𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

"𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐘," Casey jolted awake on the couch, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The dim light of the early morning filtered through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, casting eerie shadows that danced across the room. Her body was slick with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to the worn fabric beneath her. The familiar warmth of the couch did little to comfort her as she pushed her damp hair from her forehead. The faces around her were peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within her. Carl lay beside her, his face relaxed in sleep, while Rick and Lori were sprawled out on the floor, oblivious to the world.

The nightmares had become a nightly ritual. Terrifying visions of Shane's anger, of threats unfulfilled and shadows creeping ever closer, haunted her. What if Shane had really killed her? What if he'd killed Rick? What if they never escaped the farm? Each "what if" felt like a dagger to her heart, driving deeper with every sleepless night. The terrors gnawed at her, turning the nights into a suffocating weight that threatened to crush her spirit.

She shifted slightly, focusing on her breathing. Counting to ten in her mind, she hoped to calm the rising tide of anxiety. In her hand, she gripped the small plush shark that Lori had given her before everything had changed. The shark was a symbol of a happier time, one where innocence was not just a memory. It was rare for Casey to be without it, especially during moments of fear.

The memory of that day lingered in her mind, a bitter taste she couldn't shake. Lori had been frantic when she learned of Randall's fate at Shane's hands. In that moment of chaos, she had gathered Casey's belongings, fearful that she might never see her daughter again. The shark was the first thing she'd taken, a talisman of their bond. Yet now, it felt like a relic from a world that no longer existed, a reminder of her lost childhood.

The day Shane had been killed—her hand had trembled as she pulled the trigger. It was a decision born from instinct and desperation, but the weight of it had altered her forever. It had shifted something fundamental within her; the happy, goofy kid she once was felt like a ghost haunting her own life. Lori's face had twisted in confusion and fear when she first looked at Casey after the incident. Casey could see it in her eyes, a mix of love and something akin to disappointment, as if she were mourning the loss of the little girl she once knew.

That realization stung, and the ache in her heart intensified with each passing day. What Jim had said months ago echoed in her mind. "And Casey...she's a little spitfire, but from what I've seen, she's like her Dad. Kid's made for this kind of world." The words had a truth to them, but did that mean she was truly fit for this reality? A world that demanded violence, where survival was the only goal?

The months that followed had only deepened her sense of isolation. When Lori learned the full extent of Shane's attack, Casey had watched her mother's face contort in horror. That sick feeling in her stomach wasn't just about being pregnant; it was about the betrayal of trust.

Someone she had thought would protect her had tried to hurt her. And the consequences of that moment had echoed through their lives in ways she could hardly comprehend.

Casey and Carl, once inseparable, had grown distant. Their bond had devolved into sharp-tongued jabs that cut deeper than either of them cared to admit. They still loved each other, she knew that, but their relationship had become strained under the weight of their experiences. Rick and Lori had encouraged them to express their feelings, to end arguments with a reminder of their love, but it felt hollow. Shouting "I love you" after a fight felt more like a formality than a genuine sentiment, a desperate attempt to cling to the fragments of their once-close bond.

So they shared the couch now, an uneasy truce of sorts. Her feet had outgrown the space that used to be her refuge, but she would not complain. It was better than nothing. The world outside had grown increasingly dangerous; they were forced to adapt, to survive, but it was hard to shake the feeling of growing up too fast.

As winter approached, the chill crept into their bones. Days and weeks blurred together, sometimes dragging painfully slow, other times speeding by in a blur of hunting and scavenging. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and they lived off whatever Daryl could hunt or what Glenn and Maggie could scavenge. Each successful run felt like a small victory, but the triumph was fleeting. Casey longed to feel useful, to contribute in a way that mattered, yet she felt like an outsider looking in.

It wasn't fair, she thought bitterly. Carl got to go into the houses first; he was older and stronger, while she was left waiting outside, biting back the jealousy within her. She was good with a gun, better than Carl, but that didn't seem to matter in the eyes of her parents. Each day, she watched him storm inside, his adrenaline spiking with the thrill of danger. Each time she stood outside, her heart raced, not with excitement, but with resentment and helplessness.

Their makeshift family continued to move from place to place, living in abandoned home, staying only as long as it was safe. The instability gnawed at her, she wished for a home, a place where they could feel safe and whole again, but that seemed like a distant dream.

Casey sat on the couch, the shadows of night creeping in around her. The rest of her family was asleep, unaware of the battle raging within her. She could feel the weight of the world pressing down on her, the fear and despair threatening to drown her. Just then, the door creaked open, and her senses heightened. Instinct kicked in as she reached for the gun she kept nearby, her heart racing.

Moving cautiously, she stepped over her sleeping family, careful not to disturb them. Every sound seemed magnified in the silence of the room. She peered into the darkness of the hallway, her breath held tight in her chest. Who or what could be out there?

As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, her grip tightened on her weapon. But instead of an intruder, she found Daryl, his back turned to her as he rummaged through the cabinets. Relief washed over her, but it was quickly followed by irritation.

"Hell are ya doin'?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Daryl turned, surprise flashing across his face. "Thought you were asleep," he grumbled, his tone betraying a hint of annoyance.

"Yeah, well, you woke me up. Thought you said hunters were quiet." The retort slipped from her lips before she could think better of it.

He shot her a look, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost be interpreted as a smirk. "Then go back ta bed."

Casey leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. She had to fight against the urge to tell him the truth—that she was afraid to sleep, that the nightmares were relentless. Instead, she stared at the floor, focusing on the cracked tiles beneath her feet. The kitchen was small and shabby, a far cry from the homes they had once known, but it was a temporary sanctuary.

"Ya know, my daddy said no one's allowed out without a partner."

"Yeah, well, yer not my partner," he shot back. He scowled at her for a moment before relenting, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Get back to bed."

Casey studied him, her mind racing with a myriad of thoughts. Daryl didn't treat her like a child; he didn't coddle her or offer pity. He respected her in his own rough way, and she appreciated that more than she would admit. But being treated like a kid was the last thing she wanted. She hated the look of pity in the eyes of the others, the way they tiptoed around her, as if she were made of glass.

"My daddy said no one's allowed out without a partner," she repeated, mimicking his earlier tone with a smirk.

"Yer daddy also said ya should go ta sleep." He returned to rummaging, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

"Right, 'cause you're such an expert on sleep." She rolled her eyes, exasperation bubbling beneath the surface.

Daryl glanced at her, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "You should take his advice, then. Ain't good for ya to be up at this hour."

Casey leaned against the counter, arms crossed defiantly. "I don't wanna sleep."

He paused, and for a brief moment, the façade of indifference dropped. "Nightmares don't get better if ya keep thinkin' about 'em."

His tone was gruff, but there was an underlying concern that caught her off guard. She knew he had seen things—things that haunted him, too. Maybe they all did. But she didn't want to be reminded of that, nor did she want to let him in.

"I don't have any nightmares-" She lied.

"Sure."

It was silent after Daryl gave his sarcastic remark.

She finally spoke up after looking down,
"It's just hard to shake 'em off," she murmured, more to herself than to him. The weight of her thoughts pressed down on her like a heavy weight on her chest.

"Ya gotta find a way," he replied, voice steady. "Ya can't let 'em win."

The silence stretched between them, filled with the unsaid things that lay heavy in the air. She had always appreciated Daryl's no-nonsense attitude, how he seemed to get it, even if he didn't say much. It was comforting, in a strange way.

"Ya know, I got ya somethin'," Daryl finally said, breaking the tension. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a bright blue bandana, holding it out to her.

She blinked in surprise, the gesture unexpected. "What's this for?"

"Figured you might like it, since ya made me that ugly ass bracelet," he muttered, looking anywhere but at her.

Casey felt warmth bloom in her chest at his thoughtfulness. "Well, you have an ugly ass face, so it checks out," she shot back, a teasing smile breaking through her earlier melancholy.

Daryl snorted, shaking his head. "Get back to bed, I ain't dealin' with yer cranky ass tomorrow."

"I have to deal with you being cranky all the time," she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

A moment of comfortable silence settled over them as they shared a look, one that held years of unspoken understanding. The air felt lighter, the darkness around them less suffocating. She felt a flicker of the old Casey within her, the one who would have playfully teased Daryl, who would have jumped at the chance to annoy him just for the fun of it.

With a sigh, Daryl leaned against the counter beside her, arms crossed. "Get back to bed. I ain't gonna tuck ya in."

"Didn't want you to, jackass," she quipped, a smile tugging at her lips despite the heaviness that still clung to her.

As the night stretched on, they stood together in the small kitchen, two unlikely companions finding solace in shared silence. In that moment, Casey realized that perhaps she wasn't as alone as she thought. Daryl might not be her partner in the traditional sense, but he was here, a steadfast presence in the chaos that surrounded them.

"Daryl," she said softly, breaking the quiet. "Thanks for...you know, being here."

He shrugged, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. "Ain't nothin' you gotta say thank you 'bout."

"Yeah, but it means a lot," she insisted, feeling the weight of her gratitude. "Sometimes it feels like no one understands."

"Trust me, I get it." His gaze softened, and for the first time, Casey saw a glimpse of the vulnerability he hid beneath his tough exterior.

She nodded, her heart swelling with appreciation. They may not have all the answers, but in that moment, they shared a bond.

Eventually, the silence grew comfortable again, and Casey leaned back against the counter, letting the warmth of Daryl's presence soothe her troubled thoughts. Maybe she could find a way to face her nightmares, one day at a time, with allies at her side.

As the first light of dawn began to creep in through the cracks in the windows, Casey felt a flicker of hope ignite within her. The world outside was harsh and unforgiving, but she wasn't alone in it.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to keep moving forward.