a friend?”

Lizzie didn’t answer. Dallis stood up slowly, brushing grass from her knees. She heard the soft, wet squish of something being dropped into the dirt just beyond the fence. The sound of shuffling. Breathing. Low, hungry groans.

“Lizzie…” Dallis called, uncertain.

“What are you doing?”

"Feeding them," Lizzie said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dallis stiffened. She took a cautious step forward, Momo at her side, growling now. "Feeding who?"

“The walkers,” Lizzie said. “They’re just hungry. Like us.”

Mika’s soft voice came from behind her sister. “Lizzie, maybe we should go back inside—”

“They’re not monsters,” Lizzie snapped.

“They just… changed."

Dallis’s pulse quickened, she could hear the walker on the other side of the fence now; snarling, the metal clinking as it leaned against the wire, desperate for the scent of flesh. She stepped forward and heard its moan turn sharper, more alert.

She knew that sound. Too well.

“They’re dead, Lizzie,” Dallis said quietly. “They’re not your friends.”

“No, they’re just different now! Everyone treats them like animals, like they’re evil, but they’re not!” Lizzie's voice cracked. “You don’t understand!”

There was no arguing with her. Dallis gritted her teeth, stepping closer to the fence, the scent of rotting meat heavy in the air.

She pulled Merle’s knife from her belt.

With one precise motion, she shoved it through the fence and into the walker’s skull.

It dropped instantly on the other side of the fence, crumpling in the dirt.

Lizzie screamed, “No! What did you do?!”

Dallis staggered back, breathing hard. “It was going to hurt someone, Lizzie, you’re attracting more of them by feeding them and you’re also waisting our food supply.”

“He was my friend!” Lizzie shouted, fury laced with a kind of heartbroken confusion. “You murdered him!”

“It was already dead!” Dallis snapped. “It’s not like you and me, Lizzie. You have to know that.”

Lizzie stormed up to her, breath ragged. “You don’t get it! You can’t see them! You don’t know they’re still people!”

Dallis took a shaky step back, her knuckles white around the knife handle. “I don’t need to see them to know what they are. I’ve heard them eat people alive, Lizzie.”

Mika tugged gently at her sister’s sleeve. “Lizzie, stop... please…”

Lizzie was silent, trembling, her breathing erratic. Dallis couldn’t see her face, but she could feel the rage rolling off of her like waves. Momo growled low in his throat, staying close to Dallis’s legs.

The silence between the three girls stretched thin and sharp. Finally, Dallis took a step backward. “I’m going to tell Carol.”

Lizzie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then maybe you’re not my friend, either.”

Dallis didn’t answer.

She turned away, her hands shaking, Momo at her side.

-

The scent of sizzling onions and canned tomatoes filled the kitchen, a rare kind of comfort that made the prison feel more like home than it had any right to.

Carol hummed softly under her breath as she stirred the pot, pausing occasionally to wipe her hands on a towel. The clink of the spoon against the pot echoed faintly through the kitchen.

Dallis sat on the counter, legs swinging, her hands resting in her lap while Momo lay curled at her feet. Her head was tilted slightly down, expression unreadable.

Carol didn’t need to see her eyes to know something was bothering her. She’d seen enough in her life to recognize when someone was chewing on something too big to swallow.

“You’re awful quiet today,” Carol said softly, keeping her tone light. “Not that I mind the peace and quiet. Just... noticing.”

Dallis gave a half-hearted shrug, her fingers curling in her lap. “Just tired.”

Carol stirred the pot a little more, “You didn’t sleep well?”

Another shrug.

Carol didn’t press, she never did. She just walked over, wiping her hands, and leaned against the counter beside her. “You want to help me taste this when it’s ready? I need an expert’s opinion.”

Dallis cracked a small smile. “I’m pretty sure everything tastes the same when it comes from a can.”

“Then you’re the perfect judge. No bias.”

A small breath of a laugh escaped Dallis, but it didn’t reach her chest. The silence stretched again. Momo shifted at her feet and gave a soft huff.

Carol reached out gently, tucking a piece of Dallis’s hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to tell me, sweetheart. But... if something’s weighing on you, I’m here. Okay?”

Dallis swallowed hard. “It’s not… it’s nothing bad. Just—stupid.”

“I’ve learned that the things we call ‘stupid’ are usually the most important.”

Dallis hesitated, “Lizzie.”

Carol hummed slowly, “What about her?”

“She’s my friend. She’s the only other girl here who’s like… my age. She talks to me. She makes me feel… normal.”

Carol waited patiently, not interrupting.

“But…” Dallis continued, her voice lowering. “She thinks the walkers are human."

Carol’s expression sobered, not that Dallis would know.

“She thinks they’re not dangerous. She feeds them, and when I—when I killed one through the fence, she called me a murderer.”

Carol sighed quietly as she sat down slowly beside her. “She called you that?”

Dallis nodded, “She was so mad. And I know what I did was right. I know it. But I keep thinking… what if I say something and I lose her? What if she doesn’t talk to me anymore and I’m alone again? I mean I know I have Carl and Ben and whatever but it's not the same, you know?”

“Oh, honey.” Carol put a gentle hand on her knee. “That’s not stupid. That’s brave. You're trying to protect someone who matters to you—even if she’s scaring you.”

Dallis kept her head bowed. “I don’t want to lose her, but I don’t want her to hurt someone either.”

Carol was quiet for a long moment, then said, “You won’t lose me.”

That made Dallis turn her head slightly. “What?”

“I know I’m not your age,” Carol said with a soft smile Dallis couldn’t see. “But I’m here. Always. And it doesn’t have to be just you and Lizzie or you and Carl. Okay?”

Dallis blinked hard, “I just miss how things used to be, I miss Sophia.”

“I know, sweetheart. I miss her too.”

Carol reached out and pulled her into a hug, and for a moment Dallis let herself lean into it; let herself believe she wasn’t as alone as her fears whispered.

“I’ll talk to Rick about Lizzie,” Carol murmured. “Quietly. You don’t have to be the bad guy.”

Dallis nodded into her shoulder.

“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Carol held her tighter. “That’s what makes you one of the good ones.”

-

The wind was steady up in the watchtower, tugging gently at the corners of the world. The sun was beginning to dip low, casting long gold beams over the prison yard. From up here, you could see everything. The day had started of good. For once, there weren’t any walkers at the fence.

No gunshots. No shouting. Just peace.

Shane stood with his rifle resting against the railing, eyes constantly scanning. He didn’t relax much these days. Couldn’t afford to. But it was easier now, with Dallis there. Not because she could fight, though he’d seen her stab the shit out of a walker, but because she was his girl. His kid.

One of the only reasons he still gave a damn.

Dallis sat cross-legged on the floor of the watchtower, a small braille book resting in her lap, fingers brushing across the raised dots as she read out loud in a steady, quiet voice. Momo was curled at her side, snoring softly.

“‘And the fox said to the little prince… ‘It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important,’” she read, her voice slow, deliberate.

Shane smiled faintly, still watching the perimeter.

Dallis shifted a little, adjusting the book in her lap. “Carl said he’d learn braille if I taught him.”

“That right?” Shane said. “He a good student?”

“He’s impatient,” she replied, smiling slightly. “But I like when he listens. He doesn’t talk much when I read. Just… listens.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Does he like the stories?”

“He does. But he’s heard this one like five times already. I think he’s getting sick of it.”

Shane turned his attention back to the distance, scanning the tree line. “You keep readin’ it anyway.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I like hearing your voice,” he said simply, no hesitation. “It keeps things from feelin’ too quiet up here.”

Dallis felt a small smile tug at her mouth. Her fingers moved again across the dots, slow and precise, her other hand resting against Momo’s back.

She read a few more lines, pausing when the wind picked up. Her hair brushed against her face, and Shane reached over without a word, tucking it gently behind her ear before turning back to the view.

“You miss her?” Dallis asked after a moment, her voice quieter now. “Lori?”

Shane was quiet for a long beat.

“Yeah. Every damn day.”

She nodded, not needing to say more.

“I miss Merle,” she whispered, as if it hurt to admit. “Still.”

“I know, baby girl,” Shane said gently, voice thick. “That ain’t something you just stop missin’. You just… carry it better.”

They sat in silence for a while after that. Dallis kept reading, her voice a soft rhythm beneath the wind and the distant groans of walkers. They fell into silence again. Comfortable.

The wind rustled through the cracks in the wood, and below them, voices murmured from the yard, someone laughing, someone else talking. Everything felt far away and close all at once.

-

The stairs creaked beneath her careful steps. Her hand trailing the wall for guidance. Momo padded ahead of her, pausing every few feet to make sure she was still there.

Voices drifted up from the common room; low and light.

Familiar.

Dallis followed them, quiet and slow, until she reached the last step. Her foot hovered a moment, like her body wasn’t sure whether to keep going or turn around and vanish back into the dark.

“Hey, Dallis,” Beth’s voice chimed. Warm, sweet, the way it always was.

The air smelled like old dust and canned beans. Judith was cooing softly in someone’s lap; Maggie’s, maybe. And there was the quiet clink of poker chips being moved.

“You wanna play?” Maggie asked.

Dallis hesitated, then nodded. “Sure,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She made her way to the table and sat slowly beside Maggie, feeling for the chair before sliding into it. The weight of sitting eased the ache in her legs. Momo laid down beside her chair, chin resting on her foot like he knew she needed the grounding.

“Glenn’s trying to cheat again,” Maggie teased.

“I’m not,” Glenn said with exaggerated offense. “You just hate that I’m winning.”

“Because you do cheat,” Beth giggled.

Cards were slid into Dallis’s hand. Maggie gently helped orient them, tapping each one as she whispered, “That’s a seven, a queen, and a three.”

“Thanks,” Dallis said quietly.

Beth placed a stack of poker chips in front of her, brushing her fingers gently. “That’s your pile. Bet as much as you want.”

Dallis nodded and fingered the smooth edges of the chips, turning them in her hand. The clinking was soft, rhythmic; comforting.

Judith gurgled in Maggie’s lap, and Dallis smiled faintly, turning her head toward the sound. “She okay?”

“She’s doing great,” Maggie said. “Beth and I were just singing to her before you came down.”

“Terrible singing,” Glenn added. Maggie elbowed him.

Dallis let the faintest chuckle escape. It didn’t feel like it used to. Lighter, before the ache buried itself in her chest. But it was something.

They played in slow rounds. Maggie helped when she got confused. Glenn cracked dumb jokes. Beth hummed softly in between hands, always keeping a hand on Judith or Dallis like she didn’t want either of them to drift too far.

“You’re good at this,” Glenn said, nudging her chip pile.

“I’m just guessing.”

“That’s better than what I’m doing,” Beth laughed.

Dallis smiled again, small, but real.

Even if she couldn’t see the smiles around her, she could feel them.

-

Dallis slept soundly, Momo curled at her side, the soft weight of the dog comforting against her ribs. The hum of the prison was quiet, just the distant murmur of people settling down for the night. She didn’t stir when the cell door creaked open.

Didn’t notice the faint scuffle of shoes across the concrete. Not until pain tore through her stomach like fire.

Her eyes shot open.

Her mouth opened too; but nothing came out but a sharp inhale, a crackled gasp, and then blood. Warm and thick, spilling over her lips, running down her chin.

She tried to breathe.

Tried to scream.

The knife was gone now, pulled back, and in its place was a blooming, hot ache that spread across her lower belly like lightning.

She was choking on blood and confusion.

She could only hear the rapid sounds of her own breathing.

A soft voice, trembling but eerily calm.

“You’ll understand,” Lizzie said. “You’ll see, when you wake up like them. Then you’ll know they’re not bad.”

Dallis’ body jerked, her hands pressing to the wound, but it wasn’t enough. She felt Momo barking now: wild, frenzied.

Her ears rang.

Everything was slipping sideways.

Lizzie’s footsteps were already moving away.

And Dallis, trembling on the floor of her own cell, her vision nonexistent, her world buzzing and shaking, felt her body give way.

She couldn’t scream.

Couldn’t speak.

Just the sound of her dog’s barks, and her blood hitting the floor.

And then—

Silence.

[To be continued…]

Chapter Text

It was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with the late nights at the prison, when even the walkers outside the fence seemed to hush and the cold air wrapped gently around her.

No… this was deeper.

Thicker.

The quiet felt like it lived in her bones.

There was no air, no ground, no warmth or cold.

Just… nothing.

She blinked, though that didn’t matter.

Blindness didn’t change in dreams.

That's what this was, wasn't it?

She tried to move but her limbs felt weightless. Not heavy—not numb. Just… like they weren’t hers. Her fingers twitched, or maybe they didn’t. She couldn’t tell. Her head ached in a dull, slow throb, and her stomach—God, her stomach still burned.

She remembered the pain, sharp and hot, and then the blood.

The blood she couldn't stop.

Lizzie’s voice still echoed in her ears, faint and distant now.

“You’ll understand when you wake up…”

She hadn’t understood. Not then. Not now.

“Hello?” she tried to say. Her voice didn’t come out. Or maybe it did and it was just swallowed by the nothingness.

“Is anyone there?”

Silence. Then… a breath. Not hers.

“Well look who finally showed up,” a voice chuckled warmly.

Familiar. Rough. Dallis’s eyes welled up instantly even though her body didn’t seem to be here, not really.

“Merle?” she whispered, or thought she did.

“I told ya I’d see ya again, Mr. Magoo.”

She felt him. Not saw, never saw, but felt him. The solid, lopsided grin in his voice, the way he’d always leaned against something when he talked, the sound of his boots tapping on stone or gravel.

He was here.

“I—I don’t—am I dead?”

“You ain’t dead,” came a softer voice, deeper and more careful. “Not yet.”

She turned toward the voice instinctively, her heart leaping into her throat. “Daddy?”

Warm arms wrapped around her, strong and safe. Arms she hadn’t felt in so long she thought maybe she’d imagined them. But they were there now. And so was his voice, close to her ear.

“I got you, Dally girl. I got you.”

Dallis buried herself into that voice. “I wanna go home,” she whispered.

“I want Carl and Momo and Shane… Daryl…”

“I know, honey,” her father murmured. “That’s why we’re here.”

Another voice joined them. Calm. Gentle. “You remember me, sweetheart?”

“Dale,” Dallis said instantly.

That slow, old man way of speaking. The way his sentences always sounded like they were rolling downhill.

“Course you do,” Dale said kindly. “You always were smarter than you let on.”

“Been a while, huh?”

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, another voice joined.

“You look taller,” came T-Dog’s deep chuckle.

“T… T-Dog?” she whispered. Her breath caught in her throat.

She wanted to cry, but nothing came out.

“You always were the brave one,” another voice chimed in.

Sophia.

“Sophia?” Dallis turned, her heart breaking and soaring all at once. “What's happening?”

A new voice joined. Gentle, kind. One she barely remembered but it stirred something deep.

“You’re not gone yet,” said Jacqui.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Is this… real?”

“It’s not real like the world you know,” her father said. “But it ain’t fake, neither.”

“You got a choice,” Merle said gruffly. “You can stay here. We’ll take care of ya. Ain’t no pain here. No fightin’. No walkers. Just… peace.”

Peace.

It sounded so sweet. So easy.

“But…” she said softly, “Carl… Momo…”

She could feel her father’s hand gently brushing her hair back like he used to, even before the world ended. “You still got people, baby. People who love you.”

“They’re scared,” Sophia said. “They’re waitin’ for you.”

Dallis turned toward the warmth of the voices. “But it hurts,” she whispered. “It hurts so much.”

“We know, baby.” Jacqui said, voice sweet as always.

Merle snorted. “Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but I don’t think you’re done yet, kid. Got a little more ass-kickin’ left in ya.”

Dallis sniffed, “You think so?”

“I know so,” Merle said. “Who else gonna keep Daryl from losin’ his damn mind?”

“And that officer guy,” her dad added. “That man’s tryin' his best. He needs you, whether he says it or not.”

She hesitated, “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” her dad said. “Just don’t let it stop you.”

“Please,” Sophia said, voice trembling. “Go back. Tell momma I said hi.”

“You gonna make it, Mr. Magoo,” Merle said. “Just remember what I told ya—keep that knife close and don’t trust nobody who smells like bullshit.”

“I remember,” she said, voice thick with emotion.

A long silence passed. Then her father leaned in close and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she felt it, somehow, just like she used to.

“Time to wake up, baby.”

"Wait-"

The pain hit her like a wave.

Her chest rose sharply as breath returned like fire. Her stomach was burning, aching, bleeding.

Voices shouted around her.

Hands held her down.

Cloth pressed against her wound.

The smell of blood and antiseptic filled the air.

-

The cafeteria was suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that came after blood had already hit the floor and prayers were already spoken. Shane paced, boots scraping over the linoleum like they had something to prove. His hands were fists.

He couldn’t stop moving. If he stopped, he might explode.

Daryl sat hunched at a table, head in his hands, not talking.

Carol was against the wall, arms crossed so tight her knuckles were white. Sasha and Tyreese hovered nearby, whispering; too quiet for Shane to care.

Then Herschel stepped in.

“She’s stable,” the old man said.

The words dropped into the room like a sigh of relief, but it wasn’t enough. Not for Shane.

“Stable?” Shane snapped, turning on Rick, who stood near the wall like he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

“That kid could’ve died in her sleep! We need to find out who the hell did this!”

Rick didn’t flinch. He never did when Shane barked. “I agree.”

“Well good,” Shane said, teeth clenched. “Because that could’ve been Carl. They share a damn cell. What if it was him? Huh, Rick? What if?”

Rick stayed calm and that only made Shane’s anger burn hotter.

“We’ll figure it out,” Rick said. “Someone’s going to answer for it.”

“That ain’t good enough.”

Then Sasha spoke, arms crossed, voice tight. “Are we sure it’s not a self-inflicted wound?”

Daryl snapped. He stood up so fast the bench scraped back. “The hell’d you just say?”

“It’s just—” Sasha began, but Daryl was already closing the space between them.

“You think she did that to herself? You really think that blind little girl stabbed herself in the gut while sleepin’?”

Herschel stepped between them, arms out. “Back off. Both of you. The wound’s clean. Angle’s downward, deliberate. Not self-inflicted.”

Daryl looked ready to kill someone anyway. Shane didn’t blame him.

Carol pushed off the wall, not saying anything, and slipped quietly out of the room. Shane watched her go and guessed where she was headed.

To check on Dallis.

Rick looked over at Shane, tired but sharp. “I’ll put someone outside their cell. Round-the-clock watch.”

“Damn right you will.”

“I’ll take first shift,” Tyreese said quietly, already stepping up.

Shane clenched his jaw. The rage wasn’t leaving. The fear wasn’t either. He could still see it; the image that haunted him from when he’d found her like that. Blood on the sheets. Momo barking. Her fingers twitching like she was trying to hold on. It all reminded him too much of when she had cut her thighs, he couldn't do that again.

Rick put a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “You need to get some rest.”

“Don’t tell me to rest,” Shane muttered, brushing him off. “You weren’t the one pulling a knife outta her gut.”

“She’s alive,” Rick reminded him.

“For now.”

Shane didn’t say anything else. He sat down hard in one of the cafeteria chairs, burying his face in his hands. The blood was still on them. He could still smell it.

-

The world came back in fragments. First, the weight of her own body. Then the softness of a blanket. A dull, steady ache throbbed through her stomach, but it was distant somehow, like it belonged to someone else.

She didn’t open her eyes; there was no point. The darkness behind her eyelids was the same as the darkness without them.

She knew she was alive. She could feel the rise and fall of her own chest, the soft inhale and exhale of someone else sitting close.

Fingers were gently smoothing her curls back from her face. Slow, patient, the way her dad used to when she was sick.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Carol’s voice whispered. It was hoarse, like she’d been crying. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Dallis didn’t speak. Her throat felt tight, like it was made of sandpaper. But more than that, she just… didn’t have the words. Her mind swirled with everything and nothing.

She felt raw. Hollowed out.

“You remember what happened?” Carol asked gently.

There was silence.

Dallis turned her face slightly toward the warmth of Carol’s hand, but she didn’t answer. Didn’t nod. Didn’t shake her head.

She just… lay there.

Carol didn’t push. Her fingers kept moving through her hair, soft and steady. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to say anything yet.”

She felt Carol’s breath catch, and then a kiss was pressed to her forehead.

“I thought we were gonna lose you,” Carol said, her voice trembling.

“But you’re still here. You’re so strong, Dallis.”

Still, Dallis didn’t speak. Her hands gripped the blanket tight, her heart beating beneath bruised ribs. The pain in her stomach was rea; but not as sharp as the pain inside her chest.

She knew who it was, but she couldn’t say it.

-

Dallis woke up to the sound of muffled sobs, the kind that told her someone was struggling to keep their emotions in check. It took a moment for her senses to sharpen, and when they did, she realized her head was resting against something soft.

Her cheek felt damp, and as her breath hitched, she realized there was warmth pressed up against her shoulder.

Her heart dropped as she recognized the quiet, strained breaths.

“Carl,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice rough from not having used it. The effort to speak felt like trying to swim through mud.

She could hear Carl’s shaky inhale, his body trembling against her as he pulled himself closer. He didn’t say anything at first, but the weight of his grief seemed to fill the space around them.

It pressed on Dallis’ chest, like the very air was thick with unspoken words.

The last thing she remembered was the searing pain in her stomach. Lizzie; her name echoed in Dallis’ mind like a distant bell, a ringing that made everything in her body ache in ways she hadn’t known were possible.

Carl’s cries grew louder, and she reached out instinctively, her hand trembling as it found his back, rubbing it in slow, comforting circles. "Carl," she said again, a little firmer, her voice cracking,

"What happened?"

He choked on another sob, his face buried in her shoulder. "You—y-you were bleeding, Dallis. There was so much blood. You weren’t breathing... I thought I was too late..."

Dallis struggled to understand. Her mind was still sluggish, her thoughts hazy. She couldn’t remember everything clearly, but the fragments were there.

Dallis closed her eyes, biting back the tears that threatened to spill.

She didn't want Carl to see her break. Not like this. Not when he was already so.. sad, so broken by everything that had happened.

“I—I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t mean to scare you...” Her words were faint, barely audible against the backdrop of his sobs.

Carl pulled away just enough to look at her pale face fully, his red-rimmed eyes wide. "Why didn’t you fight back?" he asked, his voice thick with frustration and confusion. "Why didn’t you—" His voice cracked, and he quickly turned his face back into her shoulder.

Dallis swallowed hard, the guilt weighing heavily on her chest. She could barely process his question, let alone provide an answer that felt right. She wanted to tell him everything; that she hadn’t expected it, too shocked to even understand what was happening, let alone fight.

Instead, she whispered, “I was scared, Carl. I didn’t know what to do.”

Carl’s breathing shuddered as he pulled away just a little more. He sat back, looking at her, still holding her hands like she might disappear if he let go. "But you're here now," he said, trying to sound stronger than he felt, older then he was.

"You’re here. You’re still here."

Dallis nodded slowly, squeezing his hands gently, trying to show him she was okay even when her body felt so broken.

"Yeah," she whispered, "I'm here."

For a while, the two of them sat there in silence, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say next.

It wasn’t like the conversations they’d had before, the playful banter, or the quiet talks about life and death. This was different. This was raw, and messy, and full of pain.

Carl shifted, his body tensing as he wiped at his eyes again. "I thought... I thought you were gone," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I thought I lost you too."

Dallis' heart broke at his words. She wanted to tell him she would never leave him. She wanted to assure him that no matter what happened, they would survive. But she didn’t have the strength for promises right now.

She didn’t know what would happen tomorrow.

Instead, she simply said, “I’m sorry, Carl. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Carl let out a shaky breath, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "It's not your fault," he said, his voice hoarse. "I just—I'm so scared of losing someone else."

Dallis squeezed his hand tighter, holding onto the small bit of family she had left in this world. "Me too," she whispered.

"Me too."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, it never was with Carl. It was a shared space of understanding, of grief, of survival. Carl’s weight settled against her once more, his presence a comfort, even as the world outside the walls of the prison felt like it was falling apart.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Carl murmured, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

“I promise.”

Dallis closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his words wrap around her like a blanket. She couldn’t promise the same, not in this world where anything could happen at any moment.

She couldn’t even keep herself safe.

Chapter Text

The braille book sat open on Dallis’s lap, her fingers slowly trailing over the bumps. She wasn’t really reading. She hadn’t turned the page in ten minutes.

Momo was curled at the foot of the bed, tail flicking now and then, as if he too sensed the heaviness hanging in the cell.

Her room wasn’t locked, not exactly. But there were guards outside. One posted at all times, just beyond the doorway, pretending not to be watching but she could hear them. Their footsteps.

Their coughs.

Their low whispers.

Someone always pacing just a few feet away, like they were afraid she might be stabbed again if left alone for even a second.

Or maybe they were afraid she’d be the one to do something now.

“Hey,” Shane’s voice came from the doorway.

Dallis didn’t move. Her fingers grazed over a line again, as if the same sentence would eventually start making sense if she just tried hard enough.

He stepped inside. She could hear the squeak of his boots against the concrete, the slight jingle of his belt. She could smell the sweat and leather; he must’ve just gotten off patrol.

“Just came to check in,” Shane said, his voice lower now. Not soft, exactly. But not the bark he gave everyone else. “You eat anything?”

She didn’t respond.

“Carol made stew again. Thought maybe you’d come downstairs, eat with the rest of us. Carl’s been asking.”

Still nothing.

The silence stretched until Shane sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “I know you’re mad. I get it, alright? We’re all mad. We’re all scared. I’d tear this whole place apart if it meant we could find who did this to you. But not everyone’s telling the truth so you've gotta just focus on yourself for now.”

Her fingers paused.

Shane stepped a little closer. “You don’t have to talk. But you should know… we ain’t giving up. Whoever did this—”

“Can you remove the guards?” Dallis asked.

Her voice was quiet, a whisper, rough from disuse. Shane paused. “Dallis…” he started, unsure.

“I don’t want them there,” she said, hands still on the page, though her fingers weren’t moving now.

“They’re just there to—”

“I don’t want them there.”

Shane exhaled slowly and sat down in the chair by her bed. The one Carl always dragged over when he stayed up talking to her. The one that hadn’t moved in days.

“You’re not safe,” he said carefully. “You know that, right?Someone came into your cell. Stabbed you. If Carl hadn’t found you—”

“I know.” Her voice cracked slightly.

“Then you gotta understand where I’m coming from. You’re a kid. I mean, hell, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, but you’re still a kid. You think I wanna have someone out there again, waiting for a moment when no one’s around?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That ain’t the point,” Shane said sharply, then softened. “You shouldn’t have to.”

There was silence again. Momo shifted, placing his chin on her ankle.

“I know you’re not telling us who did it,” Shane said after a minute. “I don’t know why. Maybe you’re scared. Maybe you’re protecting someone. I don’t know. But I wish you’d trust me enough to say something.”

Dallis didn’t answer.

Shane stood slowly, dragging a hand through his short hair. “I’ll talk to Rick. Maybe we can rotate the guards so they’re not right by your door. Give you some space. But I can’t leave you completely unprotected, Dallis. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Dallis nodded once, barely perceptible.

He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be back later. Bring Carl with me next time, maybe. That okay?”

This time, she gave a tiny nod.

Shane turned to leave. At the doorway, he hesitated.

“You’re not alone, Dallis,” he said. “I know you feel like it right now. But you’re not.”

She wished that was true.

-

Dallis was sitting on the bottom bunk, her knees curled up to her chest. The faint murmur of voices outside the cellblock filtered through the stone walls, distant and irrelevant.

Her bandages were tight around her stomach, a constant reminder of what had happened. She absentmindedly ran her fingers along the edge of her blanket, her other hand resting protectively on Momo's back. The dog didn’t move, sensing her tension.

She heard the door creak slightly. Footsteps.

Light ones.

She didn’t turn her head, but she knew who it was.

Lizzie.

There was a long silence before Lizzie finally spoke.

“I just wanted to talk,” Lizzie said, her voice soft, trembling, like she knew she shouldn’t be there but couldn’t help herself.

“I—I’m sorry.”

Dallis didn’t answer.

Lizzie shifted her weight nervously. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I thought if you came back, you'd see. I thought you’d understand.”

Still, Dallis said nothing.

“I thought maybe… maybe if you... understood, you'd stop killing them. I didn’t want to hurt you, Dallis. I like you. You're my only real friend.”

Dallis felt a cold weight settle in her chest. Her fingers slowly slid under the pillow, where Merle’s knife had been stashed ever since she got back from the infirmary. Her hand found it.

She gripped it.

“I thought you’d come back… better. Like them.” Lizzie continued.

Dallis slowly stood.

Lizzie’s voice faltered. “I—I know what I did was wrong. I just didn’t know what else to do. You don’t have to say anything. I get it if you hate me.”

Dallis moved across the room silently.

Then, in a swift motion, she pressed the cold blade to Lizzie’s neck.

Lizzie gasped, freezing in place. “D-Dallis—?”

Dallis leaned in close, her voice low and calm. “I’m not gonna scream. I’m not gonna tell anyone,” she whispered. “You wanna know why?”

Lizzie didn’t answer, her breath shaking.

“Because I pity you,” Dallis said. “You’re sick, and one day, someone’s going to have to put you down like one of those walkers you love so much.”

Lizzie whimpered, and Dallis pressed the knife just a little closer, enough for Lizzie to feel the edge but not cut.

“I don’t want to hear from you. You stay the hell away from me. From Carl. From Carol. From Shane. From Daryl. From Momo. From anyone I love.”

“I—” Lizzie started, voice breaking.

“No,” Dallis snapped. “You don’t talk. You listen. If you ever try that shit again—to me or to anyone else—I swear, I will kill you. I don’t care how young you are. I don’t care what people say. I will kill you. You got that?”

There was a pause.

Lizzie nodded slowly, her breathing ragged. “Y-Yeah… I got it.”

Dallis took a step back, lowering the knife.

Lizzie didn’t move.

“Now leave,” Dallis said.

Lizzie hesitated.

“Get out.”

Lizzie turned and left the cell without another word. Dallis sat down slowly, the knife still clutched in her hand. Her whole body was shaking, but her face stayed calm.

Momo padded over and rested his chin on her knee, offering silent comfort.

Dallis leaned her head back against the wall.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t speak.

She just sat there in the quiet, breathing slowly, waiting for the storm to pass just like it always did.

-

The sound of boots on concrete echoed gently outside the cell. Dallis stirred slightly under the thin blanket, her fingers instinctively brushing over the small stuffed dog tied to her jeans. Bee was faded and frayed, but it brought her comfort; especially now, with the sharp throb of her healing stab wound serving as a constant reminder of just how fragile peace could be.

Momo let out a quiet whine from the floor near the cell bars, ears perking up. Dallis tilted her head toward the sound, her brows furrowing slightly. “Who's there?” she asked softly, voice still hoarse from lack of sleep.

“It’s just me,” came Daryl’s familiar rasp. His tone was quieter than usual, softer. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

The creak of the cell door followed as Daryl stepped inside. Dallis relaxed slightly, sinking deeper into her pillow, her hand resting on Momo’s warm fur.

“You okay?” he asked, kneeling beside her cot.

Dallis nodded slowly. “Hurts a little less today,” she murmured, fingers absently tracing the stitches through the fabric of her shirt.

Daryl didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled something out, and gently placed it into her hand.

“Made you somethin’,” he muttered.

Dallis’s fingers closed around the object, feeling the smooth, carved wood. A dog. Not too big, but detailed; she could feel the curve of its ears, the tiny notches that marked the fur, and a curled tail looped perfectly for her belt.

“You carved this?” she asked, turning it over slowly in her hands.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, scratching at the back of his neck. “Used to whittle a lot, back before all this. Figured… you could keep it with Bee.”

She smiled faintly, and even though her eyes didn’t see it, her face said enough. She reached down to her jeans, her fingers found the tail of the new wooden dog and threaded it through next to Bee, letting the two figures sit side by side.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Daryl gave a small grunt. “When you’re feelin’ better, I’ll take you huntin’ again. Squirrel season’s still good. We’ll bring Carl if he can keep up.”

Dallis smiled softly, but her hand instinctively went to her side. The pain was still there, dull and deep. She could still remember the knife slipping between her ribs. The shock. The cold. The betrayal. Her stomach tightened, and her smile faded. She shifted slightly, wincing.

“You okay?” Daryl asked, concern cutting into his voice.

“Just… hurts,” she mumbled.

He didn’t push. “You tell me if it gets worse. I’ll go get Hershel. He’s got somethin’ for the pain.”

Dallis nodded, but her fingers clutched the new wooden dog tightly.

“I'll name this one Mo,” she said quietly, after a long pause. “Yeah, Mo. Bemo, Bee, Momo, and now Mo. All my dogs.”

“That’s a good name.”

They sat there for a moment in silence, the kind that wrapped around you like an old blanket. Safe. Still. Even if just for a second.

Daryl stood, his hand brushing over Dallis’s shoulder lightly. “You need anything, you call me. Don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. You just holler.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was clumsy, rough, like everything Daryl did, but it held all the emotion he didn’t know how to say out loud.

Then he turned and left, boots echoing down the concrete hall.

As the door shut behind him, Dallis leaned back against her pillow, Momo pressed close against her other side.

She smiled softly.

-

The air in the cell was heavy with silence, broken only by the distant hum of wind against the prison walls and the occasional metallic groan of the fence shifting outside. The room was dark, save for the faint orange glow of the night lantern burning low on the shelf by the bars.

Dallis stirred beneath her blanket, a soft whimper escaping her lips.

Her side throbbed; sharp and hot, like fire licking beneath her skin. The wound pulsed with every shallow breath. It felt like the stitches were being pulled tight from the inside out, as if someone were tugging at a seam deep in her muscles, unraveling her slowly.

She gritted her teeth and pressed a hand over the gauze taped to her ribs.

“Momo…” she whispered, hoping the dog might offer some comfort, but he was already there. She felt the weight of his warm body curled up at the foot of the bed, his fur brushing her ankle. He shifted when she spoke, lifting his head with a soft whine.

Her stomach churned, a twisting sickness rising up from deep inside her. Everything felt wrong. Too hot. Too loud. Her head spun even though she wasn’t moving.

She let out a shaky breath and tilted her face upward.

“Carl?” she rasped, her voice barely more than air.

There was a beat of silence, and then the creak of bedsprings above her. Carl moved quickly, the thud of his feet hitting the floor sharp in the quiet.

“Dallis?” he said, crouching down beside her. His hand brushed her shoulder gently. “You okay?”

“I don’t feel good,” she mumbled. “It burns. My side—it's worse… I feel fuzzy. Like I’m floating.”

Carl didn’t answer immediately. She heard the sharp inhale through his nose, the kind people took when they were trying not to panic. “You’re warm,” he said after a second, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead.

“Really warm."

Dallis let out a soft groan.

She was trembling now, sweat beading along her hairline. Her fingers curled into the blanket, her nails digging into the fabric.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Carl stood up quickly, his footsteps urgent now. “I’m gonna get Hershel. Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Dallis nodded faintly, but her body had already started to slump sideways, as if the effort of holding herself up was too much. The edges of her awareness blurred, the voices muffling into quiet buzzes which seemed to get louder and louder the longer time passed.

She reached blindly toward the edge of the bed, hand seeking something, someone, anything.

“Carl…” she called again, but her voice was weak, slurred.

“Don’t leave…”

But he was already gone, running down the hallway, calling for help, and Dallis was left in the quiet again.

Burning from the inside out.

Chapter Text

Dallis drifted; weightless, untethered.

Her body lay still in the cell, sweat-drenched and burning, but her mind had been swept away by the fever.

Then came the sound of waves.

Gentle, rolling, rhythmic. The kind of sound that filled your chest with peace. Sand crunched beneath her bare feet as warmth surrounded her; real warmth, not the kind that came from fever or fire.

The sun kissed her skin, and the wind tugged gently at her hair. She could smell the sea, feel the breeze dance across her face.

Laughter rang out, familiar and warm.

“Dally!”

The voice, his voice, sent a shock of comfort through her chest. She turned her head toward it, unseeing but somehow knowing exactly where he was.

“Daddy?” she whispered.

“Over here, kiddo!”

Her father’s hand found hers, rough and warm and strong, just like she remembered. He guided her forward, her feet sinking slightly into the sand with each step. She could hear the ocean more clearly now, waves lapping and gulls calling overhead.

“Where are we?” she asked, even though she already knew.

“The beach,” her dad said gently, guiding her down a slope where the wet sand met the dry. “You remember this place?”

“I think so…”

She could feel the surf nip at her toes. Cold water. Soft sand. Wind through her hair.

“You were real little the first time we came here. ‘Bout four or five. You tried to chase a seagull and ended up face-first in a tide pool.”

“I did not!”

“You did,” he laughed. “Kept crying.”

She couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound light and real even though everything felt distant. Her father laughed with her. It was the kind of laugh that made her feel safe; like nothing could ever hurt her again.

“I missed you,” she said suddenly, the words catching in her throat. “I kept waiting for you to come back.”

Her father was quiet for a moment, and the wind slowed. The waves seemed to hush.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to leave you. I wanted to come back. More than anything.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I tried. I swear I did. But it just… it didn’t work out that way.”

She reached out for him, trying to hold on tighter, but his hand felt less solid now. Like water slipping between her fingers.

“I don’t want to wake up,” she said. “I wanna stay here with you.”

His voice was warm, but a little sad. “I know, Dally. I wish you could too, but you got people waitin’ on you. People who love you.”

“But I need you,” she said, trembling. “Everything’s so hard without you. I’m scared all the time, and people keep dying. And—and Bemo’s gone, and Merle’s dead, and I’m so tired…”

“I know it’s hard, baby,” he murmured, and she could feel the hug in his voice even though his arms didn’t wrap around her.

“But you’re not alone, Dally. You never have been.”

She felt something touch her hair. His hand, ruffling it just like he used to.

“You got that dog—Momo, right? And Carl. And Daryl and Shane. Carol, too. They’re your family now. You’re allowed to lean on ‘em.”

“But what if they leave too?” she whispered.

“What if I lose them like I lost you?”

“Then you get back up, just like you always do. Because you’re the bravest little girl I ever knew.”

The waves grew louder again, as if time was pulling her away.

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet…”

His voice was gentler now.

Distant.

“I love you, Dally. Always will.”

The dream began to fade; the beach, the wind, the ocean. His hand slipped from hers, and the warmth of the sun turned back into the heat of a fever.

“Daddy!” she called, trying to follow. “Daddy, wait—please!”

No one responded.

Dallis stirred, eyes fluttering open to a ceiling that wasn't hers. The world was soft and wrong; like someone had taken a memory and blurred the edges. The light was dim, just enough to see shadows, but too soft to make out shapes.

Her head felt full of cotton. Her skin was damp, her body trembling.

The sheets beneath her were clean but unfamiliar. The mattress wasn’t the one from her shared cell with Carl; it was firmer, flatter, like no one had broken it in yet.

She wasn’t safe.

Panic tickled her ribs.

Her breath hitched as she tried to sit up, but a strong hand was there, steady and firm.

“Easy now,” came a calm, gravel-edged voice. “You’re alright, Dallis. You’re safe.”

She stilled, “Hershel?” she croaked.

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me.” His hand gently pressed her back against the pillow. “Don’t try to get up yet. You’re running a fever, and you lost too much fluid.”

Her lips felt cracked. Her mouth, dry. “Where…?”

“We're in a different cellblock,” he said. “I moved you here after Carl came to get me. Said you were burning up, disoriented. You’ve been out since then. Close to two days.”

Two days?

That didn’t feel real.

She shifted slightly under the blanket. Something tugged at her side; sharp, sudden pain. Her stitches. She let out a soft, broken sound.

“Shh, shh. You’re okay,” Hershel soothed, dipping a cloth into a bowl nearby. She heard the water drip, then felt the cool press of the cloth against her forehead. “You’ve been through a lot. Your body’s trying to catch up.”

Everything still felt distant. Muffled. Like she was underwater.

“My cell…” she murmured.

“Daryl and Shane are cleaning it up,” he said gently. “They thought it’d be better if you rested here. It’s quieter.”

Quiet. Yeah, it was.

-

It wasn’t just her anymore.

Dallis could hear them; through the thin walls, the heavy silence between coughs. Wet, rattling, endless. People were getting sick. Fast. Hershel didn’t say how bad it was, but he didn’t have to. She could feel it in the way his footsteps dragged when he came in to check her vitals. In the way his voice got quieter every time he answered her questions, he was sick too she guessed.

They’d quarantined the whole cellblock.

No one in. No one out.

It was just her, and the coughs.

She sat curled in the corner of the cot, knees drawn up under the blanket. Momo wasn’t allowed in. The thought of his big clumsy paws and warm breath usually comforted her, but now the absence was unbearable.

She would’ve given anything to bury her face in his fur, just to feel something alive and real and hers.

But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t have Carl either. Or Daryl. Or Shane. Or Carol.

She’d asked, begged, even, and Hershel had looked at her with those sad, kind eyes and said the same thing every time:

“They can’t risk it. It’s spreading fast. We have to be careful.”

Careful.

Had being careful ever done anything for them?

Dallis leaned her head against the cold wall, trying not to cry again. It didn’t help. The tears came anyway. She wiped at them furiously with the sleeve of her shirt. Her side ached where the stitches still held her together, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t the pain that hurt most.

It was the silence between the coughs.

The loneliness.

She loathed it.

It crawled under her skin, heavy and cold, whispering things she didn’t want to hear.

They forgot about you.
They’re not coming.
You’re all alone.

She hugged her stuffed dog Bee close to her chest, fingers curled tight around the stitched fabric. Her fingers found the smooth shape of Mo, the wooden dog Daryl had carved, and she hooked him onto the loop of her jeans beside Bee. She listened to them clack together softly when she shifted.

A reminder: they were still with her. Sort of. But it wasn’t enough.

Her voice was hoarse, but she called anyway. “Carl?”

No answer. Just more coughing. Somewhere down the hall, someone was crying. Somewhere else, someone was quiet.

Too quiet.

'If you need anything just holler.'

She called again, this time louder. “Daryl?”

Nothing.

He wasn't there for her, again.

Her throat tightened. “Shane? Carol? …Momo?”

Still nothing.

She shrank in on herself. Tucked her head between her knees and bit down hard on her lip, trying to keep from screaming. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she’d already lost so many people and now she might lose more.

That the people she loved were so close, but couldn’t even come hold her hand.

A shuffle outside the cell made her snap upright, but it was just Hershel.

He came in quietly, a damp cloth in one hand, a thermos in the other. He set them down on the small table beside her cot and knelt down beside her.

“You need to drink something,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer.

He sighed, not angry, just tired. “They’re okay, Dallis. For now. I promise you that.”

“Then why won’t they come see me?” she asked, voice cracking. “Even just for a second. I wouldn’t touch ‘em. I just… I just wanna hear them.”

Hershel sat down slowly on the floor across from her. His bones creaked when he moved. “They want to see you too, sweetheart. Carl’s been asking about you every time I check in on him.”

“Is he sick?” she asked quickly, voice sharp.

“No,” Hershel said, shaking his head. “Not yet. None of them are. But we’re being careful. That’s how we keep it that way.”

Dallis swallowed, nodding even though it made her throat burn. “Okay.”

She felt his hand on her arm. Gentle. Steady. “You’re strong, Dallis. You’ve survived so much already. I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

She sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

He stood and moved to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Before he left, she whispered, “If you see them… can you tell them I’m not mad?”

He paused, then nodded once. “I will.”

The door closed behind him, and she was alone again. She clutched Mo and Bee close, and whispered under her breath,

“I miss you.”

To all of them.

And hoped somehow, wherever they were, they heard her.

-

Dallis wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, or if she’d even really been asleep at all.

The world had become a strange kind of half-reality; soft and thick, like fog pressed into her bones. Sometimes she could hear footsteps. Sometimes voices. Once or twice, she thought she’d heard Momo barking in the distance, but maybe that was just a dream.

Her body ached. Her side burned. And the coughs; they never stopped. All around her, from walls too close and too far, people were fading.

She didn’t hear him come in at first.

Her head was heavy, the fever making the world feel like a boat in a storm; everything rocking and shifting beneath her skin. Her breath rasped in her chest, shallow and thin, and the cold air of the cell pressed against her damp skin like ice. Even wrapped in the blanket, she couldn’t stop shivering.

Then there was a voice, soft, familiar, and tired.

“Hey, kid…”

She blinked slowly. “Glenn?”

“Yeah,” he said, kneeling beside her cot. She could hear the weakness in his breath. He didn’t sound good. “Hershel said it’s okay for a few minutes. Thought you might want to… see someone.”

“I can’t see anyone,” she muttered.

Glenn chuckled softly. “Okay, hear someone then.”

She turned her head toward him. “You’re sick too?”

“Yeah,” Glenn admitted. “But not as bad as some of the others. I’m still good to move. Hershel says you’re doing better.”

“I guess,” she mumbled.

“Well… come on,” Glenn said, moving closer. “There’s someone who wants to see you.”

She sat up slowly, “Carl?”

He hesitated, “Not Carl, but come on.”

She let him help her to her feet. Her legs felt like sticks, brittle and unsteady. Glenn wrapped an arm around her, letting her lean into his side. Every few steps, he wheezed quietly, but kept going.

The hallway was colder than her cell. She could smell the metal and the faint, sour scent of sickness in the air. Every sound echoed more; every footstep, every cough from the other cells.

Her skin prickled under her shirt.

She didn’t ask where they were going. She just let him lead her.

Eventually, they stopped. The air felt different here; cleaner, a faint draft brushing her cheeks.

“Okay,” Glenn said softly. “They’re just on the other side of the glass.”

Dallis stepped forward slowly, letting go of Glenn’s arm. Her fingers reached out instinctively, fingers brushing cool smoothness. She pressed her palm against it, trying to picture the space. Her breath fogged a spot in front of her face.

“Dallis?” came Daryl’s voice, clearer than it had been in days, though slightly muffled by the barrier.

She felt her throat close, her lip trembled. “Daryl?”

“I’m right here, kid,” he said.

Carol’s voice followed, warm but tight. “Hi, sweetheart. You okay?”

“Carol?” she whispered.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Carol said. “We both are.”

Dallis pressed her forehead to the glass. Her skin burned, but she didn’t care. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

“We’re here,” Carol promised. “That’s what matters.”

“Why can’t you come in?”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. Carol did.

“It’s the rules, honey. So no one else gets sick. We don’t want you to get worse.”

“I feel fuzzy,” Dallis mumbled. Her words slurred a little. “I think I… think I heard my dad again.”

There was a long silence.

Dallis pressed both palms to the glass, her head tilted toward their voices.

“Am I gonna die?” she asked suddenly.

Silence.

She felt the words hang there in the air like a weight.

“Hell no,” Daryl said, fierce and fast. “You’re not goin’ anywhere. Ain't letting that happen.”

“But everyone’s dying.” Her fingers curled against the glass. “I hear them. I hear them all night. It’s like… like I’m in a box, and I can’t get out. And I just want… I just want—”

Daryl’s voice was firmer this time. “No. You ain’t gonna die, Dal. Quite it with that talk.”

Carol spoke gently, “We’re doing everything we can. Hershel’s taking good care of you. You’re strong, Dallis. You’ve always been strong.”

Dallis nodded slowly. She didn’t feel strong. She felt like a leaf about to break off a branch.

“Where’s Shane?” she asked.

Another pause. Shorter this time.

“He’s helping with something,” Carol said. “Important stuff.”

“…Carl?”

Carol’s voice softened. “He’s with Shane.”

That made Dallis frown. “Why didn’t they come too?”

“‘We can't have too much people here at once, Dal, it ain't safe like that no more,” Daryl said. “But I told ‘em I’d tell you they miss you like crazy. Carl’s been talkin’ about you nonstop.”

She gave a tiny nod. Her hand found Bee, still clipped to her jeans. Mo, the wooden dog, rested next to it. “You were gonna take me hunting,” she mumbled.

Daryl let out a breath, “Yeah, I was, and I will. Soon as you’re better, we’ll go out just you and me. Momo too if he don’t scare everything off.”

She smiled faintly. “He’s loud.”

“He’s a good dog, he misses you.” Daryl said.

Dallis leaned her forehead against the glass. It was cool and smooth and felt like the only thing keeping her upright.

“I wanna go home,” Dallis murmured. “But I don’t know where that is. The cabin’s gone. The CDC blew up. The farm burned down. Is the prison home now?”

“It is for now,” Carol spoke softly.

“It’s home ‘cause we’re here. You, me, all of us.” Daryl continued.

“You’re not here,” she said, a little sharper than she meant.

“You’re there.”

Daryl was quiet for a beat. “I know, but I will be. When it’s safe, I’ll be sittin’ right next to you, swear to God.”

She reached a hand out and pressed it higher against the glass like she was trying to touch his voice. Her arm shook with the effort.

“I heard Herschel say you were leaving,” she murmured. “Said you’re getting medicine.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “Me and a few others. Gonna find whatever’s out there that’ll help. Bring it back.”

Dallis tilted her head. “What if the medicine doesn’t know how to get back? You can’t take medicine into the woods. It won’t know the way home.”

Carol’s breath hitched, Daryl cleared his throat. “That fever’s messin’ with your head, girl.”

Dallis swayed again. She could feel sweat on her neck, under her arms. The glass suddenly felt too cold.

She started to slide down against the glass, her knees no longer working. Glenn caught her from behind, lowering her gently to the floor.

“I’m tired,” she mumbled. “Tell Shane… tell Carl I wasn’t mad. I was just…”

“We will,” Carol said. “Rest, baby. We’re not going anywhere.”

“I’ll take her back,” Glenn said, coughing into his sleeve. She felt him lift her up slowly, placing her arm over his shoulder as they walked back the same way they came.

Daryl called after them, “Hang in there, Dal.”

Dallis didn’t say anything as Glenn helped her back down the corridor.

Chapter Text

Something wasn’t right.

Even in sleep, Dallis could feel it; like a ripple in the air, like thunder rolling under her skin. Her head pounded. Her stomach twisted. Her skin burned with fever, but her body shivered.

Then came the sound.

Not the soft stirrings of the sick, or Hershel’s hushed footsteps.

This was different.

Wetter. Slower. Hungry.

A shuffle. A groan.

She stirred, eyes flickering open to blackness, heart already racing before her mind caught up. Her head was thick, her body weak, but instinct screamed at her.

Something was in the cell with her.

She didn’t move, not yet. Just listened. Held her breath.

It was close.

A heavy dragging sound.

The sticky smack of bare feet against concrete.

Then the groan. Low. Sick. Wrong.

Her whole body went cold.

She whimpered before she could stop herself; and the thing turned toward her.

A snarl. Faster footsteps now. Closer.

She screamed.

Her hands fumbled under the thin blanket, frantic, desperate. Her fingers closed around something cool and solid; Merle’s knife.

The walker was on her in seconds.

She didn’t see it. Didn’t have to. The stink of rot and blood filled her nose. She could feel its weight, its clawed fingers scrabbling at her legs, reaching up.

She stabbed.

The blade hit something. Slid. She screamed again and stabbed harder.

Hot blood hit her face. A wet gurgle sounded, and the weight collapsed onto her.

She shoved it off with all the strength her fevered body had left, sobbing, gasping, shaking.

The body hit the floor with a dull thud.

More screams. Not hers. Others.

Voices in the distance; raspy, terrified, dying. She heard coughing and shouting, the metallic clang of barred doors, the unmistakable chaos of the world breaking apart again.

Someone else screamed her name; Hershel, maybe. Then a gunshot. Then more.

Dallis stayed curled on the floor, Merle’s knife dripping in her hand. Her cheek was against the cold concrete. She could smell blood. Her own, the walker’s; she didn’t know.

“Momo,” she whimpered, forgotting for a moment that she was all alone. “Momo, where are you?”

No answer.

She choked on a sob. The screams kept going.

Her hands trembled, her body burning and freezing all at once. She curled tighter around the knife and whispered, “I wanna go home. I wanna go home. I wanna go—”

Another scream cut her off.

Then footsteps again.

Faster. Louder.

She didn’t know if they were human or not, she couldn’t hear it properly, everything sounded distant, fuzzy.

She gripped the knife and waited.

“Dallis?”

She barely heard it over the ringing in her ears.

She was crouched in the corner, knife in hand, her back pressed to the wall. Blood, sticky and warm, pooled around her knees. She couldn’t tell if it was hers. Everything felt off.

“Dallis, it’s me.”

Her head lifted slowly. That voice, soft but urgent. Familiar in a way that she could never mistake it.

“...Carl?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

The sound of feet, smaller than the others she’d heard, rushed across the cell floor. She flinched instinctively as hands reached for her, and she shoved him back with a weak cry. “Don’t—! I’m sick, Carl—I’m sick, you can’t—!”

“I don’t care!” he blurted, stumbling back, but not far. “I don’t care, Dallis.”

He came forward again before she could protest, and this time she didn’t have the strength to fight. His arms wrapped around her; tight, warm, real. She went rigid for half a second, then collapsed into him like a wave breaking against a rock.

The knife clattered to the ground beside them.

She sobbed.

Her whole body wracked with it, as if her soul was trying to shake free from all the fear, all the pain.

Carl held her, arms around her shoulders, his chin resting against her tangled hair. She could feel the dampness of his cheeks against her forehead; he was crying, too.

“I killed it,” she gasped between sobs. “It was in here—I killed it, Carl. I haven’t killed one in so long, I thought I wouldn't have too again.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice tight. “I know, you're not thinking straight. It’s okay now.”

Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt. “You didn’t come—”

“I know,” he said again. His voice cracked. “I wanted to. I tried, but dad wouldn’t let me. I hate him for it.”

“I missed you,” she whispered. “I missed you so much. I didn’t wanna be alone again.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just held her tighter. She could feel his heartbeat; it was fast, almost frantic.

“I’m sorry,” he finally murmured, barely audible. “I was scared, too.”

A quiet hung in the air between them for a moment. Just the two of them, breathing together in the dark, both clinging to something they didn’t have words for yet.

"Daryl came back. He got the medicine.”

Her breath hitched, “He did?”

“Yeah. Him, Michonne and the others. They just got back a little while ago. Hershel’s giving everyone the meds now.”

She swallowed hard, her tears still slipping silently down her cheeks. “Everything went fuzzy. I heard people screaming. I thought—I thought everyone was gone.”

“I’m here,” Carl said softly. “I’m right here, Dal.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, trying to hold back more tears and failing completely. “I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered. “Not again. Please don’t let them keep you away anymore.”

“I won’t,” he said, his voice trembling. “I won’t. I promise.”

He ran his hand over her back gently, trying to soothe the way she trembled. She was still burning with fever, her skin hot against his, and she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“I heard Carol through the glass,” she mumbled. “She said you and Shane were busy. I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“I always want to see you,” Carl said instantly. “I was watching from the other side of the glass every day. I tried to sneak in but dad got real mad.”

She let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Carl pulled back just enough to brush her hair from her face. “You’re gonna be okay, Dallis. I swear. The meds are here. It’ll be over soon.”

“What if they don’t work?”

“They will.” His tone was sure, even if his voice cracked a little. “They have to.”

They sat together on the floor, the cooling body of the walker forgotten on the far side of the cell. Carl didn’t flinch from the blood on her. He didn’t care that she was sick. All he cared about was that she was still alive.

Eventually, her breathing slowed.

Her fingers loosened in his shirt.

She leaned her head against his chest, and he held her just a little tighter.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “Me too.”

Yet, his hand stayed steady on her back.

-

The medicine hit her veins like fire at first. Hershel warned her it might, speaking in that calm, steady way he always did; like nothing could shake him. Like the world could fall apart outside, but in his presence, things were still.

He sat beside her, the small vial of precious medicine nearly trembling in his weathered hands, though he tried not to let it show.

“This’ll help, Dallis,” he said, voice low. “Might take a bit, but it’ll help.”

She nodded once, her lips pressed into a thin line. No tears. None left.

The needle didn’t scare her. Not after everything. She barely flinched as it slid into her arm, even as her fevered body tensed at the unfamiliar chill working through her blood.
Her head still spun, her limbs heavy. The sounds of the sick echoed from other cells; coughs, groans, muttered voices half-conscious.

But it wasn’t chaos anymore. Not like it had been.

The storm had passed.

What remained now was recovery.

She lay back against the thin mattress, her hands folded on her stomach, one thumb brushing absently across the worn handle of Merle’s knife at her side. Her throat still felt like sandpaper, her stomach curled tight, but the edge of the fever had dulled.

She could feel the difference already, as if a curtain had been slowly pulled back from her brain. Her thoughts were clearer, sharper. Her body not as distant.

“Hershel?” she asked, voice hoarse.

“Hmm?”

“Everyone else… they gettin’ better too?”

He paused, then said, “They’re fighting, just like you. And the medicine’s helping.”

She gave a small nod, relief flickering through her chest.

“Good.”

Hershel stayed a little longer, checking her pulse, her temperature, making notes in a little ledger he carried now like a makeshift doctor’s journal. Then, he gave her shoulder a squeeze and quietly stepped out of the cell, closing the barred door behind him with a soft click.

She lay there, quiet, listening to the subtle sounds around her.

Footsteps came a while later; measured, familiar. She sat up slowly, muscles still aching but not as weak, and turned toward the door just as the latch scraped open.

“‘Bout time,” she said, voice scratchy but steady.

A chuckle answered her. “Knew you weren’t sleepin’” he said, and she could hear the warmth in his voice, even through the exhaustion. “Told ‘em I was comin’ in no matter what. Don’t care if I get sick now that we’ve got meds.”

She smiled; big and real. “You idiot.”

He laughed, “Takes one to know one.”

“Brought you someone.”

The next sound made Dallis’s heart jump. A low bark. A whine. Then the patter of claws on concrete.

“Momo!” she gasped.

The dog practically launched onto the bed, tail thumping wildly against the mattress. Dallis wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his fur, inhaling the scent she’d missed so badly; dust and dog and safety. Momo licked her jaw and whined, pressing against her chest like he was trying to climb inside her.

“I missed you,” she murmured, rubbing his ears. “I missed you so much.”

Shane sat on the edge of the bed, watching them. He didn’t speak right away. Just let the moment stretch out, his expression softer than it had been in weeks.

“You scared the hell out of me, kid,” he finally said. “I kept wantin’ to come in, but there was so much goin’ on, kid. I'm sorry.”

“Well, you’re here now,” Dallis said. “And so’s Momo. So it’s fine.”

She wasn’t being dramatic.

She wasn’t crying.

She wasn’t a crybaby.

Shane reached out and ruffled her hair gently. “Missed your smart mouth.”

She giggled lightly, still high off her meds. “Didn’t miss yours.”

Shane huffed. He wrapped one arm around her, pulling her in and resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.

“You did real good,” he said quietly. “Hershel said you handled yourself.”

“Didn’t really have a choice.”

“Still. That takes guts.”

Dallis rested her head against his chest for a moment. Momo nestled between them, still pressing against her side.

They sat there like that a while. The chaos had quieted outside.

The screaming was gone.

The cellblock felt calm for the first time in days.

Though she should have known peace never lasted long these days.

Chapter Text

Dallis wandered the prison halls slowly, one hand gliding along the concrete wall, the other gripping Momo’s collar, one which Daryl had found on a run, as the dog padded steadily beside her. The air felt stale, quiet in the wrong ways. Not sick-quiet like when everyone had been fighting for their lives in Cellblock A. This was absence.

Something missing. Someone. Carol.

Dallis hadn’t heard her voice in days. Maybe a week. Time was still a little fuzzy, drifting in and out around her recovery.

She kept telling herself it was just the sickness and the chaos. Maybe Carol was just busy. Maybe she was helping Hershel or cleaning up the damage from the outbreak, but the hollow pit in her stomach wouldn’t stop growing.

She turned the corner near the laundry room and almost ran straight into Maggie.

“Oh!” Maggie caught her gently by the shoulders. “Dallis, you okay?”

Dallis nodded, though she was clearly caught off-guard. “Yeah. Just... searching.”

Momo whined softly and pressed against her leg, sensing her tension.

Maggie steadied her with a hand on her arm. “Searching for what?”

“Carol,” Dallis said, trying to keep her voice even. “I haven’t heard her. No one’s said anything. I figured maybe she’s with Hershel or doing something in the garden... but she’s just... gone. Where is she?”

There was a pause.
It was too long.
The pit in Dallis’s stomach churned.

“Maggie?” she asked again, her fingers tightening around Momo’s collar.

Maggie exhaled slowly. Dallis could feel the way her voice softened and dropped into something... cautious.

“Sweetheart...” Maggie began, and Dallis immediately felt the wall go up inside her chest.

“No,” Dallis said. “Don’t do that. Just tell me.”

“I think...” Maggie paused again. “I think it’s better if you talk to Shane or Daryl first.”

Dallis’s head snapped toward the direction of Maggie’s voice. “Why? Why can’t you just tell me? Did she get sick? Is she in quarantine? Is she hurt or something?”

“No,” Maggie said gently.

“Then what?”

There was a pause.

It wasn’t long.

Just enough to notice.

Dallis tilted her head slightly. “Maggie?”

Maggie took a breath. “I haven’t really seen her much.”

“You haven’t seen her at all?” Dallis pressed, frowning.

Another pause. Longer this time.

“No,” Maggie admitted. Her voice was careful now, the kind of careful grown-ups used when they were trying to tiptoe around something. Dallis hated that voice, she was too used to it.

“Why not?”

Maggie didn’t answer.

Dallis stepped closer, her hand reaching out until she felt the hem of Maggie’s shirt. She held on; not tightly, just enough to anchor herself. “Maggie, where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said, and Dallis could hear the lie in it. Why was Maggie lying? “But... listen. Maybe you should talk to Shane or Daryl, okay?”

“Why?”

“They’ll explain it better.”

That didn’t help.

“Dallis…” Maggie began, then stopped. “Please. Let Shane and Daryl talk to you, alright? They wanted to be the ones to... explain.”

Dallis shook her head slowly. “If something happened to her, I have a right to know.”

Maggie swallowed hard. “You do. And you will. I just—look, I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“You’re not helping either.”

Her voice was steady. Not angry. Just full of something heavy that settled in her stomach like a rock.

“Is she dead?” Dallis asked quietly.

“No,” Maggie said quickly. “No. It’s not that.”

Yet, Maggie’s voice didn’t offer any relief. Not really. It was more the absence of death, not the presence of comfort. Carol being alive wasn’t the same as Carol being here.

As Carol being okay.

Dallis pulled her hand back. Momo let out a soft whine at her side, brushing against her knee. She stood there a moment longer, her fingers curling around the hem of her shirt like she was bracing herself.

Dallis took a small step back. “Fine.”

“Dallis—” Maggie reached out again, but Dallis pulled away. Maggie stopped herself, then sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Dallis turned her head away. The hallway felt too loud, too quiet, too big all at once.

“I want to talk to Shane,” she said.

“I’ll go get him.”

Dallis shook her head. “No. I’ll find him.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She turned and walked away, Momo keeping pace with her. She didn’t know exactly where Shane was, or Daryl, but she would find them.

She needed to know what happened to the woman who filled a specific role in her heart which her mother never did, that told her she was brave, strong, that she could survive anything.

She didn’t want to imagine it. Not yet.

Not until someone told her the truth.

-

Dallis’s steps were quick, purposeful, and uneven. Momo kept pace beside her, his ears flicking as her boots tapped along the concrete floor. The corridors were half-empty now; most of the sick were in recovery, and the world was quieter than it had been in days.

Yet, everything felt so loud. Her chest was tight, her fists clenched, her face hot.

Someone passed her, said something like “You okay, sweetheart?” but she didn’t stop. She didn’t answer. She just kept walking, her hand brushing the wall as she moved, counting corners.

She followed the sound of movement toward one of the main cellblocks, where she knew Shane had been helping Rick with supply inventory.

He was talking to someone him in a hushed tone, his voice low and tired. She followed it, slowing at the doorway. She knew this part of the prison; Shane usually hung around here when he was planning stuff. She didn’t knock, didn’t wait; just stepped through the threshold, the moment Rick and Shane stopped talking she knew they had noticed her presence.

“Dallis,” he said, and she could hear it in his voice. That careful softness he used only when he spoke to her, “Hey, kiddo. You feeling okay? You should still be restin’.”

“Where’s Carol?”

There was a pause. Just like Maggie’s.

That pause was starting to mean something.

Shane was standing near one of the tables, hunched over a box of canned food. He turned around fully at the question.

Shane didn’t answer right away.