〰

When Rick set foot inside the prison, the familiar twist in his stomach caught him like a fist, squeezing the air from his lungs. The way it did when having to be that bearer of bad, horrible news.

Once again.

Following Hershel into the cellblock, Rick eyed the group of strangers huddled together, a stone-cold glare on his face. He would deal with them later—once he had the chance to collect his thoughts. But right now, his only focus was on finding Elodie and telling her that Daryl had left. God, the thought of breaking that news to her twisted his insides even more.

"Hey," he said, lightly tapping Hershel on the arm to get his attention. "You know where Elodie is?"

Hershel glanced up, his weathered features softening with understanding. "In her cell." He gestured toward the upper tier of the cellblock. "She has been worried about Daryl and the rest of you. I think she has asked when you were coming back every five minutes."

Rick let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. His hand lifted to his face, pressing his knuckles into the corners of his eyes as if he could somehow rub away the exhaustion.

He hated this part—the part where he had to shatter someone's world, piece by piece. But it was part of what he did; it had been even before the world turned upside down. Every time he had to deliver that news, it felt like he was carving out a piece of himself.

"Do you want me to talk to her?" Hershel offered.

Rick hesitated, the temptation to hand this off to someone else sounding way too appealing. Hershel had a way with words, a soothing presence that could soften the blow. But Rick knew this was something he had to do himself. Elodie deserved to hear it from him.

"No. No, I got it."

He climbed the narrow stairs to he second level of the cellblock, each step feeling heavier than the last. He paused at the top, glancing toward Elodie's cell. The flickering light told him she was awake, and the shadows dancing across the walls indicated she was doing her best to pass the time.

He took a deep breath and walked slowly toward her. When he reached her door, he leaned against the frame for a moment, peeking inside before making his presence known. His chest felt tight, like someone had strapped a belt around his ribs and was slowly pulling it tighter with each breath.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the flashlight balanced against her knees as she moved her small hands in front of it, trying to make shapes with the shadow they cast on the wall. Her tongue was poking out in concentration, eyes narrowed in frustration as her attempt at a rabbit looked more like a blob.

How could he tell her that the one person she trusted the most, probably even loved the most out of all of them, had left? Just like that?

He felt the small pack of hearing aid batteries in his pocket—the ones Merle had.

Merle.

Rick still couldn't believe it himself. How on earth was he going to explain that? That Merle had the exact batteries she needed? She wasn't a fool—she'd see right through it. It didn't make sense.

From what he understood, Merle had barely acknowledged her existence, save for a few moments back in Atlanta when he had defended her against Jamie's taunts. How could he possibly have known which batteries she needed?

Daryl had been the one to pay attention. He would watch her from a distance when she chose solitude over hanging out with Carl or the other kids, keeping to herself because she thought she never quite fit in. Daryl was like that too. They were alike, both feeling out of place in a world that no longer had a place for anyone. He'd make sure she was okay when she sat in a corner, weaving blades of grass together into a braid to pass the time. He had done it subconsciously, not even noticing it himself.

Rick lingered for a second longer. For just a moment, he allowed himself to pretend this was normal—just a girl, playing with shadows, safe inside the walls of a prison. As if the world outside wasn't crumbling, as if the dead weren't walking around, and as if Daryl hadn't walked away.

When he shifted his weight, Elodie must have noticed the shadow that crept along the floor. She brightened instantly, spinning around with a large smile on her face that made his heart clench.

She had always been so open with her emotions. She wore everything on her sleeve—her happiness, her disappointment, her worry. And now, Rick could see all of it. The hope that sparkled in her eyes when she thought it might be Daryl, quickly giving way to the quiet disappointment when she realized it was only Rick.

She hid it under a smile, but it was there—the wish that it wasn't him standing there, but Daryl. She was glad to see him, sure, but it wasn't the same. He wasn't the one she wanted, and the sight of it nearly broke Rick in half.

"Wait," she signed quickly, her hands patting the floor around her as she searched for her hearing aids.

She was keeping them off more often now to conserve battery, which was smart. Resourceful. But she didn't know that the very batteries she was saving were in his pocket—one of the few things he could give her, even though they weren't even a fraction of what he wished to give her.

There was no easy way to say it, no gentle way to break it. And as he pulled his hand from his pocket, the small pack of hearing aid batteries in his palm felt strangely cold against his skin, even though they weren't even a fraction of what he'd hoped to give her.

Elodie looked up at him, her hands still around her ear as she adjusted her hearing aids around it. Surprise flickered across her face, quickly shifting to confusion when she saw what he was holding.

"Thank... you." Her brow furrowed, and she cocked her head slightly to one side as she reluctantly took them from him, one by one. "Where'd ya get those?"

Rick's smile faltered, and he drew in a shaky breath before answering, "Merle."

The name hit the air between them like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of confusion and disbelief across Elodie's face.

"Merle?" she repeated, her lips forming the name slowly, like it didn't quite fit anymore. "But... he's dead. I thought— ya said—"

"I thought he was," Rick interrupted, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. "But he was at that place. Alive."

Elodie stared at him for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing as if she were trying to find the right words, but they seemed to fail her. Her brow furrowed deeper as her hands tightened around the batteries, the faint tremble in her fingers betraying her confusion and worry.

"Where's Daryl?"

She wasn't asking when he'd be back. She was asking why he wasn't here.

It seemed she already knew.

Rick's heart twisted in his chest, and he had to force the words out, knowing they would shatter something inside of her that he couldn't repair. He had delivered bad news before, too many times, but this was different. Daryl was the only person who had made her feel truly safe, the one person whose trust she had given without hesitation, and now he was gone.

He sat down next to her, close but not touching. "He's gone, Elodie. He left."

The second the words were spoken, Rick saw it. Elodie's face crumpled, her bright, hopeful eyes clouding with disbelief. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear her vision, as though she could make the reality he was telling her disappear.

For a few moments, it looked like she couldn't even process what he was saying, like her mind was trying to fight through a fog, every thought sticky, slow, uncooperative.

"Why?" The single word escaped her lips, choked and raw, and it was all the more heartbreaking for its simplicity.

"He went with Merle," Rick said carefully, as if tiptoeing around something fragile. "They took off. Together."

"But— for how long? Is he comin' back? What—"

"I don't know, Elodie," he said. "I don't know when—or if—he's comin' back." His throat tightened as he tried to gather his thoughts, but they were scattered, slipping away from him like sand. "Merle's blood, that's what Daryl said. He had his reasons."

Elodie's gaze dropped to the floor, her body sinking into itself as she pulled her knees tightly against her chest. The batteries she held shook in her trembling hands, the tiny movement more telling than anything she could have said. Rick didn't point it out, didn't want to make her more vulnerable than she already was.

"He told me he had reasons to come back here."

She finally looked up at him, the corners of her mouth turning down in a frown that deepened with each passing second. The tears that hadn't yet fallen hung just at the edge of her lashes, as if they were waiting for her to fully understand what had happened.

"I don't understand." Her voice was gentle, and yet it hit Rick like a slap. "Why would he leave? He promised... he promised he would come back. He really promised."

Rick swallowed hard. He didn't have an answer for that. He didn't have anything to make her understand the choices Daryl had made, or why he had gone off with Merle. Not without making it sound like a justification that wouldn't make sense to her—or to him, for that matter. He'd watched Daryl become more than just a lone wolf. He'd seen him become part of this family, become her protector.

And now, he was gone.

She didn't know how to react. Part of her refused to believe it. Part of her was still waiting for the punchline of a bad joke—expecting Rick to smile and say it was all a misunderstanding, that Daryl would be back any minute. But no matter how much she wished for it, the reality was settling in.

Her fingers traced the skin on her fingers, her mind seemingly far away, lost in thoughts she couldn't put into words. After her mother had gone on a run and never came back, she'd learned the hard way that people who left didn't always return. But this was different. This time, it wasn't just a loss. It was the abandonment of someone who, in many ways, had become her anchor.

It felt like déjà vu, another person she'd loved being torn away. And once again, it was Rick who had to be the one to say the words, to be the bearer of something that would break her, even if it wasn't meant to.

"He'll be back. For you," he said, trying to sound sure of it, though doubt gnawed at him. "I know he will."

But his attempt to reassure her fell flat. Elodie shook her head, the strands of hair around her face slipping loose as she buried her chin against her knees. "He didn't stay for me," she murmured, her voice trembling with unshed tears. "I don't think he's gonna come back for me."

Rick felt his chest tighten. He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that Daryl cared about her more than she realized, but how could he, when Daryl's actions had spoken so loudly?

Instead, he scooted closer, moving slowly so as not to startle her, and gently wrapped his arm around her thin, trembling shoulders.

She melted against him, collapsing against his side as if she'd been waiting for someone to hold her. Her face pressed into his shirt, and Rick felt the dampness of her tears, slowly trickling out of the corner of her eye, as if she were still holding them back. She clutched at his shirt, and each shaky breath she took sent her body trembling in his arms.

She wasn't just upset that Daryl was gone. She was hurt in a way that went deeper than just missing him. She was questioning her place in his world. Her worth.

She was just a kid, for God's sake.

But even more than that, she was a kid who had learned too young that promises weren't always kept. That the people you trusted could leave, could be taken away, and there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it.

Daryl promised he wouldn't leave her. But he had.

And she was alone again.

"Please make him come back," she whispered, her breath catching between hiccups.

But there was nothing Rick could do. He couldn't make Daryl come back. He couldn't fix this.

His mouth felt dry, his throat tight as he struggled to find the words. "I can't."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt her break. It was like a dam had burst, and the sobs that had been so tightly held back came rushing out in a flood. She was crying, truly crying now—deep, guttural sobs that echoed off the walls of the cellblock.

The sound of it tore Rick apart, because this wasn't just grief. This was abandonment. This was the feeling of being left behind.

He held her tighter, rocking her gently as her sobs echoed through the cellblock.

〰

Daryl stomped through the woods, his boots pounding the earth with a barely contained fury, the dead leaves crunching underfoot like brittle bones. Behind him, Merle followed, loud and careless, as always, his heavy steps stirring up the underbrush and sending birds flitting away in alarm. The air between them was thick with tension, an invisible cord wound tight, threatening to snap at any second.

"The shit you doin' pointin' that thing at me, huh?" Merle called from behind, his voice loud and mocking.

Daryl ignored him, pushing forward, his crossbow slung over his back. His blood was still running hot from what had just happened. Saving those people—that family—wasn't even a question for him. But Merle just had to make it something else. Had to turn it into something ugly.

"They were scared, man," Daryl finally said, voice sounding tired. Done with Merle's bullshit. He didn't bother looking back. Didn't need to see the sneer he knew was plastered on Merle's face.

"Scared?" Merle spat, the sound of him spitting into the dirt echoing through the trees. "Think they were rude is what they were. Rude and they owed us a token of gratitude."

Daryl's feet stopped moving, and he turned, glaring back at his brother. "They didn't owe us nothin'," he growled, his eyes burning into Merle's.

He could still see the terrified look on that mother's face, the way she had huddled with her baby, as if expecting Merle to hurt them. And for good reason—he almost had.

Merle took a step closer. "Yeah, 'course not. You helped them people outta the goodness of your heart, huh? Even though you mighta died doin' it." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "That somethin' your sheriff, Rick, taught ya?"

"There was a baby," Daryl snapped, stepping toward Merle, his grip tightening on the strap of his crossbow.

Merle's grin widened as if he'd won something. "Oh, so if there wasn't a baby, huh? You would've just left 'em to the biters then? That it?"

Daryl didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "Man, I went back for you. Ya weren't there," he said. "I didn't cut off your hand neither. You did that. Way before they left ya up on that roof. Now you asked for it."

Merle let out a dry, humorless chuckle, his disbelief evident. "Ya know what's funny to me? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now." He held up his hand, crossing his middle finger over his pointer finger, the smirk on his face infuriatingly triumphant. "Bet ya a penny and a fiddle o' gold ya never told him we were plannin' on robbin' that camp blind."

Daryl's expression hardened. "It didn't happen," he bit out, a desperate edge to his voice.

"Yeah, it didn't. Ya know why?" Merle jabbed a finger at him. "'Cause I wasn't there to help ya!"

Daryl's heart raced, anger bubbling to the surface, old wounds threatening to tear open. "What, like when we were kids?" he fired back, voice rising in volume. "Who left who then, huh?" 

"What? Huh? Is that why I lost my damn hand?

"You lost your damn hand because you're a simple-minded piece of shit!" The words felt like poison on his tongue, but they tasted good too, a release from the pent-up frustration that had simmered for far too long.

"You gone soft, baby brother. All about savin' people now, huh?" He cocked his head to the side, voice dropping into a more mocking tone. "Even lettin' that lil' deaf girl get under your skin. What was her name? El... Eleanor? No—Ellie... Eloise?. Ah, no... Elodie."

Daryl's entire body went rigid, his blood running cold. "What?"

"Heard Officer Friendly talkin' 'bout her. Lil' deaf girl, ain't she that one? Soft as a kitten, scared of her own shadow? Said she'd be so sad when you leave. You know what I think, little brother? I think you've gone soft, lettin' that pussy of a girl make you weak."

Daryl's teeth ground together, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. "You don't say her name."

"What?" Merle chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on Daryl. "Ain't like she gon' hear me, right?"

Daryl felt his blood boil, a hot tide rising from the pit of his stomach to his temples. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't bear the thought of Merle using Elodie's name, twisting it into something ugly and cruel.

Every word that came out of his brother's mouth felt like a slap across Daryl's face, each syllable a reminder of her. How he had left her, despite having promised her again and again that he wouldn't. That he would always come back, because he had a reason to.

She hadn't quite understood what he meant by saying that. But how could she? How could she possibly understand the inner chaos he was grappling with when he hadn't even begun to comprehend it himself?

His reason to come back was her. It always had been.

Oh, how he wished he could just slap himself across the face, to knock some sense into the stubborn part of him that had chosen this path. How could he have left? How could he have traded Elodie in for Merle? The very thought churned in his stomach like spoiled food now. How, how, how?

"Merle's my family. My blood."

But really, Elodie was his family. Only now did he seem to realize that truth.

Instead, he shoved Merle hard, sending him stumbling back into the underbrush with a loud grunt. "Shut the hell up!"

Merle recovered quickly, his grin never faltering. He stepped forward, his posture loose, ready for a fight. "What, you gonna hit me now, little brother? We gonna go for round two, huh?"

Daryl didn't answer. He turned, fists still clenched, and took a step forward, intent on walking away from the conversation before he lost control.

But Merle, as always, wouldn't let it go. In one swift motion, he reached out and grabbed Daryl by the back of his shirt, yanking him back with all his strength. The fabric tore, ripping under the strain, and Daryl felt himself thrown to the ground.

Grunting as he hit the earth, Daryl's palms slapped against the dirt to catch himself. His shirt was half-torn, hanging off him in tatters, and as he pushed himself up, the pale, scarred flesh on his back was exposed to the open air. The skin was a tapestry of scars—some long and jagged, others circular, like old wounds that had never healed properly.

Merle's face faltered, disbelief creeping into his tone. "I-I didn't know he was..."

"Yeah, he did," Daryl replied coldly, shrugging Merle's hand off him, the embarrassment rising in his chest like bile. He quickly pulled his backpack over his bare back, the rough fabric scraping against the scars. "He did the same to you. That's why you left first." He gathered his things, the tremor in his hands betraying the anger simmering just below the surface.

Merle's expression flickered—guilt, maybe, or something close to it—but he masked it with a weak scoff.  "I had to, man. I would have killed 'im otherwise."

Daryl didn't respond. He gathered his things, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the strap of his crossbow. Without looking back, he started walking away, every step a battle to keep his emotions in check.

"Where you goin'?" Merle called after him, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

He paused, twisting his head back to his brother. "Back where I belong."

"What, with the deaf girl? That where you belong now?"

"Yeah," Daryl said simply. Just that one word. No need for more explanation, no need for justification. He was done justifying.

Merle's brows furrowed, and for a moment, confusion flickered across his face. "I can't go with you. I tried to kill that black bitch. Damn near killed the Chinese kid."

"He's Korean," Daryl corrected sharply, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It wasn't about the race. It was about the fact that Merle still saw them all the same—just disposable people to be tossed aside, like nothing.

Merle blinked, his head jerking back. "Whatever," he retorted, his voice suddenly quieter, the bravado slipping into something more fragile. "Doesn't matter, man. I just can't go with you."

Daryl swallowed hard, the lump in his throat nearly choking him. His feet felt heavier now, like the earth beneath him was trying to pull him back toward Merle, but he wouldn't let it. He couldn't.

"You know," he began, his voice rough, like it was tearing at the edges of something he didn't want to say, "I may be the one walkin' away, but you're the one who's leavin'. Again."

And with that, he walked away. 

〰

Maggie had insisted that Elodie needed to get out, needed to breathe fresh air, even if it was just for a few minutes. Elodie had barely processed the day; it felt like the walls of her cell had closed in on her, thickening around her until she couldn't tell where she ended and the room began. She had been holed up in that small space since Rick had told her about Daryl.

She hadn't talked to anyone anymore. Instead, she had curled up on her top bunk, knees tucked under her chin, and stared blankly at the wall. The food Carol left for her sat untouched, growing stale and cold until it was finally offered to Carl, who was always too eager to eat it if Elodie didn't want to.

Hours bled into each other until night fell, and Elodie had left her cell for the first time since. With heavy steps, she had moved to the left, reaching for Daryl's pillow, its scent still lingering like a ghost. She had then returned to her bed, laying her head on the soft fabric instead of her own. It was the only comfort she could find.

Now, though, she sat against the cold, rough walls of the prison, attempting to drink in the fresh air that felt sharp against her skin. Everyone was out in the courtyard, taking a much-needed break from the tension that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud. Carol was talking to Axel, Hershel was deep in conversation with Rick just by the outer fences, and Michonne wandered about. Inside, Maggie tended to Judith, and beside her, Carl sat quietly. Glenn was nowhere to be seen.

He shifted beside her, his boots scuffing against the ground. He had been sitting quietly for a while, clearly thinking about something, but she hadn't really noticed. Not until he spoke.

"I think my dad is going crazy."

Elodie blinked, her first real sign of movement since they'd settled in. His words pulled her back, just a little, like a thin thread tugging at her heart, drawing her from her fog of despair.

Slowly, she turned her head to look at Carl. Her expression was still distant, but now there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She heard him.

He wasn't looking at her. His gaze was fixed on the ground, drawing patterns in the dirt with the toe of his boot as he spoke. "I mean, like really crazy. You didn't see it, but... he—he went off the other day. On Tyreese and his group, you know, the strangers. Pulled out his gun, almost started a fight. And he keeps talking to... no one. Look."

He pointed toward the treeline, and Elodie followed his finger with her gaze. There, wandering aimlessly, was Rick. He moved through the shadows of the trees, checking every nook and cranny with a nervous energy. His posture was tense, every muscle tensed and ready to spring, eyes darting with the nervous energy of a man trapped in a nightmare.

"He's not... Dad anymore," Carl said.

There was a long pause before she finally spoke. Her voice was soft, almost detached, as if she had to drag herself out of her sadness to even form the words. "He'll be okay. He's strong."

She said it, but there was a flatness to her tone. Not disinterest exactly, but more like she was saying what she thought she was supposed to say. Like it was a reflex, not something she fully believed in that moment.

Carl turned toward her, his gaze searching her face, looking for assurance she didn't quite feel. "You think so?"

Elodie nodded, though her gaze dropped to the ground, unable to hold his. "Yeah," she said quietly. "He's strong. He'll... find his way back. He has reasons to. You'll see."

He nodded, though it was clear he wasn't fully convinced. But he didn't argue. He just sat there beside her, silent again.

He wasn't used to seeing Elodie like this—quiet, almost hollow. She had always been quieter than the others, a little more withdrawn, but never like this. Her spark seemed to have been snuffed out when Daryl left.

"Merle gave me batteries. For my hearin' aids," she suddenly said, her brows knitting together in confusion.

"He did?" Carl turned to her, eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's... nice of him?"

Elodie gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, her furrowed brows betraying her lingering uncertainty. "It's confusin'. There are loads of different batteries for 'em, ya know? Smaller ones and bigger ones. He had the exact ones I use."

"Huh. Lucky guess," he replied, though it sounded more like an attempt to reassure her than a genuine statement.

"No." She shook her head, her expression shifting slightly. "It's like he knew. The exact type, Carl."

Before he could respond, Beth stepped into the courtyard, arms full of something—an old, worn box that looked like it had seen better days. She carried it with both hands, and when she spotted Carl and Elodie sitting off to the side, a soft smile spread across her face.

"Hey!" she called, walking over to them. "Anyone up for a game? I found Twister."

The mere thought of playing a game felt like a mountain Elodie had no strength to climb. Her heart sank at the idea of twisting her body into awkward positions, her muscles sore from inactivity. So, she softly shook her head, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them, feeling a little guilty as she caught a glimpse of Beth's disappointment.

Carl, eager for distraction, didn't hesitate. "Hell yeah!" He grinned, springing to his feet and grabbing Elodie's arm, yanking her up with him. "Come on, it'll be fun."

Elodie felt a whine rise in her throat. "Carl, no," she breathed out, a hint of pleading in her voice. She wanted to hide away from everything—her feelings, the world, and everyone around her. She tried to tug her arm away, but he only pulled harder.

"Please? Maybe I'll even let you win. Just maybe though—"

She relented, and grumbled, "Fine."

Just as they were about to head towards Beth, a sudden gunshot rang out, shattering the relative calm. The sound echoed like thunder, startling the birds from the trees.

"Down!" Beth shouted, instinctively pulling both Carl and Elodie to the ground. The game box dropped from her hands, hitting the ground with a dull thud, forgotten. Elodie stumbled, falling to her knees, her heart racing as panic clawed its way up her throat.

She looked up to see Carol stumbling under the weight of Axel's body, her hands gripping him, trying to keep him upright. Blood was already spilling from his head in a wide, gruesome pool, and Carol was trembling violently as she tried, and failed, to hold his weight.

The bullet had hit him clean in the skull. There was no saving him. His body sagged in her arms, lifeless, and she went down with him—her body buried underneath his.

Elodie felt the cold grip of fear tighten around her heart, squeezing it until she could hardly breathe. Before she could even wrap her head around what had just happened, more gunshots rang out, the sound ricocheting around them like a deadly chorus as bullets nearly missed their heads.