A/N: Flashbacks in italics. Spitfire47


Present

She slowly opened her eyes. Usually after a nightmare she'd snap them open in a feverish haste to waken herself, to find out what part of it was true. Soon after she would chastise herself. It was true, all of it. So she had taught herself to wake slowly, calmly as it would be her only solace throughout the day.

Lyra looked over her shoulder to see Cory sleeping, his soft snores echoed through the shop. She frowned slightly.

She pondered pushing him out of the bed to wake him, it was only a five foot drop. However she abandoned the idea and quietly crawled over him.

"You deserve it," she whispered.

Cory shifted in his sleep as if hearing her. Lyra climbed down the ladder and dropped to the ground missing the last step. Clenching her teeth, Lyra rubbed the brace around her knee feeling the string from the screws that were in her flesh, driven into her bone.

Lyra gently rubbed her back feeling her fingers going over the scars that stiffened the skin on her back. The bones had healed completely but it was clear she was still in much pain. Lyra walked over to the ration bag and looked in to see a little bit left in the bottle of water, a stale biscuit and only a couple strips of meat left. It was only one week and that had to take her for another week. She'd starve by the time Negan and his gang of freaks came by with another bag.

Immediately the apprentice went for the water but stopped. Gritting her teeth she grabbed it and took a sip feeling the liquid slip over her cracked lips and down her throat. Forcing the bottle away Lyra let out a low hiss, if she had it her way she'd drank the whole thing in a second. But it wasn't her way, it was his way.

Frustrated Lyra let the bottle drop into the bag and she walked over to the generator and started it up. It coughed violently before starting and it roared loudly before going to a light chug. Lyra sighed at least one of her normal problems wasn't a problem today. She walked over to the table where sinkers, casters and pieces of lead laid splayed all over.

Lyra let out a small sigh. She was tired of making shit for them, but she had no choice. She learnt that the hard way.

XXXXXX

Throughout the day, Lyra worked on ammunition and repairing weapons that took heavy damage. With the lathe she was able to coil springs, screws and such. To melt the lead she used an old school method of pot and ladle. Lyra would alternate between the works or repair and making.

Halfway through the day she stopped for a breath. She looked over to see Cory shift in his sleep, she walked over and leaned up against the ladder. Lyra grabbed the rations bag and broke the biscuit in quarters. Taking small bites Lyra looked over at the doorway.

"So how long have you being there?"

There was no movement. She took a couple shaky steps towards the doorway, a small form started to make out through the dark.

"I see you," she whispered, "I always see you…. So why do you always gotta fucking hide?"

There was no response. The figure even seemed to be receding from Lyra as she stepped forward carefully as if she were hunting.

"Do you want to hear the rest?" she asked quietly. "I can tell you, I have perfect recollection, I can tell you anything."

Stepping back, the apprentice leaned back against the doorway entrance feeling some of the tension in her back release.

XXXXXX

Lyra looked around to see some more coming out. She started to wonder where all of them were coming from. Quickly backing up, Lyra ran back to the vehicle and threw the can and hose into the truck before rushing over to the store.

"Dad!"

The door slammed open and Lyra moved in holding the machete in front of her.

"Dad!"

She ran down an aisle and looked around wildly to try and locate her father. Lyra was about to turn when a crawler grabbed her wrist. Dropping the machete into the other, Lyra sliced upward but only caught it on its cheek. The blob of flesh dropped to the ground. When the crawler opened its mouth, blood and broken sinew fell onto the ground. Lyra stiffened as the sight of the torn flesh.

"Better not have eaten my dad you fucker!" On the last word, the machete pushed through its forehead and ejected out the other end.

"Dad!" Lyra shouted.

"Lyra!"

The daughter ran towards the sound of the voice and it came from a closed door. Surrounding it were two crawlers.

"Shit."

Lyra raced up behind one and stabbed it before slicing sideways and catching the other straight in the face, side swiping right through the eyes.

"It's safe," Lyra said.

The door opened and her father came out. There was a small blood splatter on his shirt. Lyra couldn't see anything else.

"Shit, why didn't you call for help?!" she berated.

"There was only two of them," her father replied.

"Two? There were three! And there's going to be a lot more, we gotta go now."

Her father checked the chamber in his gun.

"Only have five more rounds left."

"We can deal with that later."

Lyra ran back hearing her father right behind her. She looked back to see a heavy back bouncing against his hip, she hoped he was able to get what he needed. They weren't coming back.

Through the window, Lyra saw about twenty crawlers. All of them were slowly trudging along. She raised the bandana around her neck so that it covered her nose and mouth. She gave her father a quick look who nodded indicating his readiness he too had a bandana on. Lyra kicked the door open and rushed for the truck, she chopped down as many crawlers as possible. Occasionally her father shot off a couple rounds on those who would get to close.

Lyra was the first one to get to the truck and yanked the door open just as a gnarled hand made a grab for her. She whipped around and chopped it off before stabbing the head. As her father reached for the door, Lyra crawled back into the passenger side and watched as her father got in and slammed the door closed. He locked the door and let out the deep breath he was unintentionally holding in. The father looked over at Lyra who was also slight panting from the exertion and adrenaline.

All around them the crawlers surrounded the truck. Their bloodied limbs thumping against the truck trying to get in. Her father started the vehicle and stomped hard on the gas pedal. The vehicle shot out of the spot like a bullet. Blood and guts splattered onto the windshield. Lyra gripped the seat as the truck rolled over a crawler.

"Almost out," her father muttered, though it was more to himself.

He turned sharply driving into another crawler.

"Dad!" Lyra cried.

Her father made another sharp turn and saw a clearing through the enormous herd that was walking straight for them. He stomped on the pedal once again and they drove out.

XXXXXX

"We assumed they had migrated from the city, where they were going I have no idea."

Lyra let out a small sigh.

"My dad had me siphon gas out front while he went into the store."

Lyra got up and started to stir the melting lead.

"It wasn't his dumbass plan, or the herd, or nearly driving off a fucking cliff! It was that he didn't tell me."

Lyra closed her eyes feeling a familiar pit in her stomach well until it was big enough to swallow her whole. She let out a shaky breath, but she shook her head.

"What he does…did…was up to him," she said firmly, however her voice cracked slightly.

"You tried."

Lyra turned around to see Cory sitting up, his legs dangling from the platforms edge. His black hair splayed over his head, and his wide green eyes on her. His jacket flew open as he jumped the five steps and landed on the ground. His bare feet made no sound.

"What did I tell you about wearing shoes?" Lyra chastised lightly.

Cory shrugged. "You said that I can't wear shoes into bed."

"I said you wear shoes when you're on the floor you dolt." The apprentice gently hit the man upside the head getting a light chuckle from him. "Don't come bitching to me when you get slivers in your feet and god put your shirt on!"

Cory came up from behind her, his arms drawing around her waist gently pulling her into a hug.

"Jealous?" he murmured.

Lyra snorted. "Of what? That dandelion fluff…. do I get a wish?"

"Anything…."

Cory had four inches on her so Lyra wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled his head down a bit. She whispered: "Get me the fuck out of here."

His eyes went sideways and downcast. Lyra felt him shiver underneath her touch.

"…but that….Anything but that."

Lyra pulled out of his grip. She walked back to the boiling lead and angrily started to pour it into the moulds. With a heavy heart Cory watched from afar. He watched for a few minutes knowing that Lyra was going to speak.

"Then what the fuck else is there to wish for?" she demanded as she sprinkled in the powder.

Cory looked over at the ration bag.

"More food?"

Lyra gave a weak chuckle as she shook her head.

"So what? We can continue to work for these asshats?! Hmm? Is that what you want to do? Where's the living in that?"

Cory paused. "We're survivors."

"We're slaves."

Lyra threw down the tools and kicked the generator with her steel-toed boot. A sickening crack rang through the shop as the outer shell cracked. But it kept on running, spinning and providing Lyra and Cory the power they needed to make their due.

Cory looked over at the doorway and back to Lyra who leaned against the lathe. Her arms folded and a cross expression between depression and anger dominated her face. Her shoulders were tensed and forward and her brace knee jittered with nervous energy. He didn't say anything. Instead he just picked up his portion of food for the day and sat on the chair. Looking at Lyra who was now picking at the cuticle around her thumbnail.

"You need to stop that," Cory said patiently. "You need to be careful as it is with your hands."

Lyra's hand dropped against her braced knee. Instinctively she winced and rubbed a bruising area where the metal was pressed harshly against her skin.

"Maybe you should loosen it," Cory suggested.

"And go limping for a whole week? Fuck that, I've given that bastard enough satisfaction."

A dark expression cast over the man's face, "I don't think standing up to Lucille is giving Negan satisfaction."

Lyra ran her hand over the cooled bullets and dumped them into the bucket where the rest were. She paused just staring at them as if they were hypnotising her.

"I want to put in extra powder in the next batch," she said calmly, her voice was low as if speaking mostly to herself. "I want to watch one of those bastards pull the trigger, and his hand explode."

She threw in the bullet she was holding listening to it clink against the others.

"Then he'll most definitely kill you," Cory reminded in the same gentle tone. "And then who would I have to keep me company?"

Lyra let out a mirthless laugh.

"I'm sure you'd figure something out."

Cory started to drop lead into the melting pot.

"I don't think I'd ever find someone else like you."

The apprentice smirked. "Everyone's their own individual beautiful butterfly, remember?"

"Sure, even if they are crippled."

Lyra gave him a playful shove as she passed listening to him stir with the ladle.

"Get some rest now."

She climbed up the ladder and laid on the bed. The mattress was hard and belonged to a twin bed that they both had to share. The sheet was stained with blood, dirt and sweat – six months of it.

The apprentice tried to get comfortable as possible before drawing up the ratty blanket over her lanky body. She gave a final looked to Cory who was busy with the pot, she looked over to see the figure returned. This time his face was clear.

Why…Why you? What's so god damn special about you?

The teen didn't answer, instead just looked at her like he always did with his hardened eyes. Yet Lyra could see the insecurity and shyness mixing together beneath the mask.

"I'll find you," she murmured feeling the exhaustion catch up with her. "Wherever…."

XXXXXX

"Dad…?"

Lyra scanned the dark rooms of the house. She walked through the living room, past the kitchen and towards the backdoor. She knew her father was outside, he always was when he was thinking, when he wanted to be alone. But now wasn't the time to be alone. They were lucky to avoid the herd two weeks ago, but the exact size was unclear and they could still be in grave danger of being in its path.

"Dad?"

There was still no answer and Lyra let out a small sigh getting a bit fed up.

Lately her father had grown quiet and more concentrated than ever. He's being insisting on trying to find ways back into the city for some reason. When Lyra would inquire he would always say it was for her own good, but the daughter didn't really see any good in going back into a crawler infested Atlanta.

Lyra pulled open the door to see her father standing outside. He was sitting at the picnic table with his rifle lain against the side. The 9mm in front of him all assembled and clean. Lyra walked over and sat beside him. She felt him tense but he let out a small breath through his clenched teeth.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he tried.

"Bullshit, we don't do that dad."

The father turned back to face the fence and then turned his head up. Lyra followed his gaze to the constellations that shimmered in the sky along with the streaks of the Milky Way.

"I met your mother on a night like this," he whispered.

Lyra blinked. She knew that he never liked to talk about her mother, especially when she passed.

"Night time and hot as hell."

Her father picked up the handgun and turned it around examining it closely.

"If she could see the world now…."

"She'd survive," Lyra finished.

Her father nodded but it wasn't very convincing and Lyra had no problem catching it at night.

"She would."

There was a pause. "No doubt."

Feeling her father's tension, Lyra bristled. She slowly rose from the table, giving herself a safe distance from her father.

"Lyr-."

"Let's see it."

"Plea-."

"Show me…"

Her father rolled up his sleeve, showing the scratch marks on his forearm. Lyra felt her heart drop to the ground, tears welled in her eyes threatening to fall but she managed to keep them at bay.

"Wh-….What a-….Jeez!"

He let the sleeve drop down covering the scratches. With his other hand, he made a show of pulling the chamber on the gun, Lyra got the message and flinched.

"Dad…please…"

"Go to your room Lyra," he said not looking at his daughter.

Lyra tried to breath but she was unable to, the air in her throat thickened effectively choking her.

"We can do something, think of something," Lyra struggled to say. "We…we can cut the – the arm off just at the elbow."

Her father swallowed.

"I tried that," he showed her the line where he pressed the straightedge "But it didn't work, too much of a coward."

Lyra balled her hands into fists. "You're right. You are a fucking coward if you do this! What are you trying to prove huh? That you're somehow brave by doing this? Is that it?"

Her father didn't say anything, he pulled the hammer.

Lyra closed her eyes feeling tears fall freely now. The harsh words replayed in her mind and she fell to her knees, her hands clenching the roots on the grass.

"I love you so much."

Lyra let out a choked sob.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"So much like your mother, she would've being very proud."

Lyra felt her body tense. Her hands clenched into fists as she struggled to get to her feet.

"Stop…pleas-."

BANG!

XXXXXX

The week passed on as its usual slow slug pace. The two split the work and split the rest of the food. Lyra's muscles weren't getting any better and the bruising on her leg was getting worse making it harder for her to walk. But they had a quota to meet and Lyra started to use a metal bar as a mock walking stick.

On the seventh day, Lyra placed the ammunition off to the side. She let out a small sigh ready to continue despite her burning fingers, it was hard to grip things though as the day drew on. Lyra clenched her teeth as a sudden sharp pain ran through her knee making her buckle slightly.

Suddenly something pricked under her chin. Her eyes tried to look past the weapon but a wooden bat covered with barbed wire was very hard to ignore. Especially when it was right by her throat. Gently the bat lifted her chin

"Where's my supplies?"