Unbreakable threads

Chapter Fiffty: lil ass kicker

Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles whitening as she fought to steady herself, to remember that it wasn't real. Shane was dead. She had put him down. This was just a twisted manifestation of the guilt and pain she hadn't been able to let go of, the shadows of the choices that had hardened her, broken her in ways she couldn't admit to anyone—not even Daryl.

"Alyssa?" Daryl's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, his brow furrowing as he noticed the change in her expression. He glanced behind him instinctively, sensing her discomfort, but of course, there was nothing there. When he looked back, her face had gone pale, her breathing quick and shallow.

"Alyssa, hey..." He spoke softly, reaching a hand toward her. "What're ya seein'? It's just me. I'm right here. Ain't nobody else here, alright?"

She blinked, forcing herself to meet Daryl's concerned gaze, grounding herself in his presence. The vision of Shane wavered, fading slightly as she focused on Daryl's steady, unwavering face, his eyes filled with a concern that felt real, tangible, unlike the torment that haunted her.

But Shane's words echoed in her mind, lingering even as his form vanished. "They're all gonna let you down."

Alyssa swallowed hard, feeling a knot of fear settle in her chest. She wanted to tell Daryl, to let him know what she was seeing, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she just nodded slightly, hoping he wouldn't press further, fearing that speaking it aloud would make it too real.

Daryl squeezed her shoulder gently, his grip solid, anchoring her to the present. "Ain't nothin' gonna hurt ya while I'm around," he said softly, his voice a quiet promise. And for a moment, Alyssa clung to that, even as Shane's shadow continued to lurk in the corners of her mind, a reminder of the darkness she couldn't quite escape.

Rick, slumped beside Alyssa, was just as haunted, his gaze distant as he stared blankly at the floor. He was lost in his own world of visions and shadows, trapped in the fractured reality his mind had conjured to cope with the unbearable losses he'd suffered. To him, the echoes of familiar voices seemed as real as the cold cement beneath him.

In his mind, he saw Lori. She was standing in the doorway of the boiler room, her figure bathed in an ethereal light, looking at him with a mixture of sorrow and disappointment. Her face was soft, almost angelic, but her eyes held a piercing sadness that stabbed at his heart. "You let me go, Rick," her voice whispered, drifting through the room. "You couldn't save me. And now... you're slipping, too."

He reached out instinctively, his hand trembling as he tried to touch the vision, as if somehow he could hold onto her, bring her back, rewrite the horrors of their reality. But his hand met only empty air, and Lori's image wavered, her face flickering between softness and accusation, her form growing fainter with every second.

Rick's heart hammered in his chest, guilt and despair swirling in his mind. He could hear her voice, faint and haunting, whispering words he couldn't quite make out, but the tone was clear—it was disappointment, a reminder of every failure, every moment he hadn't been able to protect the ones he loved. His shoulders sagged under the weight of it, his mind teetering on the edge, just as Alyssa's was.

Beside him, Alyssa shifted uncomfortably, lost in her own vision of Shane. She could sense her father's turmoil, even without looking at him, and it was like a mirror to her own struggles. They were bound by blood, by trauma, by the ghosts of the people they'd lost—each of them haunted by memories that wouldn't let them go.

Daryl's face tightened as he looked between them, a deep worry settling in. He could see that they were both slipping, both drowning in their respective grief and guilt, and it terrified him. He'd seen people break before; he knew what it looked like. But seeing it in Rick and Alyssa—the two people who'd held so much strength for the group—was almost more than he could bear.