Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's Fear the Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Liddy requested some Spencer, so this inspired by Spencer and Rosita's conversation in 6x02. - This fic focuses on the daemon!trope, from "His Dark Materials" series, by Phillip Pullman. I recommend reading the wiki on the subject, but here is what is relevant for this story. *Dæmons are the physical manifestation of a person's inner-self/soul that takes the form of an animal. Before puberty, children's dæmons can change form to become any creature, real or imaginary. During their adolescence a person's dæmon undergoes "settling," where the dæmon assumes the form of the animal the person most resembles in character. A daemon and human can only be separated by a relatively small amount of space, so even if your daemon is a bird, they cannot fly far or high from their human counterpart.
Warnings: spoilers for 6x02, adult language, adult themes, blood/guts/gore, fantasy-elements represented and discussed, vague illusions to depression, loss of family members.
Leaving the city of the blessed (for the road of the damned)
"What happened today, that's what it's like out there?"
"Pretty much."
"How do you...How do you live, knowing that's the world?"
"This group. Abraham and this place."
"…Make sure you have something worth dying for."
He turned the words over and over in his mind as they followed Rosita and Eerian back inside the gates. Focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other as Eerian's ruddy coat rippled red-gold in the muted afternoon light. Leaping gracefully into the branches of a low-riding tree before launching himself back to the ground again. Sleek and carefully-quiet as Rosita holstered her Glock and slipped between the ruined metal slates of the central wall.
The color, at least, seemed appropriate.
Red.
The worst part was, he'd had his fill of it already.
He hated it.
Hell, he could barely stand it!
He'd pulled the trigger. He'd looked down the scope. He'd seen the cost. Seen the violence. Seen the way a person's face changed the moment before their eyes went dead. Snaking resignation to childish fear and everything in between. He'd seen it. Seen for the first time what people these days were willing to do to each other. The acts they were willing to commit when under different circumstances they might have welcomed them inside - tried to make it together. Open doors. Open arms. Open hearts. Just like Mom used to talk about, just like they'd been since the beginning. Only now that dream was broken. Wounded. Screaming.
This life?
The one Rosita, Rick and the others knew?
It wasn't him.
His stomach churned as Belgi kept close, wrapping herself around his neck and nuzzling into the stubble of his chin as he fought the urge to just blurt it out – like a child with a secret. Knowing instinctively that it wouldn't be welcomed by the woman or her daemon as he averted his eyes from the blood drizzling down the porch steps of the nearest house. Boot heels crunch-crunching over broken glass as bodies – because there were more than one – littered the ground wherever he looked.
"We aren't ready," he whispered hoarsely, looking around him with a sober sort of finality. Watching his mother's back stiffen, inch by inch as they began to tally the human cost.
"We have to be," she returned simply, paws curling around the collar of his shirt as she licked at the blood drying across the tan of his neck. Reminding him that he was still underneath - that they were still underneath. Reminding him that there was red in her fur as well. Marring the pristine white like a metaphor as he swallowed down the threat of bile just in time.
He was strong.
But he didn't know if he wanted to be strong like Rosita was.
Like Rick was.
"We're still here, still alive" Belgi reminded gently, whiskers tickling. "Mum…Matimba, the others. That's something. That's enough. You know it is."
The 'for now' was silent.
But after Dad and Aiden, well, they were both thinking it.
Because he couldn't help but dwell on that last thing.
What Rosita had said before turning away.
"Make sure you have something worth dying for."
It wasn't exactly the best time to realize that the crushing tightness that'd been building in the back of his chest for the past year or so was his own loneliness stretching out. Cavernous and cold – like he was caught naked in the void, reaching out for something or someone but never quite managing to reach. But then again, he supposed it wasn't the best time for a lot of things these days.
Belgi just nuzzled closer in silent agreement.
Perhaps it was time to make some changes after all.
Authors Note #2: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. - This story is now complete, but there will be more in this series. Stay tuned.
Reference:
Daryl: 'Dee' short for Delilah (wolf daemon, female)
Carol: 'Trelli' (spotted hyena daemon, male)
Ed: 'unnamed because no one cares' (mosquito daemon, female)
Merle: 'Skandi' (vulture daemon, female)
Shane: 'Leena' (brown and white-striped pitbull daemon, female)
Deanna: 'Matimba' (Black-maned Lion daemon, male)
Abraham: 'Kandi' (Bull-mastiff daemon, female)
Aaron: 'Hubrand' (Honey Badger daemon, male)
Michonne: 'Kanyen' (African Serval daemon, male)
Jim: 'Nallie.' (Great Horned Owl daemon, female)
Dale: 'Zia' (unmentioned daemon, female)
Sophia: 'Chell' (unsettled daemon but preferred deer form, male)
Carl: 'Furia' (unsettled daemon, unmentioned, female)
Judith: 'Leetan' (unsettled daemon, unmentioned, male)
Amy: 'Betan' (Holland-lop rabbit, male).
Andrea: 'Caymus' (Cougar, male.)
Spencer: 'Belgi' (Ermine/Stoat, snow white color, female.)
Rosita: 'Eerian' (Abyssinian cat, ruddy colored, male.)
Eric: 'Fugan' (Otter, male.)