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Jo

Walking through the streets of Alexandria felt like I was walking through a dream. Carl's hand still gripped my wrist and he gently pulled me behind him. Most of the houses were dark and that felt off, it felt wrong. My feet were clumsy and I tripped as the toe of my boot caught the asphalt awkwardly. Carl slowed and turned to look at me, I could see the concern on his face despite the dim light and the bandage that still covered half his face.

I looked around myself in bewilderment not understanding what was happening. Suddenly, the adrenaline and instincts that had kept me moving for the last few days drained away and I was left with nothing. I was empty and hollow and had nothing left to keep me going.

I fought to straighten myself, but it was like my body belonged to someone else, too heavy and too clumsy for me to control. My body had never felt like this, not without me being seriously hurt. My body had always felt like a weapon. This was dangerous, but I was so tired. Too tired.

I heard a door open behind us and I tried to turn towards it. The movement over-balanced me and I nearly fell. Carl was there and wrapped an arm around my waist before I could fall. He staggered under my weight but he managed to catch me. I heard thumping feet and suddenly someone else was there to help Carl hold me up.

"Is she okay?" A girls voice. Long hair brushed against me and I realized it was Enid. "Is she hurt?"

"I don't know," Carl's voice was over my head as he spoke to Enid as though I wasn't there. "I can't tell if any of it is hers. Help me get her inside."

I was losing time then because I don't know how I got to our house. I don't know if I passed out or if things just stopped registering.

The next thing I realized I was standing at the bottom of the stairs staring up at the empty porch and dark house. Panic rose and my breath started coming in short sharp pants.

"What's wrong with her?" Enid's voice was low and filled with fear.

I was being scary again, but not in the normal way. Not in the way I was used to. I was used to people being scared of me, not for me. Even knowing that in my fuzzy brain I couldn't face the dark and empty house.

He wasn't here.

That's why I had been in the forest. I remembered that now. He wouldn't be here waiting inside, just as he wasn't waiting on the porch. I would be alone. I didn't do well alone.

"We need to get her inside," Carl said.

"I think she's having a panic attack."

Carl grunted and started up the stairs. They were supporting almost all of my weight and even knowing that I wasn't able to help them. I was too caught up, unable to push past my racing and sluggish limbs.

I couldn't go in there. I couldn't face it. It made it too real. I needed to leave. I needed to go back to the forest and find them. I needed to find where they had taken him.

I lost time again.

My next moment of lucidity came when a light clicked on, blinding me. I was leaning against Enid and Carl was standing in front of me.

I think he had been saying my name for a while. I blinked up at him in confusion.

He nodded when he met my gaze. "You need to get cleaned up," he said in a voice that reminded me of Rick when he took charge.

I didn't like that idea. I didn't want others to see me like this. I tried to stand up straighter on my own but my whole body was shaking. I leaned back against the wall and slid down onto my butt.

Carl sighed and turned to Enid. "Can you stay with her?"

Enid looked back and forth between us, her eyes were wide and she nodded too many times.

I was being scary.

"It's okay," Carl assured her. "She won't-" he dropped off and he lowered his eye to my face. "She's too weak," he told her.

I knew it was true. The only one I was a danger to anymore was myself. I had run myself off my feet out in the forest and if I hadn't found my way home when I did I would have died out there. I had a vague image of Jesus out in the forest but I wasn't sure if it had been real or imagined. I didn't trust the things my mind was showing me right now.

Carl was still talking. "We need to get her in the shower and get the blood off so we can see where she's hurt."

I frowned at his words, I didn't think I was hurt. I didn't hurt, at least not physically. I was just tired. I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

Enid looked back and forth between Carl and I. "She has a fever," she said in a low voice.

Carl nodded grimly. "I know. We need to find out if she was bit or just... I don't see anything, but...there's too much...I'm going to go get Michonne to help us."

That was enough to startle me out of my thoughts. "No," my voice croaked harshly.

Carl looked down at me in surprise. It made me wonder if I had been catatonic the entire time. I struggled to get to my feet and when they grabbed my arms to steady me I was able to accomplish it.

"Just..."I took a deep breath. "I'm fine, I wasn't bit." I told him, though to be honest I didn't know if I would know or not at this point. "Go." I said stepping towards the shower. My legs felt weak, like jelly, but I caught myself against the wall smearing blood across the white paint. I turned on the shower and stepped towards the water not caring if it was cold.

Carl caught my arm abruptly and I flinched. The movement nearly sent me falling in my effort to get away from the attack. Carl looked apologetic but he knew me, he had seen me at my worst and he didn't let go of my arm. "You're still wearing your gear." He said. "Let Enid help you get it off."

I looked back at Enid and shook my head. "Just leave me alone." I said in a low voice.

I could practically feel the looks Enid and Carl were exchanging behind my back, but I ignored them and stepped into the shower. I don't know if the water was warm or cold and it didn't matter. The spray enveloped me and I slowly sank down onto the floor, letting the water run over me.

I looked down and flinched as I realized I was surrounded by a pool of red. I tried to scuttled away from it as memories surged and distorted but I couldn't. I was too tired. There was nothing left. I slipped and landed hard on my side, the side of my face lay in the water, my hair covering my eyes so I didn't have to see it anymore.

I don't know how long it was before I heard the door click open. "Jo?" Michonne's voice was low and soothing.

I didn't move. I couldn't. I was too exhausted. I just didn't have any fight left in me.

She stepped to the curtain and drew it aside. She frowned down at me and reached for the nob, turning it.

I was enveloped in warmth and my eyes drooped. The icy water had been the only thing keeping me conscious. My body hadn't allowed myself the freedom to rest when it felt under threat. It was the oldest and last survival instinct I had. Now, cocooned in warmth, I didn't have any fight left in me.

"I don't know," Michonne's voice was close and hands were moving me, readjusting my limbs as though I were a doll. "I don't think so."

My body moved and I felt freedom as someone removed my shoulder rig. The water stopped and I shivered as there was cold air against my skin once more. Michonne was there with a towel and her and Enid gently helped me change. There were other hands then and when I didn't move on my own I was lifted.

The list of people who were able to accomplish that was limited now. I pinched my eyes together as tears burned. I couldn't think about that. I couldn't think about who we had lost and still might lose.

Then I was warm and safe under a pile of blankets and surrounded by his scent. And I slept at last.

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Jo

The nightmares were worse than being awake. They were the worst I had ever had. Over and over I watched Negan swing the bat and the bodies fall. Only this time it was the bodies of all of my friends. It was the bodies of everyone I had ever know.

Rick and Daryl and Carol and Kate and Judith and The Governor and Beth and Hershel and Maggie...everyone.

I watched as Negan beat them to death in front of me and then he smiled and flirted and forced me to throw my knives until my hands were bleeding and I couldn't stand.

I watched him take Daryl over and over and over again. I lay in the gravel and watched him go, helpless to do anything to save him. All the while Negan laughed.

In my nightmares I let myself think his name. In my nightmares I let myself admit how much I was afraid of Negan, how much more afraid of him I was than I had ever been of anyone I had ever met.

His sickening smile flashed in my brain over and over again as he swung the bat.

I woke up choking on Daryl's name and found the pillow beneath my cheek was soaked with tears.

There were hands on my shoulders and I looked up to see Carl standing over me.

"Jo?" he asked.

I slow blinked at him as though I didn't recognize him. I turned away and rolled onto my side and squeezed my eyes closed.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't face this. I didn't sleep again, I couldn't. I couldn't face the nightmares again. I just lay there, floating, losing time. It didn't matter, anything was better then the nightmares.

"I don't know what's wrong."

"She hasn't moved?"

"No, I don't know the last time she ate. It's like she's not even there."

"How long?"

"We don't know. She showed up outside the gates last night. She hasn't moved since. She's had PTSD episodes before but this...it's like she's broken."

The voices were behind me, but I didn't bother turning towards them. I wanted to move to cover my ears so I wouldn't hear them, so I could drown out their words, but if I moved they would try to engage me again.

When I didn't move they eventually went away, like they had been doing for the whole day. I couldn't let myself sleep anymore though. It didn't matter if it was day or if it was night. I couldn't let the nightmares get their claws in me again. I knew enough about myself to know that would drive me well and truly mad.

There was movement near the bed and a hand touched my arm. I pinched my eyes closed against the crushing weight of reality. I distinctly remember taking a moment to decide which was worse. The reality I would face or flood of memories and nightmares that wouldn't quit.

"I need you," the voice hissed.

I frowned, it wasn't someone I had expected.

Rick, Carl and Michonne had been fussing around me since I came home and I honestly couldn't take any more from them. It also wasn't Carol, who a part of me had been waiting for. Carol would know what to do. Carol would help me solve this...

"Jo, cut the crap. I need you," the voice was angry and desperate. It was also one of the voices from earlier, the one asking the questions. Of course, she was the closest to a medic we had now.

I rolled over, frowning. Rosita was crouched beside my bed. I stared at her face as though I had never seen her before. Her eyes were fierce and her mouth was pressed into a hard line.

"You can't give up like this. Those bastards are coming back in a week and we need to be ready."

Her words weren't making sense. Everyone else was resigned and sad and grieving. While everyone was struggling to keep moving Rosita was preparing to fight. Abraham would have been proud of her.

"I need you ready to fight." She growled and she glanced over her shoulder as though checking to make sure she wasn't overheard. It made me wonder how close the others were. Did they even know she was here?

When I didn't move she made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. "Is this what you are going to do for him? After everything you have been through together? What do you think Daryl would be doing if you were the one who had been taken?"

I flinched as though the sound of his name hurt. I had scarcely let myself even think it.

She shook her head, her dark eyes flashing. "You're unbelievable," she snarled angrily.

I blinked at her.

"He's still out there. Still alive. I thought you were a fighter, a goddamn survivor. You're just going to lay here and let that bastard be the one who finally breaks you? I thought you were better than that." she pushed herself up off the edge of the bed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

The sound made me jump and it hurt my ears. All of my senses suddenly felt like they were in overdrive. I stared up at the ceiling for a time. I wasn't sure if it was a long time or a short time. I had lost that sense somewhere in the woods and it hadn't quite come back yet.

Was I broken? Is that what happened? I didn't feel broken, at least no more than usual. It seemed like it would be an easy out though. An easy way to not have to get up and fight any more. I could just lay here and be broken and everyone would understand and leave me be.

Rick would figure out a way to rescue Daryl and he would come back and he would understand why I hadn't been the one to come after him. I had gotten up and fought every time I was knocked down in the past. Did I have another one in me?

Rosita's words chased themselves around my head though. Was I going to let Negan be the one to finally break me? I survived months in that cell, and came out stronger than before. I hadn't been broken by The Governor despite his best attempts. Not The Governor, not The Claimers, not those bastards in Terminus or in the hospital. I was a survivor. I had survived more than most. More than anyone should ever have to.

Was I going to let this bastard be it? Was I going to go out with a whimper or a bang?

What would Daryl do if it were me that had been taken? I knew what he would do, and it wouldn't be this. He would have come after me with everything in him. And if he couldn't find me, he would burn The Saviors to the ground. I knew that as surely as I knew my name was Jo Dixon.

I pulled his pillow to my chest and breathed in his scent, knowing it would never be like this again. The smell of leather and oil and dirt and the forest would fade and I would be alone. I would never again be able to lay here, smelling him and lie to myself that he was just out on patrol and would be back soon...

But he wasn't dead and neither was I. And if we weren't dead we fought. That's who we were. We were survivors and I wouldn't let Negan win. Daryl would never want that. If he was still alive than he would be fighting every moment of every day and I couldn't let him do that alone.

I rolled out of bed, glanced towards the window and frowned. It was dark. I looked at the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly four in the morning. I had been able to see Rosita when she had been here, so it had been daylight.

I was still losing time. It threw me a little and weakened my resolve.

Stop, reset.

I drew in a breath. It didn't matter. I just needed to keep moving.

Sitting on the nightstand was a small plate of food. I ate small bites. My stomach cramped and gurgled loudly in protest as I ate, but I forced the food down even though it tasted like ash. I drank the full glass of water that was there.

My muscles were stiff and sore and as I looked down I was surprised to see my arms and legs were covered in scratches and bruises that I didn't remember getting. I had been out there a few days, it wasn't surprising.

I pulled on jeans and a long sleeve shirt to cover up the bruises and cuts. I found my shoulder rig hanging in the closet. I slid my arms into it and did up the buckles with trembling fingers.

I tightened the offending hand into a fist to stop the shaking. I was stronger than this.

I tucked my knives away, strapping my throwing knives to my thigh as well. If I was going to fight I wasn't going to pull any punches. I needed my entire arsenal.

When I stepped out of the bedroom I frowned when I saw Carl sleeping on the couch outside my room. I remembered when he had stayed with me the last time I had become so lost...he was a good kid. I was surprised to see Enid slumped on the love seat across the room from him.

I was baffled. I had never done anything good enough to have earned having these people in my life. I had done nothing but kill and fight since this whole thing had begun. And yet these people, my family, stood by me. I would do this for them.

The rest of the house was quiet as I walked out. The house next door was quiet. I went to the room that Rosita used to share with Abraham. I ignored the tightness in my chest as I opened the door. I stood at the end of the bed. Rosita lay sprawled across the sheets with Spencer beside her. Both were naked. I didn't judge, but I didn't want Spencer to know I was here. I touched her calf.

She flinched awake, bolting up and pulling the sheet up to cover her chest. Spencer didn't move. His survival instincts were so poor it was disgusting. It was amazing he was still alive. I couldn't image being attracted to that.

I shook my head and turned back to Rosita. I lifted my finger to my lips.

Her eyes widened in the dark until she recognized me and then she nodded slowly.

"Where are The Saviors?" I whispered.

"I don't know," she said, she still seemed surprised I was standing in her room.

I nodded thoughtfully, though I was disappointed. That would have been too easy. "Who does?"

She shrugged. "No one here."

I sighed. I could think of someone who might know and if he didn't...well, there were other ways of finding Negan. Harder ways, but ways. I turned to go.

"Jo," she whispered after me.

I glanced over my shoulder at her.

She was climbing silently to her feet. "I'm com-"

"No," I said shaking my head. "You're not. And if you really want this to happen...you won't say anything."

"Jo!" she whisper yelled after me but I kept moving. 

I moved silently back into the house. All was still dark and quiet. It was around twenty miles to Hilltop and I would need supplies if I was going on foot. And going on foot was the best way to guarantee I wouldn't be spotted. I needed to do this.

I returned to our room. Daryl's old backpack he had when we first arrived in Alexandria was on the top shelf. I stood on tiptoes and managed to snag one of the straps. I pulled it down and caught it before it made any noise. It was heavier than I had anticipated. I opened the main pouch and looked inside. I wasn't surprised to see he had it already packed. Leave it to Daryl to have a bug out bag.

I opened each of the pouches looking everything over. There were extra clothes, non-perishable food, matches, a small first aid kit, two handguns, an empty bottle and a water filter. I was surprised to see the later. It would have been hard to get Olivia to let one go. He must have broke into the pantry in order to get this bag set up. It was everything he and I would have needed to survive on the move.

I opened the final inside pouch and froze as my fingers brushed over a knife. I closed my fist around the handle. I drew in a shuddering breath.

It wasn't possible.

But it was there, just waiting for me.

The handle was smooth from use and handling. I knew the feel of the knife like I knew the back of my own hand, maybe better. My life had been tied to it for so long.

I tried to think back to when I had lost it. It was the one thing I had carried. The one thing I hadn't lost aside from my necklace until...Terminus. The room felt overly small and hot and my breathing kicked up a notch.

I pulled my hand out of the bag and looked down at the knife in my hand. It was as clean and sharp as the day I had tucked it into Daryl's boot. He had come back to the train car and had given me new knives, ones he had picked up as they fought their way out. Knives that were more suited to fighting and throwing. I had always assumed he had lost or discarded this one. I had always felt his life had been well worth the loss of this knife.

It had been such a huge part of my life. I had carried it for so long intent on killing him with it. I never had the chance to kill The Governor with it, but now...

In my overly tired and stressed brain this felt like fate.

I couldn't breathe in here anymore. It was time to go. I pulled on my jacket and shouldered the backpack. I left the dark, silent house behind me, unsure if or when I would be back. I went over the wall where no one could see me. I set off into the dark forest the steak knife still clutched in my fist.

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