The morning sun broke over the farm, casting a soft, golden light across the fields. Inside the farmhouse, Rick sat at Carl's bedside, his hand resting gently on his son's, while Lori watched quietly, relief and exhaustion etched into her face. Carl was still, but the steady rise and fall of his chest gave them both a glimmer of hope. Hershel had come by earlier, agreeing that the group could stay until Carl was well enough to move. It was a small blessing in a world that offered few.
Outside, Daryl, Carol, and Alyssa huddled by the barn, their voices low as they began planning another search for Sophia. Carol's face was determined, though a shadow of worry lingered in her eyes. Daryl, arms crossed, glanced at the nearby woods, his mind already fixed on his mission. Alyssa watched him, her expression hopeful, feeling a renewed sense of purpose after the previous night's talk. They were finally working together, and for the first time, she felt like she truly belonged here.
But their conversation was interrupted when Shane approached, his face set with irritation. "You're not really planning on going back out there, are you?" he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. "We've got enough to worry about without chasing after a lost cause."
Carol's jaw tightened, but before she could respond, Daryl shot Shane a hard look. "She's not a 'lost cause.' She's out there, and I'm gonna find her. Don't care what you think about it."
Shane shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine. Waste your time if you want. Just don't get anyone else killed trying to be a hero."
Ignoring Shane's bitterness, Daryl turned back to Carol and Alyssa, his eyes steely. "I'll head out first thing. Shouldn't take more than a couple hours to cover the area I got in mind."
Alyssa's heart sank at his words. She didn't want to be left behind; she wanted to help, to prove herself, to be useful. "Let me come with you," she said, her voice firm. "I can help, Daryl. I want to help."
But Daryl's face darkened, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Without warning, he snapped, his voice cold and sharp. "No. You're stayin' here. Last thing I need is someone slowin' me down, gettin' in my way."
Alyssa felt her face flush with a mixture of hurt and anger. She'd thought, after last night, that they'd finally connected, that she'd found someone she could trust. But his harsh words cut through her, the rejection stinging more than she wanted to admit.
"Fine," she spat, her voice laced with sarcasm, the fire in her chest igniting. "Didn't know I was just a burden to you. Maybe you're the one who doesn't want anyone around." She took a step back, her eyes narrowing. "Prick."
Daryl's face hardened, but he didn't respond, his expression closing off completely. Just as the tension hit its peak, the farmhouse door swung open, and Rick stormed out, his face set with frustration as he took in the scene.
"What the hell's going on out here?" he demanded, his voice stern as he looked between Alyssa and Daryl.
Alyssa folded her arms, biting back the bitter retort rising in her throat. Daryl just shrugged, avoiding Rick's gaze as he turned toward the woods.
Rick's eyes settled on his daughter, a flicker of understanding in his gaze. "Alyssa, this isn't the time for fighting. Daryl's got his reasons, and we need to keep our focus."
Alyssa clenched her jaw, her voice barely a whisper as she looked away. "I thought I could help. Guess I was wrong."
Rick's expression softened, but he didn't press her. Instead, he gave Daryl a nod. "You head out. We'll be here when you get back."
Daryl saddled one of Hershel's horses with practiced efficiency, his jaw clenched as he replayed the morning's argument with Alyssa in his mind. The quiet morning air was a stark contrast to the turmoil simmering inside him. He'd thought she'd understood him, that she knew he wasn't the kind of person to let just anyone tag along. She was smart, resourceful—hell, she reminded him a little of himself at her age. But then she'd gone and called him a prick.
The word rang in his ears, prickling at his pride. He swung up onto the horse, urging it forward, needing the rhythmic movement to clear his mind. She was just a kid, he reminded himself. But it bothered him, the way she'd said it, the flash of hurt in her eyes when he'd brushed her off. Daryl wasn't close to anyone, not really, and he was used to people keeping their distance. But Alyssa had pushed her way in, had been there when he was grappling with his own demons, and now she was calling him names and looking at him like he'd let her down.
As the horse trotted through the trees, his grip on the reins tightened. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, they'd built some kind of understanding, that they could trust each other in a way he hadn't trusted anyone in a long time. But he'd closed off, just like he always did, and she'd reacted just like everyone else eventually did—hurt, angry, pulling away.
Daryl shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He was out here for one reason only: to find Sophia. He wasn't about to let anyone, even Alyssa, distract him from that. But the more he tried to push her words out of his mind, the harder they echoed back, unsettling him more than he wanted to admit.
The woods were quiet, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting a soft glow on the forest floor. But Daryl's thoughts were dark and churning as he rode on, wondering why he'd let himself care in the first place—and why it bothered him so damn much that he'd let her down.
Daryl searched the woods tirelessly, his eyes scanning every shadow, every broken branch, his mind focused on the one task he knew he couldn't give up. Sophia had to be out here somewhere; he just had to find her, no matter how far he had to go. The woods were dense, the silence heavy, but he pressed on, determined to find some sign of the girl.
As he rounded a cluster of bushes, something caught his eye—a small, worn doll, its dress stained and tattered. Daryl's heart leapt as he recognized it. It looked just like the one Sophia had clutched tightly when he'd last seen her. He pulled the horse to a stop, reaching out for the doll, but the horse shied suddenly, spooked by something unseen, and before he could regain control, it bucked hard, throwing him off balance.
Daryl tried to steady himself, his hand reaching out to grab the doll as he toppled backward. His fingers just brushed it as he lost his grip, tumbling down a steep hill, his body rolling over rocks and branches as he went. He hit the ground with a harsh thud, the impact knocking the air from his lungs as he landed near a narrow stream. Dazed, he tried to sit up, his mind spinning, but a sudden, sharp pain flared in his side.
His hand instinctively went to his waist, and he felt the warm, sticky sensation of blood beneath his fingertips. It took him a moment to realize what had happened—the arrow from his crossbow had dislodged in the fall, piercing his side. The pain was blinding, radiating through his body with each shallow breath.
Daryl gritted his teeth, biting back a groan as he looked down, assessing the damage. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining the ground beneath him. He reached down, his hands trembling, trying to pull the arrow free, but the pain only intensified, making his vision blur.
He was alone, injured, and stranded in the middle of the woods. But even through the haze of pain, Daryl's resolve didn't waver. He was out here for Sophia, and he wasn't about to let a little blood stop him. Gripping his side, he pushed himself up, one agonizing inch at a time, determined to keep going—determined not to fail again.
Daryl struggled, gritting his teeth as he tried to pull himself up the steep hill. Every inch was agony, the sharp pain in his side tearing through him with each movement. His vision blurred, dark spots dancing before his eyes as the blood loss took its toll. But he forced himself to keep going, clutching at the earth, his mind focused on getting back up to the path.
Then, out of nowhere, a figure appeared in front of him—Merle. Or at least, a twisted vision of him. Daryl blinked, his heart pounding as he stared at his brother, who looked just as rough and sneering as he had in life, arms crossed, a mocking grin on his face.
"Looking for a little girl, little brother?" Merle's drawling voice cut through the air, cold and taunting. "Damn near dyin' for some kid you don't even know?" He laughed, the sound echoing through Daryl's mind like a cruel reminder of everything he'd always tried to ignore.
Daryl clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to block out the hallucination. But Merle's voice only grew louder, sharper, digging into him like the arrow in his side.
"Don't tell me this is who you are now," Merle sneered, circling him. "The good ol' hero, riskin' his neck for a little girl. Pathetic."
Daryl shook his head, trying to steady himself, but Merle's taunts only deepened. "And that other girl. Alyssa. She's got you wrapped 'round her finger, don't she?" Merle's grin twisted with a dark satisfaction. "Got you feelin' all soft and stupid, like she needs protectin'. Thinkin' you're some kind of savior, huh?"
"Shut up," Daryl muttered, his voice low and strained, though he wasn't sure if he was saying it out loud or just in his head.
But Merle didn't stop. He leaned in close, his face filling Daryl's vision, his voice a mocking whisper. "You're playin' with fire, little brother. Lookin' at her the way you do. She's just a kid, and you know it. But here you are, actin' like you care."
Daryl clenched his fists, anger and frustration boiling up inside him. He knew this wasn't real—that this was just a twisted part of himself, dredged up by the pain and blood loss. But the words cut deep because they echoed fears he'd never admitted to anyone.
"You're just like me, Daryl," Merle continued, his voice dripping with derision. "Doesn't matter how hard you try to change. You're nothin' more than a screw-up, gettin' in too deep, lettin' yourself care when you shouldn't."
Daryl let out a strangled growl, forcing himself to push past the vision, to focus on his climb. "I ain't you," he muttered, his voice a mix of defiance and pain. "I'm nothin' like you."
The hallucination of Merle only laughed, his voice fading as Daryl clawed his way forward, his determination overpowering the taunts and shadows haunting him. With every painful inch, he left Merle's words behind, forcing himself to keep going, driven by something stronger than his fears—a quiet resolve that he could be better than his past. That he could be someone who didn't let people down.
Daryl gritted his teeth, digging his hands into the dirt as he struggled to pull himself up the slope. The hallucination of Merle was relentless, his voice echoing through Daryl's mind like poison, dragging up insecurities Daryl had buried deep down.
"You like young girls now, little brother?" Merle sneered, his voice dripping with twisted amusement. "So damn scared to be around a real woman, you've got yourself hangin' around a teenager?"
Daryl felt a surge of anger flare in his chest, hot and furious. He knew, deep down, he didn't see Alyssa that way. She was just a kid, someone who looked up to him, who reminded him of himself in ways he couldn't ignore. But Merle's accusations sank into his mind, twisting the pure intentions he held into something ugly and cruel.
"Shut up," Daryl growled, his voice rough and strained, though he could barely hear himself over the pounding in his ears. He knew this wasn't real—knew that it was just his own mind, warped by pain and exhaustion. But the accusations stung, scratching at wounds he didn't want to acknowledge.
Merle's sneer grew sharper, more mocking. "Oh, I see how it is. You got all protective, crawlin' under that car with her, just 'cause you wanted to keep her safe?" He chuckled, the sound low and taunting. "Or maybe it was somethin' else. Maybe you just liked layin' there, real close..."
Daryl clenched his fists, his knuckles white, blood dripping down his side and staining the ground beneath him. "Ain't like that," he muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper, his mind a whirlwind of pain and defiance. He cared about Alyssa—sure, he did. But not in the way Merle was saying. She was someone who needed a friend, someone he saw parts of himself in, and he'd only ever wanted to look out for her.
But Merle kept taunting, relentless in his accusations, picking apart Daryl's intentions until Daryl's own mind felt muddied, full of anger and shame he didn't deserve. He dug his nails into the earth, his breaths shallow as he fought to push the hallucination away, to drown out Merle's voice.
"I'm not you," Daryl choked out, forcing himself to move, inch by painful inch. "I ain't... I ain't like you."
He pushed forward, fueled by the fire in his belly, the determination to prove his worth—to himself, and to anyone who doubted him. He would protect people, not fail them. And Alyssa... she was family now, like the rest of the group, and he wouldn't let Merle's taunts twist that.
As he climbed, Merle's voice faded, replaced by the steady beat of his heart and the harsh rasp of his breaths. He was leaving the shadows behind, piece by painful piece, climbing out of the darkness. For Alyssa, for Sophia, and for himself.
At the farm, life moved slowly, each person quietly settling into a rhythm of necessary tasks. Alyssa found herself outside, folding laundry alongside Carol, who gave her gentle directions as they worked in the soft morning light. Alyssa felt a strange sense of calm in the simplicity of it all, even though she couldn't help but feel like she was playing a part she hadn't signed up for. The repetitive motion of folding and stacking clothes was grounding, keeping her mind occupied and her hands busy.
Nearby, Glenn and Dale were setting up a modest campsite just off the porch. Neither wanted to intrude on Hershel's home, respecting the family's space, especially since they were still strangers here. Dale worked with a quiet precision, his eyes often wandering back to the house, checking in on the people inside, while Glenn hummed under his breath, working through his own anxiety by keeping his hands busy.
T-Dog walked the perimeter, his face focused as he scanned the edges of the property, keeping an eye out for any threats. He moved with a steady, practiced ease, his hand resting on his belt, ready to spring into action if needed. Occasionally, he'd pause to exchange a nod or a quiet word with the others, offering them a reassuring presence amidst the underlying tension.
Inside the farmhouse, Rick and Lori remained by Carl's side. Hershel moved around the room with quiet authority, checking Carl's vitals, adjusting his position, and murmuring reassurances to the worried parents. Rick kept his hand on Carl's shoulder, whispering quiet promises that he'd be there when Carl woke up. Lori sat nearby, her eyes filled with worry and hope, holding tightly to Carl's small hand.
Meanwhile, Hershel's family worked on their own chores. Beth, Maggie, and Jimmy were tending to the farm animals, moving with a practiced ease as they fed the horses, milked the goats, and checked on the chickens. Maggie moved with a quiet determination, occasionally glancing toward the group setting up outside, her gaze lingering on Glenn with a mix of curiosity and guarded interest.
As Alyssa folded the last of the laundry, she glanced around the farm, feeling a quiet sense of unity among the group. Even though they were from different worlds, each person had found a place here, a purpose in the routine. They were strangers thrown together by circumstance, and yet, somehow, it felt almost like a makeshift family—a fragile, uncertain one, but real all the same.
Andrea positioned herself on top of Dale's RV, her gaze steady as she scanned the farmland with a loaded rifle resting in her lap. She kept watch over the open fields and the treeline beyond, her senses sharpened, ready to protect the group from any threat that might creep onto the property. The responsibility gave her purpose, something to focus on other than the lingering grief over Amy. She was vigilant, her eyes tracing every rustle of the grass, every distant movement, prepared to fire if necessary.
Below, Shane paced back and forth near the RV, his hands clenched into fists, muttering to himself in a tone too low for anyone else to understand. His face was set in a scowl, his expression clouded with frustration and something darker, an edge that seemed to grow sharper every time he glanced back toward the farmhouse. His gaze would linger on the windows, then flicker toward the woods, as if he were weighing options, lost in a storm of conflicting emotions.
Occasionally, he'd stop and glance up at Andrea, his jaw tight as if wanting to say something, but instead, he resumed his pacing, shoulders tense. Whatever was eating at him seemed to deepen by the minute, the frustration bubbling up as he muttered about wasted time, the risks they were taking, and the choices Rick kept making.
Andrea, watching his restless movement from her perch, felt her own unease growing. She kept her eyes trained on the horizon but couldn't ignore the tension radiating from Shane. The others sensed it too, exchanging uneasy glances as they went about their tasks. In the quiet lull, the farm felt like a powder keg, everyone waiting to see who would strike the match first.
Suddenly Shane squinted, looking across at the open field ahead of him. his gaze locked on a figure moving unsteadily through the field. The staggering gait, the disheveled clothes—it looked like a walker. Without a second thought, he took off running, intent on taking it down before it got any closer. Alyssa caught sight of him sprinting across the field, and her stomach twisted with concern as she tried to make sense of what was happening.
Rick, who had just stepped out of the farmhouse, noticed Shane's sudden movement and immediately followed, breaking into a run as he tried to catch up. They moved quickly, adrenaline spiking as they closed the distance.
But before they could reach the figure, a gunshot cracked through the air, echoing across the quiet farmland. Andrea, perched on top of the RV, had fired, eager to prove her vigilance and protect the group.
Shane and Rick skidded to a halt, glancing toward the figure as it stumbled and collapsed to one knee, clutching the side of its head. That's when the truth hit them like a punch to the gut—it wasn't a walker. It was Daryl.
"Daryl!" Rick shouted, horror spreading across his face as he and Shane rushed forward, dread twisting in his stomach. As they reached him, they could see a graze along the side of Daryl's head where Andrea's bullet had struck, blood trickling down his temple. He looked disoriented, his eyes half-closed from the pain, his face pale and covered in dirt, blood staining his side from his wound.
Daryl looked up at them, grimacing as he tried to steady himself, his hand pressed to his head. "Guess I look worse than I thought," he muttered, a weak, bitter smirk crossing his face.
Shane's face twisted with guilt and frustration, but Rick immediately dropped to one knee beside Daryl, concern etched deep in his features. "Hang on, Daryl," he said, steadying him. "We didn't know... Andrea thought..."
Daryl waved him off, his voice rough. "Ain't the first time someone's thought I looked like somethin' to put down." But the effort to keep his usual tough demeanor was weak; the blood loss and exhaustion had clearly taken a toll.
Alyssa had reached the edge of the field, watching in shock as the scene unfolded. She felt a pang of worry as she took in Daryl's condition, the bandage around his side soaked with fresh blood, his head now bleeding from Andrea's bullet graze. She wanted to run to him, but something held her back, her emotions swirling in a mix of relief, anger, and guilt.
Andrea, realizing her mistake, climbed down from the RV, her face pale as she approached cautiously. "I—I thought you were..." she stammered, words failing her as she took in the scene.
Rick shot her a hard look but held back any anger, focusing instead on Daryl, who was clearly struggling. "Let's get him inside," Rick said, slipping an arm under Daryl's shoulders. Shane helped support him on the other side, the three of them moving carefully toward the farmhouse.
Alyssa followed closely, her heart pounding as she watched Daryl, concern etched on her face. Daryl met her gaze briefly, his eyes unreadable, and then looked away, gritting his teeth as he focused on each step.
Back at the farmhouse, Hershel took over, directing Rick and Shane to lay Daryl down in a spare room so he could treat him. As everyone gathered anxiously outside, Andrea stood off to the side, guilt written across her face as she struggled to process her mistake. Alyssa looked between Andrea and the others, the tension and unspoken emotions hanging thick in the air.
The group waited in uneasy silence as Hershel tended to Daryl, each of them grappling with the events of the day, the weight of mistakes and misunderstandings settling over them.
Hershel worked with steady hands, cleaning and dressing the wound on Daryl's side, his tone stern as he muttered, "That horse you took out? Her name's Nervous Nelly for a reason." He gave Daryl a hard look. "You shouldn't take without asking. I could've given you a better horse, one that wouldn't throw you first sign of trouble. I know you're determined to find that girl, but if you keep getting yourself hurt, you won't be any use to her."
Daryl grimaced but didn't argue, knowing Hershel was right. The pain from his side and the graze on his head was enough to keep him silent, though the shame and frustration in his eyes were unmistakable.
Meanwhile, Alyssa paced the room, her heart pounding with guilt and anger. She felt terrible about the argument she'd had with Daryl that morning, the harsh words she'd thrown at him. She could see now just how hard he'd been pushing himself, the toll it was taking. But instead of apologizing or finding a way to make things right, her frustration found a new target.
"Are you kidding me, Andrea?" she spat, whirling around. "You could've killed him! You didn't even bother to look close enough before you shot. What the hell were you thinking, you dumb bimbo?"
Andrea's face went white, her mouth opening in shock, but no words came out. The whole room went silent, everyone's eyes shifting to Alyssa with a mix of surprise and concern.
Rick's face hardened, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. He took a step toward Alyssa, his voice firm. "That's enough, Alyssa."
Alyssa's anger simmered, but Rick's stern tone cut through it, grounding her for a moment. She looked at her father, seeing the disappointment in his gaze, and felt her own emotions knot up, a mix of shame and regret. She hadn't meant for it to come out like that, hadn't meant to throw all her frustration at Andrea, but the stress of everything—the argument with Daryl, his injuries, the close call—had all boiled over.
Andrea, still shaken, took a step back, her own face clouding with guilt and embarrassment as she muttered, "I... I'm sorry. I thought..." Her voice trailed off, and she quickly turned away, retreating outside before anyone could say more.
Alyssa swallowed, the silence in the room heavy. She felt the weight of her father's gaze, but it was Daryl's eyes she couldn't bring herself to meet. Her outburst hadn't changed anything; it hadn't erased the worry, the hurt, or the guilt.