𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

"𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐘," Rick whispered urgently, shaking his daughter awake with one hand while carefully holding her younger sister, Judith, in the other arm. His voice was steady but carried the weight of urgency."Casey, wake up," he repeated, a bit louder this time. His grip on her shoulder tightened slightly, enough to pull her from the depths of sleep.

Casey stirred, her eyes blinking open as she slowly turned over on the cot, confusion clouding her gaze. "Huh?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to piece together what was happening.

Rick gave her a brief, weary smile. "Get up, sweetheart. We're goin' on a run. You, me, Carl, and Michonne," he explained, his words quick and to the point. Time was a luxury they couldn't afford.

Casey groaned softly but nodded. She pushed herself up slowly, wincing as she felt the cold air of the prison cell nip at her exposed skin. The blanket she'd been huddled under was thin, barely enough to ward off the night chill. She tossed it aside, the fabric crumpling into a small heap on the cot.

Rick watched her closely, his blue eyes scanning her with the concern of a father who knew all too well the dangers lurking beyond the prison walls. "Get dressed and ready," he said, his tone softening just a fraction, a small attempt at gentleness. "We leave in ten."

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the cell, his boots echoing dully against the hard concrete floor. Casey sighed, stretching her stiff limbs before quickly stripping off her old, worn shirt. She rummaged through a small duffle bag at the foot of her cot, pulling out a pair of faded jeans and an old, flannel shirt that had seen better days. The clothes felt rough against her skin, but they were warm and sturdy enough for whatever awaited them outside. She slipped on her worn-out sneakers, the soles practically smooth from overuse.

She ran a hand through her tangled hair, grimacing at the mess it had become overnight. Thick, frizzy strands fell over her face, refusing to be tamed. With a frustrated huff, she made her way down to the bottom floor, her fingers attempting to comb through the knots.

The ground floor of the cell block was bustling with quiet activity. People were moving about, preparing for the day. Beth stood by one of the tables, cradling Judith, who was starting to fuss. The baby's cries were soft but insistent, a small reminder of the fragile lives they were trying to protect.

Rick was waiting for Casey near the bottom of the steps, his expression unreadable as he glanced over at his older daughter. His eyes softened for a moment as he took in her disheveled appearance. "I'll just, uh..." he hesitated, looking almost awkward as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Let me help with that."

Casey raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. "I can do it," she protested half-heartedly, clearly not wanting to trouble him.

But Rick shook his head, stepping behind her. "No, no, I got it," he insisted, his tone leaving little room for argument. Despite the world falling apart around them, he wanted to be a father, to show he could still take care of his children. Casey tried to suppress a sigh, resigning herself to his attempt.

Rick picked up an old hairbrush from a nearby table. The bristles were worn, some missing altogether. He gently began working through her hair, wincing every time she flinched as he hit a knot. "Sorry, sweetheart," he murmured under his breath, his fingers moving more carefully.

Casey closed her eyes, trying to relax as her father awkwardly, yet determinedly, brushed through her thick hair. "Ow," she whispered, wincing when he accidentally tugged too hard.

Rick's face tightened in concentration, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he struggled with the unruly strands. He wasn't the best at this, but he was trying, really trying to be the father she needed. With a few final, determined strokes, he managed to tame the mess into a low, slightly bun, securing it with a worn hair tie that he pulled from his wrist, one that he always kept there in case her or Lori needed it...In this case, now if Casey needed it.

"There," he said with a small, triumphant smile, clasping a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "All set."

Casey turned to face him, a glimmer of gratitude in her tired eyes. "Thanks," she muttered softly, adjusting the bun just a bit to make it more comfortable.

Rick gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his eyes flicking towards the barred gate. "Let's get moving," he said, his voice dropping back into that no-nonsense tone he used when it was time to face the dangers outside.

They walked towards the entrance where Carl and Michonne were already waiting, both armed and ready for the run. Casey exchanged a quick grin with her brother, who looked every bit as determined as their father. Michonne gave her a small, encouraging smile.

The air was tense as they gathered by the gates, preparing to venture into the unknown once more. Casey took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead.

"Alright," Rick said, his voice steady as he addressed the group. "We stick together, we stay quiet, nobody tries anything." He was referring to Michonne when he said that. He didn't fully trust her yet...

Everyone got into the car, Michonne in the drivers seat, Rick in the passenger's seat and the two out of three Grimes siblings in the backseat.

The car ride was tense and silent. Casey sat in the backseat, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her bandana. The road ahead stretched endlessly, broken-down cars and debris scattered along the way. As they passed a man frantically waving for help, his desperate cries faded into the background. Michonne gripped the steering wheel tighter and kept driving.

Casey shifted in her seat, her eyes flicking toward the man as he disappeared from view. She took a deep breath but said nothing, choosing instead to stare out the window at the ruins of the world they were navigating.

The group soon reached a field littered with abandoned vehicles. Casey groaned softly at the sight. "Great," she muttered under her breath, knowing this would probably mean more work. Michonne tried to maneuver the car around the mess, veering onto the grass, but the ground was soft and unforgiving. The car sank into the mud, the wheels spinning helplessly.

Carl let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning his head against the window. "Seriously?" he muttered, his frustration evident.

Michonne remained calm, her jaw tightening as she tried again to free the vehicle, the engine humming loudly in protest. The car didn't budge.

Casey's eyes darted around the area, scanning for movement. At first, it seemed safe, quiet even. But the peace was shattered when a walker slammed against Rick's window, its decayed hands smearing the glass. Casey flinched, then stilled as more walkers emerged, their guttural moans filling the air. There were about ten now, but she didn't feel afraid. She had faced worse.

She watched the walker claw at the window, her mind drifting. It's just hungry. That's all it knows. A strange sense of detachment settled over her. In some ways, they're better than people. They don't lie or hurt for fun. They just...exist.

Rick pulled out his gun, his voice steady. "Cover your ears."

Casey didn't move at first, lost in her thoughts. When the shot rang out, it tore through the air like thunder. Pain exploded in her head, and she winced, clutching her ear as warmth trickled down her neck.

Rick turned, his expression shifting from concern to irritation. "What happened?" He saw her bloodied ear and sighed. "Shit."

The rest of the walkers were dealt with quickly. By the time the last one fell, everyone was outside the car. Rick rummaged through the trunk of a nearby vehicle, pulling out a crumpled shirt. Folding it carefully, he handed it to Casey. "Hold this against your ear," he instructed.

Casey pressed the fabric to her ear, wincing at the pressure. Rick knelt by the car, gathering sticks and debris. "You're not gonna be able to hear outta that ear for a few days. Get why I told you to cover them?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't respond. Rick moved to the front of the car, working quickly to create traction with gravel, sticks, and an old shawl he'd found. Michonne slid into the driver's seat, waiting for his signal.

"You okay?" Carl asked, his arms crossed as he watched her. His expression was a mix of concern and frustration.

"Huh?" she asked, unable to fully hear him.

Carl stepped closer, turning her so she could hear better. "Why do you think Dad let her come?"

She shrugged. "Dunno."

Rick called out, gesturing for the two of them to come over. Casey hesitated before following Carl. Rick crouched by the tire, explaining how to use the makeshift traction he'd set up.

"Wouldn't have to do this if she didn't get us stuck," Carl muttered, loud enough for Casey to hear.

She frowned, glancing at him. "It was an honest mistake," Rick said evenly, not looking up.

Carl scowled. "Why'd you let her come, anyway? She took you to Woodbury and just left you. Oscar died, and you guys—"

Rick cut him off, his tone firm. "It wasn't that simple. I asked her to come today. Didn't want to leave her at the prison, not with Merle there. And right now, we've got common interests. Same problems, same goals. Maybe we can work on them together."

Casey leaned against the car, shifting the shirt against her ear. The ringing had quieted slightly, but her head still throbbed.

"Just for right now?" Carl asked skeptically.

Rick straightened, his voice unwavering. "Yeah, just for right now."

Casey glanced between the two of them. "I can't hear you, but I'm pretty sure she can," she quipped, her lips twitching into a faint smile.

From inside the car, Michonne grinned at the little girl's comment, her hands steady on the wheel.

The distant sound of the man from earlier carried on the wind, faint but unmistakable. Rick tapped the car's roof, signaling Michonne to reverse. The tires spun briefly before gaining traction, and they were back on the road.

And so, they kept moving.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

          𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄, at least it used to be. King's County wasn't the same anymore. The streets were eerily quiet, stripped of the familiar sights and sounds she grew up with. No kids rode their bikes down the sidewalks. No April or James were around to team up with her to cause chaos in the neighborhood. The absence of her friends weighed on her.

What happened to them?

The question gnawed at her, leaving an ache in her chest. She hadn't thought about them in a long time, too focused on surviving each day. But being back stirred everything up again. Were they still alive? Were they safe? She couldn't stand the idea of them enduring the same horrors she had faced.

Casey walked slowly along the cracked sidewalk, her small boots kicking up loose gravel as she approached her father's old police station. The building looked the same, yet everything about it felt different. Her memories of it were from happier times, Take Your Kid to Work Day, where she'd sit at her dad's desk and pretend to be a cop. Now, she wasn't here for fun. They needed guns, supplies, anything they could find to keep going.

When they stepped inside, the air was stale, and the once-familiar space felt hollow and unfamiliar. Rick moved quickly, his eyes scanning the walls until they landed on the first aid kit mounted near the door. "Casey," he called, waving her over.

She wandered up to him, her one hand buried in her jacket pocket and the other against her ear. "Yeah?"

Rick opened the first aid kit with practiced hands, pulling out a dried-up alcohol pad and a cotton ball. "Hold still," he commanded, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her restless rocking. He gently wiped around her bloody ear with the half dry alcohol pad.

"Next time I say cover your ears, cover 'em," he said, sticking the cotton ball in her ear and patting her head before brushing past her.

Casey stayed still for a moment before trailing after him, mimicking his serious face and exaggerated movements behind his back as she walked inside the room.

Rick stopped abruptly, his eyes scanning the empty shelves. The room was bare. No guns, no ammo. Just dust and disappointment. His expression darkened as he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Damn it," he muttered, punctuating his frustration with a kick to the wall.

Casey perched on the edge of a nearby desk, swinging her legs as she watched Michonne pick up a stray bullet from the floor. The woman turned it over in her hands, her face unreadable. "You got any other police stations in town?" Michonne asked, her voice calm but direct.

Rick shook his head. "I was the police here. Me and a few other guys. Ain't a big town." He rubbed his neck again, a habit Casey had noticed whenever he was upset. He started pacing, scratching his head. "There's other places to check. May not have as many guns as were in here, but—"

"We need as many guns as were in here. Ammo, too," Michonne interrupted, her voice steady as she continued fiddling with the bullet.

Rick sighed, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, we do. But right now, I only got a line on a couple. There's a few places out on the main street. Bars, a liquor store. Owners had a gun or two behind the counter that people didn't know about. I did. I signed the permits. They might still be there."

"Do you have a problem with that approach?" Casey tilted her head, watching the exchange closely. Rick's tone was hard to read. She wasn't sure if he genuinely wanted Michonne's opinion or if he was annoyed.

"No, Rick, I don't have a problem," Michonne replied softly, her tone steady as she handed him the bullet.

Rick took it without a word, slipping it into his shirt pocket. The tension in the room was thick, but Casey didn't say anything. She just watched as Rick walked to the door, his shoulders stiff and his focus elsewhere.

When walking down the road, Casey didn't feel the same. This wasn't King's County anymore, it didn't feel the same.

They were now following spray painted arrows. There was rarely ever any graffiti in King's, which was weird now because it was.

King's wasn't Kings. It was eerie, cold, and quiet. So as they walked down, Michonne asking Rick "What is this?" as if he would know. As if he would recognize what his hometown had become.

As they walked further, Casey noticed large wooden spears pointed out. Skateboards taped together, rope in areas to stop people from getting in.

"It looks like someone's already made this theirs." Michonne said, looking around.

"Doesn't mean they found what we're looking for. Couple of the places are just up ahead. Let's get in and get the hell outta here." Casey would agree with what Rick was saying because she no longer wanted to be in what used to be her home.

They ducked under the rope to get further in, ignoring the spray painted warnings that told them to leave. "There." Rick pointed at a building with his gun. "Tyrell's. A shotgun and two handguns. License issued to Tyrell Debbs." Casey turned at the sound of a groaning walker who was stumbling in their direction.

Michonne was the first to try and get at it. With a steady look on her face and her sword in her hand, Michonne was ready to kill the damn thing. Casey stared at it, taking a deep breath.

the worst it'll do is kill me

Rick stopped Michonne, "Wait. She'll get caught." Instead of the walker getting caught in spikes, it was shot.

Just not by Rick, Michonne, Carl, or Casey but by a person on a building. The person had a big helmet on, to cover his face. Casey remembered the building he was on to be a fancy restaurant. "Hands!" the person yelled at them. They all showed themselves, putting their hands in the air. "Now you drop what you got and you go! Your guns, your shoes, and that word! All of it. Ten seconds!" The person yelled at them.

"Get to the car," Rick murmured to them.

"Dad-" Carl started.

"We need that rifle." Michonne said as the man counted down.

When he was at seven, Michonne said "I think I can get up there."

"Casey, Carl, go." Then he started shooting. Casey and Carl ran to the car and hid behind it.

For a few seconds, the shooting stopped and the man was no longer on the roof. Michonne was on top of a building next to him, her sword out.

"Think he needs help?" Casey asked. Carl nodded his head.

Rick was running behind cars, hiding with his gun ready. And then the person came back down. He was still shooting like a mad man, and Rick had run right into his tracks...

Luckily, Carl shot him.

"Had your brother finish the job again, huh?"

Casey clenched her jaw, looking down. She did her best to ignore that voice behind her head, Shane's voice, and kept walking.

Michonne appeared, her sword out. Rick got to the man's side, pointing the gun down at him as he breathed heavily. "You two okay?" His focus was mainly toward Carl, who had possibly just killed a man. He didn't know how it would affect him, but probably not in a positive way...

"Yeah." Carl answered as Casey simply nodded her head.

"I told you two to run for the car. I didn't want you to have to do that." Rick told him, Carl looked up at him, a serious look on his face and a flinty in his eye.

"I had to." He said. Michonne had a small grin on her face as she looked at Carl.

Rick crouched down, hitting his fist on the man's back. "He's wearin' body armor." He ripped his shirt open, then his body straps to reveal a big bruise on his side. "He's alive." Casey pretended not to notice the small breath of relief Carl let out.

"Do we care?" Michonne questioned. Rick turned the man onto his back, taking off his helmet.

As he looked at him, a look as if he recognized him formed on his face.

"Yeah..."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

uh oh