Chapter Text
*Daryl's POV*
I hate it here.
It's been over a year and we're still trying to rebuild Sanctuary, trying to make it into a home. The aftermath of the war was rough on all our communities. Kingdom, Hilltop, Alexandria… we're all still recovering from the damage. I know they ain't much better off, but I'd still rather be anywhere but here. Nothing grows and something sick lingers in the air, all the shit Negan did. All the shit these people just let happen or even shit they did themselves. Sometimes I still think I can smell burning skin, can still hear that damn song playing in my head.
Rick made the choice, though. Negan's alive, rotting in a cell. I don't like it. Adie don't like it. Maggie sure as hell don't like it. But it ain't up to us and I get why Rick did it. Why he ain't fighting no more. I'd've done anything for my kid if… it happened when I was out, letting Dwight go. I didn't kill him. I wanted to and maybe I should've 'cause maybe I'd've been back to Adie sooner, maybe I could've done something. She was with Maggie and Jesus, back at Hilltop, and she just… she just started bleeding. She bled for a week or two and it was over and she ain't been the same since. I think she feels guilty, like it's her fault. It ain't. Shit just happens. It ain't nothin’ she did or didn't do. She don't believe it, though.
She ain't been sleeping much lately, neither, and tonight ain't an exception. She's lying right here next to me but it feels like she ain't really even in the room. She tried so damn hard to put on a happy face for Maggie when baby Hershel was born, but she cried herself to sleep for weeks after. I don't think she knew how much she wanted our baby until it was just gone. Erased. She didn't wanna be touched for a long time after that, until one night she did. She lost her shit the next morning, terrified she was gonna wind up pregnant again, but she didn't and now when she wants to be touched, we're careful. But we don't have to be.
"We could try," I blurt.
Her body stiffens beside me, every muscle tensing like she's in physical pain.
"We could."
"I can't," she whispers, curling into me and resting her head on my chest.
I ain't gonna push her. But we could if she wanted to. It's taking a while, but we are rebuilding. I could talk to Rick, get him to put somebody else in charge here. Me and Adie could go to Hilltop or maybe even the Kingdom, start a family on purpose, and I could keep her safe there, I know I could. Maybe I'll ask Rick when we see him in a couple days. Just to see. I'm gonna radio Alexandria tomorrow, try and set up a run into DC, see if we can't hit up the natural history museum. The Smithsonian. Adie's been there. She ain't looking forward to going back. Last time she was there, so was her dad. It's smart, though. What better place to figure shit out than a big ass building full of old world human achievement? We got a fuckin' map to survival in there. That key book helps, but we need the right tools and we're gonna get 'em.
*Adrienne's POV*
I hate it here.
That's all I can think about, making my way from our room down to the bike lot where I'm assuming Daryl will be, pacing around with his nose buried in a manual, like every other morning this week. He's been trying to teach himself how to convert bikes to run on electricity, figure out if we’ve got the resources to swing it. He says the ethanol we’ve been making is ‘probably gonna fuckin’ wreck the goddamn engine’ and not getting much in the way of mileage. Fuel is getting harder and harder to find and even though it’s starting to look like the best option, he really doesn't wanna start getting around on horseback. I don't think he ever actually forgave Nelly for throwing him down that ravine back at the farm.
On the bright side, Rosita and Eugene are here—for now, at least—and it doesn't feel like it's just Daryl and me alone with the Saviors. Sure, they surrendered and they've been mostly cooperative. I just can't help but still think of them as Negan's people. He's still alive. He's alive and Glenn isn't. He doesn't get to watch his baby grow up. Abraham, Sasha… the war wiped out half our people, we gave it all we had to try and make things right, to see Negan get what he deserves. My people have suffered so much loss because of that prick and he's still alive. I'm pissed at Rick for that. I know he's trying to do right by Carl and maybe it's working right now, but with Negan alive the Saviors aren't ever gonna fully fall in line. Rick should've killed him or gotten the hell out of the way for someone else to do it.
"Mornin', Mrs. D," Jed chirps, smirking around the toothpick tucked between his teeth.
I hate Jed. I hate the way he looks at me. I hate how he never actually seems to be looking at my face. He's staring up at me expectantly now, gaze settled on my chest, crouched beside a bike he doesn't appear to actually be doing anything with, simply playing the part of useful so Daryl doesn't put him out in the garden boxes with Regina.
"Mornin'," I mutter, not sparing him a second glance as I practically sprint towards Daryl.
"Hey," he grunts, looking up from his manual just long enough to let me kiss him hello.
"Hey," I murmur. "I was-"
"Daryl," Laura interrupts, materializing seemingly out of thin air, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.
I hate her, too. I'm not blind, I know she's got a thing for him. She's tattling again. Seems to be about the only thing she's good for, letting Daryl know when people are breaking the rules. Oh, and stripping him with her eyes. I suppose she's good at that, too. I wonder if he still has the ring on his finger when she's done or if she gets off knowing he's unavailable and that's why she's got him in her sights. I wish I could say it doesn't bother me.
"I'll take care of it." Daryl nods, prompting Laura to beam up at him and scurry back wherever the hell she came from. "Adie, will you make sure Eugene's put in that run request?"
He's off like a shot to shut down whatever bullshit Laura had to report, knowing I'll do what he asks without needing explicit confirmation. I have mixed feelings about the whole Smithsonian thing. Going into the city under no certainty we’ll be getting what we came for seems more than a little risky to me. Still, our friends will be there and that’s enough silver lining for me. It's been a damn long while since we've seen our people and I'm missing them something fierce. Being separated like this, all of us scattered throughout the communities, really makes me miss the days it was just us against them, when we stayed together no matter what. But it looks like those days are over.
*Daryl's POV*
When Rick put me in charge of this place, I made it clear from the start Negan's way of doing shit is done. No torturing people into submission, no points, no making the dead work for us. We want something done, we do it ourselves. Laura might be a fuckin’ snitch, but at least she follows the rules. Arat and Justin, though, got a walker strung up on some railroad ties between a couple garden boxes full of dead corn.
"Hey!" I bark, stomping into the yard, already fuming. "What the hell you doin'?"
"Scarin' the birds away," Arat explains.
I don't give a shit about the birds. We just pulled the last harvest, never mind the fact that's a dumb ass idea anyway. Crows are scavengers. If anything, hoisting a rotting body into the air is just gonna bring on more of 'em. I fire a bolt into the dead sumbitch and walk away, assuming they don't need further instructions.
I hate this place.
*Adrienne's POV*
"Sanctuary to Alexandria Relay One, come in," Eugene says, holding the walkie just a hair too close to his mouth. "You hear me, AR One?"
We managed to find a few repeaters stashed away back at that solar warehouse and Eugene was able to set our shit up so our long range radios are now longer range radios. We've got patrols set up night and day covering routes between our four communities, getting messages from one place to another, keeping tabs on herds and eyes out for wanderers. We don't get many of the latter. The dead are far more common these days.
"Loud and clear, Ponytail," Tara's voice crackles. "What's up?"
"Crops are done-zo at the Sanctuary," Eugene informs her. "Time to go medieval on this thing's ass, as it were."
The harvest wasn't exactly spectacular. The soil here isn't good for farming much of anything at all, but Daryl's hoping we can change that with a plow from the display at the museum. Maybe if we churn up some land we can actually make something grow out here. Dead corn's great for making fuel, but not much of it and it's definitely not gonna feed this place. I wish I cared more. The truth is, I can’t wait to see Sanctuary fall.
*Daryl's POV*
A lot's changed but there still ain't nothin' better than being on a bike with Adie's arms wrapped around me. I know she don't like being at Sanctuary, neither, and I can feel the tension leaving her body as we speed away from that shit hole. By the time we've gotten to the overpass at the Kingdom Patrol site, she's molded herself to my back, her face buried in my neck like old times, and I know she's happy 'cause she's humming, the sound making my skin buzz. I've made up my mind. I'm gonna ask Rick about moving somewhere else as soon as I get a chance, get her outta that place. Get her somewhere she can be happy and humming all the time. Jerry and his horse ride into view and I slow the bike as we approach.
"Clear to the rally point, dudes!" he announces, grinning. "See you on the flip."
Adie chuckles, tossing him a thumbs up as I give the bike a little more gas. She always seems to get a kick outta Jerry. He's alright by me 'cause he loves Adie and Carol and I know he'll protect 'em. And he makes a kick ass peach cobbler.
*Adrienne's POV*
This place looks just as huge now as it did when I was eight years old, holding tight to my dad's hand while he led me up the steps and into the building, where he’d spend hours excitedly pointing out his favorite displays. Back when I thought he knew everything, before I knew he was messed up and I was messed up, too. Rick whistles, he and Michonne flanking the double doors, waiting for any dead lurking on the ground floor to shamble out here. There's only one and Michonne makes quick work of dispatching it.
"We're good for now," she murmurs. "Sweep protocol when we get in."
Rick opens the door wide, all of us filing inside. It's just like I remember, if I ignore the dust and the trash and the cobwebs. And the blood. It looks like whoever was camped out here has been gone a long while. Abandoned sleeping bags litter the floor, collapsed tents, clothing, empty backpacks, children's toys… this place fell early and it fell hard. Daryl slips his hand into mine, lacing our fingers. I glance at him appreciatively, lifting our hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to the back of his.
"Y'all got your lists," Rick reminds us. "Circle back here when you're done. Be safe."
"This is gonna work," Maggie breathes, eyeing our surroundings with much more hope than I can muster just yet.
There's a large section of glass tiles, an installation set into the floor, between us and the stairs. It's an odd architectural choice, given the fact that—before the world ended, anyway—anybody on the bottom floor could have seen right through the ceiling to the floor above. Had the fine people who designed the damn thing not thought about the unfortunate patrons who might be wearing skirts? Despite the rubble from the crumbling ceiling, the glass seems to be intact. Black support beams criss cross beneath our feet, the walkers on the floor below growling restlessly as we cautiously make our way over the glass. Once we're all safely across, the plan is to split into pairs and trios and sweep the building. Cyndie joins Daryl and me, turning back for a moment as the three of us ascend the stairs.
"Heads up!" she calls, eyes on a walker hurling itself over the banister on one of the floors above, bringing a chunk of stone railing with it.
The group still on the glass surges forward, reaching the stairs just before the body hits the ground, skewering itself on a piece of rebar jutting upwards from the ruins atop the glass, which, miraculously, still doesn't shatter. Daryl takes pity on the poor dead bastard, firing a bolt into the thrashing corpse.
"Onward," Ezekiel huffs. "We'll figure it out."
We will. We always figure it out. I just hope we don't lose anybody in the process this time.
*Daryl's POV*
Natives really got the short end of the stick. This display can dress it up all they want, call them colonial pricks pilgrims and make it out like they were all friends, but that don't make the shit that happened to them just go away. Maybe this whole apocalypse thing is just some overdue karma. You reap what you sow. Adie drops my hand, running a fingertip along the lines of an illustration in the bottom corner of the display placard. It's a Cherokee rose. Something thuds a few feet away, breaking my attention from the flower. Cyndie's struggling to lift a canoe from its stand just down the hall.
"You need help with that?" I ask, Adie already moving to assist.
"Uh, yeah." Cyndie sniffles, quickly swiping away a tear with the back of her hand. "Uh, sure."
"You all right?"
"I was just, um… just thinking about my brother," she explains. "We were fighting during a canoe ride at the county fair. It's funny, you know, how certain things just bring up random memories like that." She sighs, eyeing me. "Does it happen to you?"
Adie's eyes flicker briefly to mine before she drops her gaze to the floor, discreetly moving away from us to stand beside Ezekiel a few yards down the hall.
"Most of the memories I got of my brother, we were fightin'," I mutter, forcing my eyes from Adie to Cyndie. "But I had friends that fought with me. They wanted to be here. They didn't make it. So, yeah, it happens to me."
*Adrienne's POV*
Daryl was right about the plow. Maggie found it. They've got a blacksmith back at Hilltop, he can use this thing to create a working replica, which they can send to Sanctuary and then we can try and fix our shit. Grow something, contribute more to our little world than the occasional ear of corn. Maggie also found a big ass wagon we can use to transport all this shit where it needs to go. We just have to get the damn thing out of here first.
"All right," Rick huffs. "Easy. Last step. Easy!"
We’ve managed to get the front end of the wagon onto the glass without breaking anything, which is promising, but we're not even halfway there.
"All right, hold, hold!" Rick orders.
He's got one side and I've got the other, Michonne, Daryl, Carol, and Ezekiel attached to ropes, which are attached to the frame, bringing up the rear, with more ropes still attached to the group on the floor, looped tight around bodies and pillars in a desperate attempt to keep both the wagon and all of our spines intact. The idea is for Rick and I to maneuver the wheels where they need to be, the groups in the back and on the floor supporting the weight.
"How's it lookin'?" I call breathlessly, adjusting the rusty front wheel on my side.
"So far, so good," Rick replies, testing the glass with one leg before stepping down from the stairs, satisfied he's not gonna fall through.
I move down the last step and meet Rick at the front of the wagon.
"Let's go," he instructs.
Ropes are pulled tight, a small cacophony of slows, whoas, and easy nows erupting from the group as we gently ease the wagon the rest of the way down the stairs and onto the floor. I breathe a little easier when we're able to roll the behemoth across the glass to the solid tile on the other side without much incident beyond a few minor cracks spider webbing beneath the wheels. We've still got to ferry the canoe and both halves of the plow—we took it apart for easier handling—safely across, but the hardest part is done. Daryl and Rick grab the boat, leaving Carol, Michonne, Ezekiel, and I to take care of the plow.
"No sudden moves," Rick reminds us. "Just keep goin', nice and slow."
"That's what she said," I blurt, earning a withering glare from Rick as he and Daryl cross to safety, Carol and Michonne and their half of the plow on their heels.
It's only funny for a split second, right up until the glass starts to crack and splinter beneath my feet.
"Save the plow!" Ezekiel hollers, shoving me out of the way just before falling through the floor.
He's alive. He's alive, saved by the ropes bound around his waist, still tethering him to the wagon. He's dangling from the hole in the floor, swinging about while the walkers below swarm him. If he can hold on, we can get him out, but the rope is already fraying, rubbing against the broken glass while my people play tug of war with the dead. I scurry across the floor and sink to my knees beside the hole, wedging one hand between the rope and the sharp edges, shards of glass digging into my palm, reaching for Ezekiel with the other. I can't get a hold on him, the dead keep pulling him down, until Daryl fires a couple bolts into the walkers at Ezekiel's shoulders and it's enough to shift the balance in our favor. The King swings upright, grabbing onto my free hand and clasping tight, but I'm not strong enough, I'm not strong enough to hold him.
"C'mon!"
Daryl reaches for Ezekiel's other hand and it's like he suddenly becomes weightless. Between the two of us, Daryl and I have him up on solid ground pretty damn quick. He's not on his feet two seconds before he's accosted by Carol. She pins him to one of the columns lining the glass death trap, planting one on him, and by the time she pulls away he's chuckling, eyes dancing. She kisses him again, her relief palpable. I'm only able to appreciate her happiness for a moment or two before Daryl's snatching at my hands, glaring at the blood oozing from the cuts on my palm, the rope burn on the back of my hand.
"What the hell were you thinkin'?" he demands, pressing his lips to my forehead before tearing a strip of fabric from the hem of his shirt and wrapping it around my hand.
"I was thinkin' I didn't wanna watch anybody die today," I murmur breathlessly, eyeing him.
His glare softens and I know he's not mad, not really. He was just scared. But he knows as well as I do this is just part of the deal when you care about people. If I hadn't gotten there first, it would've been him or Carol or Rick or Michonne or Maggie, 'cause that's who we are. We're not losing anyone else. I won't.
*Daryl's POV*
Adie's complete and total lack of concern for her own goddamn safety has been simultaneously the best and worst thing about her since the first time I met her. I'm trying to tell myself it's just a cut, but what if she'd fallen through? I couldn't do this without her, I ain't gonna watch her die. I can't. Still, it is just a cut. She's okay. She actually seems happier than she's been in a long time, humming to herself again while she gets situated on the back of the bike. All things considered, this was a pretty fuckin’ productive run.
"Daryl?" she blurts, pressing up against my back to murmur into my ear, palms flattening over my stomach. "Drive faster."
Something in her voice sends a pleasant shiver skittering up my spine and I forget if I was actually pissed at her or not. Hell, I forget about everything that ain't her body on mine. She still loves the bike, too, and some asshole part of me really wishes we could just leave everything in the dust. Just ride forever, never worry about nothin' but each other ever again.
"Yes, ma'am."
—
We don't make it too far ahead of the group before Rosita's rumbling towards us on one of them four-wheelers we scavenged from an ATV place out in Bluefield. She don't come bearing good news. The best route home—the bridge that connects our five communities—is out. We gotta double back and figure out how the hell we're gonna get everything where it needs to go. Adie seems pretty resigned to the fact nothing's ever easy, but I still feel like our happy little bubble was just shot to hell. Rosita follows us back to the others, all of us rolling up to the bridge together. What’s left of it, anyway. Rosita ain't one to exaggerate, but I'd still been holding out hope the bridge would be an easy fix. It ain't gonna be.
"Two other herds merged into Silvia, so now it's even bigger," Rosita explains, our dejected group staring at the ruins. "One of them came through here and the back end took down the bridge. Took the walkie repeater with it."
"What about route A?" I question. "Is that clear yet?"
Rosita shakes her head. "It's still too close to the herd."
"Son of a bitch," Adie huffs, glaring into the water below.
"We can get to Alexandria from this side," Michonne points out. "Stay there til it passes."
"No," Maggie says flatly. "Route A's taken days to clear before. I need to get home to Hershel."
Adie stiffens and I wonder if anyone else can see how much it hurts her, or the near immediate guilt flashing across her face before she composes herself. Our baby would've been just a little bit younger than Hershel.
"We could take D," she suggests quietly.
"It's early enough in the day," Carol agrees.
"Keep an eye on the trade road in case anyone else tries to move through," Rick instructs, Rosita nodding her assent. "Gabriel, y'all can head back to Alexandria from here. The rest of us, we'll go to the Sanctuary or Hilltop, stay the night and head on from there. Take care. Get home safe."
It's settled, then. Rosita's gonna stay out here until Adie and me get back to Sanctuary, send somebody out to replace her. Gabriel's taking the Alexandria group home, with the exceptions of Rick and Michonne, and the rest of us are gonna move on together. We've had worse days than this.
*Adrienne's POV*
"Rick, the horses can't pull the wagon through this mud."
Michonne's right, it's too heavy. The wheels are rutting into the ground and the horses are tired. Sanctuary's a bit further than Hilltop but even if it wasn't, Daryl and I came to the unspoken agreement to stick with our people until we can make sure they're home in one piece.
"Maggie, I think they need a break," Ken, the Hilltop blacksmith's son, points out, attempting to soothe his horse.
"Maybe we should leave the supplies," Maggie suggests. "Send a group back in a day or two."
"It's risky," Michonne murmurs. "We've seen herds run through and destroy bigger things than this."
"We can swap out the horses," Rick decides. "Split up, take 'em out in the clear, give 'em a rest while we see what we can do about the trailers."
Seems like a decent enough plan until we're ankle deep in mud, ropes coiled tight around our hands while we attempt to pull the wagon through the sludge. My palm is throbbing, fresh blood oozing from the wounds. Still, I could deal with all that just fine, but–
"Rick!" Michonne hisses, whipping around to eye the walkers emerging from the woods a few yards down the road.
"Fuck," Daryl mutters, digging his heels in and tugging at the rope with renewed vigor.
"We're almost there," Ezekiel encourages, all of us following Daryl's lead, heaving at the ropes.
It moves less than an inch. The walkers are getting closer and closer. I drop my rope and pull the knife from my belt, wheeling around and sprinting over to head off the dead, plunging the blade into the walker at the front of the pack while my people fight with the wagon.
"One more time," Rick orders. "One, two, three!"
Miraculously, it really is only one more time. The wagon lurches forward and they manage to push it onto the dry, hard-packed dirt on the other side of the road.
"Good, let's get outta here," Rick commands.
It's a little too late. We've dealt with bigger groups than this, it's hardly what I'd call a herd, but there are too many to just outrun.
"Daryl, Michonne," Rick mutters, waving them over to help me out while he and the others begin loading the plow and other supplies back into the wagon.
"On it," Michonne sighs, she and Daryl flanking me, taking out a couple of the closer walkers before turning back to help load.
There's too many, they're still just pouring out of the trees. I dart around in between them, weaving and ducking, attempting to confuse them into trying to follow me, burying my knife in skull after skull, and it's only sort of working because the horses are scared, whinnying frantically as the corpses shamble closer, drawn by the sound.
"Rick," I snarl, yanking my knife from one walker and plunging it into another.
"We gotta go," he orders. "Leave the wagon!"
Daryl grabs me by the elbow, yanking me with him, and we run. None of this shit is worth dying for. It's just things. We'll find more things somewhere else. It's not worth risking our people. They'd managed to free one of the horses, but the other is still tethered to the wagon.
"I gotta free her!" Ken hollers, turning back.
"Ken," Rick shouts, "wait!"
The boy has no intention of waiting, unsheathing his machete and hacking at the length of rope tying his horse to the wagon, oblivious to the walker on his left. It bites down on his arm and maybe we could have saved him, but the horse is spooked. She rears back and kicks Ken in the chest.