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Hello,
My name is Mr. Fear
I wish I had a faster therapy
I've come
To mind control your needs
Tonight I'm gonna star all of your leads

You know
I'll never disappear
Now get me out of here
Just trust in me, my dear
No cure is coming near

How long
You'll call me insincere?
I'm not here to fulfil your parody
How come
My song becomes unreal?
You never understand my melodies...

Oliver knew something wasn't right when he went to bed that night. His throat hurt, and he couldn't get this strange, bitter taste out of his mouth, but he didn't want to complain and make Jerry or Nabila worry, and managed to will himself to sleep. When he awoke again, he was curled up in a ball, clutching his stomach, and moaning from the pain. Jerry was shaking him, saying things. Oliver's head throbbed. His arms and legs and chest felt heavy. Jerry pulled him to his feet, supporting him out of the tent, where Oliver yacked up digested stew and bile against a fence post. He squinted against the sun, wiping his mouth and wondering what time it was. People were already awake, and he saw, by the house, Bertie helping Kal inside. He had vomit down his shirt. Jerry took Oliver inside, too, to the office.

"Here," Enid said instantly, "you'll have to sit on the floor. I don't have any more room. Drink this. Bertie, or Jerry, could you go and check if Dante has room at the infirmary trailer, or any of the other trailers?"

"What if it's contagious?"

"Wash your hands. Cover your face."

"What?"

"What else am I supposed to do right now!? We're already exposed."

Oliver was in too much pain to pay attention to them anymore. Someone had handed him a mug of tea. He spilled it in his attempt to drink. He was very tired. Enid eventually came and crouched in front of him. She gave him pills. He gulped them down with another cup of water. A few minutes later, Dante arrived to help take Oliver and a few other patients to the infirmary trailer, where there were spare beds. It was dimmer inside, and despite the summer heat, Oliver felt cold as he sat on a bed. The other sick patients around him were shivering, too.

At some point, Dante sat Oliver up and shone a small torch into his eyes, pulling open his eyelids for him when Oliver found it too difficult.

"Pupils are dilated, like the rest," Dante mumbled.

"The stomach bug seems to be spreading," Ms. Watts, Hilltop's medic, said from another bed, apparently sick as well by the looks of her vomit-filled bedpan — her arm was still in a sling from the tree fall, and she had a gnarly looking new scar across her face. "But how can it be spreading, Dante? These symptoms are different to those at Alexandria. As well as that, people have been passing through Hilltop for weeks from all over, including you and Daryl, and you aren't getting sick."

"Oh, don't you worry, sweetheart," Dante told her. "I'm here to take care of you."

Exhausted and in pain, Oliver watched Ms. Watts snicker weakly.

"Haven't you heard?" Dante asked her. "I've got the magic touch."

He winked.

Ms. Watts tutted. "Son, I am too old and sick for your nonsense."

Dante laughed, and then Ms. Watts fell into a drowsy quietness, quivering slightly and pulling her blanket around herself. Dante watched her, then he turned back to Oliver, grabbing a tongue flattener and asking him to open his mouth. Oliver did, concentrating on not gagging.

"Burning in the throat?" Dante asked, removing the flattener.

Oliver nodded. He had to shut his eyes and clutch his stomach when a particularly bad wave of pain hit him.

"Come on, admit it," Dante said to him, "there's a tiny part of you that's thrilled to be sick, just so you can spend more time with me."

Oliver winced. "Eh?"

"I get it," Dante said patronisingly, "butterflies in the stomach, just at the sight of me. I know. I'm beautiful."

"That's not—" Oliver shook his head. He couldn't believe Dante was doing this, now.

"The heart wants what it wants, right?" Dante went on. He took his stethoscope from around his neck and put the listening end to Oliver's chest, the buds in his ears. He smiled. "Inhale for me..."

Oliver did, face boiling.

"Good," Dante said. "And exhale... Alright."

Glad it was over, Oliver laid back in his cold bed and turned over, wishing Enid was here. Dante sauntered off, chuckling to himself.

Oliver got worse after that. He remembered begrudgingly eating as much lunch as his stomach would allow and then throwing up shortly afterwards. He remembered the pain, too, everywhere. In his stomach and his head and his throat, but of it all, the bad dreams were the worst part. He dreamed of Henry blaming him for his death, and he dreamed of Alpha standing over him with her dripping machete, and of that Whisperer who made him open his eyes. He dreamed of his friends' screams and he dreamed of the smell of their blood, and when he finally awoke from it all, the sun had set.

To Oliver's relief, Enid was sitting across from him, treating Kal. She looked over at Oliver when she noticed him sit up. She smiled faintly. There were bags under her eyes.

"How long was I sleeping?" Oliver asked.

"Since yesterday," Enid said.

Oliver moaned. "I said I'd radio Carol. She'll think I forgot."

"She doesn't," Enid said. "Alexandria knows we're sick here, too. Carol told me earlier on the radio that she was going to try and make it down here in a few days."

"A few days?" Oliver asked before he thought to act his own age.

Enid twitched her lip to the side, as if she felt sympathetic. "She said she had to get something else done first. Didn't say what, though."

Oliver sighed, wincing. "She doesn't need to come."

"She knows that. Here..." Enid got up and handed him more pills. He swallowed them with some herbal tea she'd brewed. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better," Oliver said, grunting as he sat up.

"Good enough to eat something again? You want some stew?"

"Yeah. Anything to get rid of this... taste in my mouth, like... bitter."

"You've been vomiting."

Oliver had lived his whole life with a notoriously weak stomach, and felt like this was different to the usual post-yack taste, but he didn't want to risk Enid's talkativeness towards him by arguing, especially not since an annoyed crease was beginning to form between her eyebrows as she handed him a warm bowl and a spoon.

"Thanks," he said. "Smells good."

"Dante made it," she said absently, "left it for everyone if you felt better."

"Where is he?" Oliver asked, starting to eat.

"I excused him," Enid said. "He's driving me insane."

"What happened?"

She tutted, like she didn't want to talk about it, then gave it up. "Well, he keeps forgetting who he's given pills or tea to, which runs the risk of giving someone too much or missing out people altogether. He was also on the radio with Gabriel but didn't tell me. I had to find out from Aliyah that someone at Alexandria died from their symptoms."

She bit her lip at the look on Oliver's face.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, no, it's okay," he said. "I'd rather know. Who?"

"Cheryl." Enid put her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're stressed."

"Don't be. It'll be okay. I'll handle it," she said fiercely. "I'm just worried about you — the sick, I mean. I'm stuck using pre-industrial-age meds, which means that little bugs can suddenly become a death sentence. I'm not going to let Dante's stupidity cost lives."

Oliver felt a swell of pride for her. He touched her hand, but she pulled away, got up, and crossed the room to begin handing out pre-prepared bowls of stew to those who were awake.

Not long after, Oliver began to feel terrible again. Hot-cold flushes. Dizziness. Stomach-ache. Headache. Unending trips to either the bathroom or the bucket beside his bed with Enid holding back his hair for him in between her efforts to help everyone else. There were some moments when Oliver couldn't tell where he was or how much time was passing by. He was so delirious that he began trying to track moments with his heartbeat, faster and faster, until finally, some million years later, it began to slow again and he felt a little better.

It must've been around the next evening that he felt present enough to recognise the sun setting outside the window. He braved another meal. Stew again. Enid talked to him. That was nice. She told him that she'd found out through word of mouth what it was Carol needed to get done before she came to visit: Carol and Daryl had captured a Whisperer and locked him in Negan's old cell, however, before they could interrogate him, the Whisperer hung himself with the rope from Negan's hanging plant. With nothing left to do now, Carol was on her way to Hilltop, hoping to arrive in a few days.

In the night, Oliver grew even sicker than the days before. The only saving grace he had was that he was unconscious for most of it. He still struggled through several fever dreams about Carol falling into mile-deep ravines filled with the dead, and Enid growing bat wings and flying away without him, and one particularly nasty one where Carl was dangling at the end of a noose, and Oliver was there beneath him, dead and feasting from the chest down.

When he next came to, he was in a lot of pain and it was hard to move at all. Ms. Watts' bed beside him was empty. The sun was setting out the window so Oliver knew that at least another day had passed. He hadn't awoken naturally either. Across the room, behind his back, Enid and Dante were bickering in hushed voices.

"Where did you get your training?"

"Siddiq," Dante said. "Same as you. Look, I'm—"

"I mean before," Enid hissed. "Did you go to school?"

"Well, no."

"Of course you didn't."

"Hey, neither did you."

"But I've been doing this for years. You've been doing it for, what, six or seven months?"

"Didn't you quit though? I mean, that's why I'm here, ain't it? To get this done so that you don't have to?"

Dante had struck a nerve. Enid stood up suddenly. Oliver could hear her chair scrape.

"It was more complicated than that," she retorted, "I... I had my reasons."

"I know your reasons. Siddiq told me."

Enid stuttered. "He... He did?"

"Yeah... and hey, I know it's not like I ever lost a baby like that, before it was born and all, but I did have a son once—"

"I am not talking about this with you..."

Oliver's eyes were wide open, staring at the trailer window. He was so shocked and devastated that he didn't even feel the pain in his gut.

"Look, Eenie," Dante told her, "I don't see what your problem is. I'm just trying to help you."

Enid growled a sigh, sounding like she was pacing by the door. "I'm... I'm just... under a lot of stress. It's been four days. Alexandria's already lost Cheryl, and we've lost Ms. Watts to it. And everyone else is just getting worse."

Dante sighed. "I get it. And I know I've been making a few mistakes lately. I don't blame you for getting a little short with me sometimes."

"I'm sorry."

"Already forgotten," Dante said.

Enid sighed, forcing herself to ease up. "So," she whispered, "where did you live before you started helping at Alexandria?"

"Oh, uh... Oceanside."

"You found them after the Saviors, then?"

"Before that, even."

Enid hummed politely. "Uh, right… I should... get back to the office, see how the other patients are holding up."

"Of course," Dante said. "Just, take it easy okay? I'm only trying to help. If you need anything, come find me."

"Sure, Dante..."

He saw her out. When he came back inside, Oliver had turned over onto his back. He was so distracted in processing what he'd just learned that he forgot to act like he was still asleep. Dante put another bowl of stew in his lap, casting him a wink that made Oliver's eye twitch. As he went around serving the others, Oliver poked his food with his spoon. He still felt too raw inside to eat. In the bowl was some pheasant meat, vegetables from the garden, as well as some type of pale berry. He set the bowl aside, glad that although he was still shivering at least the sweating had stopped. The same couldn't be said for everyone else — it wasn't more than half an hour later when most of them began vomiting again. Dante did his best to clean and change bedpans or buckets and get them enough water to rinse their mouths.

"How was your stew?" Dante asked Oliver once people had either fallen unconscious or into shivering quiet.

"I wasn't hungry."

"Ah, that's the sickness talking."

"Maybe."

"Come on. Just a bite or two."

"Really, I'm fine."

Dante even scooped some and tried to feed him, but Oliver, exhausted and frustrated, especially after what he'd just listened to between Dante and Enid, swatted the spoon out of his hand and sent stew flying across the floor. Dante stared at the mess, something empty in his face. It was gone quickly though. He smiled and looked up. Oliver held his ground.

"Well, we should at least get you washed up, if you're feeling better," Dante said finally, "you reek. I'll take you to my trailer to shower."

Despite the frown on Oliver's face he couldn't deny that his hair was beginning to matt and his shirt had sweat stains on its sweat stains.

"Fine."

He didn't have the strength to walk too far on his own so let Dante support him along the trailer paths. Dante had been given his own place which someone had volunteered to him considering how much he was doing for Hilltop. The only light inside was the setting sun through the curtains and a small solar lamp that glowed faintly across the narrow living area. Despite Dante's profession, he didn't keep a very tidy home. There were clothes everywhere and a distinct musky, unaired smell. The place was dirty, too. Mud was caked on the carpets and furniture and even in the bedsheets, like he never took off his shoes. On the counter was some type of plant remains and ground up flowers.

Oliver was guided to the bathroom at the end of the trailer. He was so exhausted that Dante set him on the toilet lid and switched the shower on for him, then left him to it. Oliver pushed the door shut, undressed, and washed in his own time. The water was cold, so he was meticulous about how he used it; tilting the head against the wall so that he could dip parts of himself under the flow while he scrubbed himself with his hand. He was still so weak that he eventually had to sit on the floor of the shower, washing himself with the same method that way.

He thought back to months ago, before Adam had been found in the cornfields. He remembered Enid saying, "Can't stop thinking about that baby..." and the careful look Alden had given her. Had she been pregnant then? And when did she miscarry? She told Dante it was one of the reasons she quit at the clinic, so it had to have happened after the fair. Maybe she lost it because of the massacre. She can't have been too far along either, or the foetus would have ultimately been a walker.

Oliver shuddered at the thought, his brain full and miserable.

Eventually, he finished combing out his hair, got out, and redressed into his dirty clothes, grimacing at the nasty pain still pounding in his stomach and head. It felt like he was eroding from the inside out, and it got worse, so he sat on the toilet lid to brace himself. He began to sweat and shiver as another hot-cold flush rushed over him.

"D— Dante..."

He heard Dante at the door. He opened it slightly when Oliver gave him permission, his dark eye peering through.

"What's up?"

Oliver winced. "I need to lie down for a moment."

"I got you, man," Dante said, entering the tiny room. He put his arms around Oliver's chest and pulled. He was much stronger than Oliver expected, with tall, broad shoulders — a sudden bad memory crawled through Oliver's chest like a wave of old dread. He felt like his heart was in his face.

"Wait. Get off me!"

Dante was in an awkward position manoeuvring himself and Oliver out of the bathroom so he struggled not to drop him, and instead gripped Oliver harder, then stumbled and tripped over the couch-bed. Oliver landed on it, shoving Dante away.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dante hissed, catching his footing.

Oliver felt terrible. "Sorry, I just..." He remembered the barn and the Whisperer who'd held his eyes open. Paranoia bled through him. He knew he was only sick, that it was just his mind running away on itself. Just another panic attack. "I don't feel good."

"Here," Dante said. He helped Oliver get more comfortable with cushions. "Can I get you anything?"

"I want to go back to the infirmary."

"What's wrong, man?"

"Nothing," Oliver said, but he knew it was obvious that he was lying. He was breathing heavily and sweating and avoiding Dante's face. He'd not felt so helpless since the barn. "I'm fine. I just want to get back. I need to get out of here."

"No," Dante said, "you're delirious — rest a minute, okay?"

Oliver laid there stiffly on the couch-bed. He had to shut his eyes as Dante bent over him and placed the back of his hand on Oliver's forehead to check his temperature.

"Open your eyes..." Dante whispered.

Oliver did, suddenly, staring up at him wildly. "Wh... what?"

Dante's smile wavered only for a second. Oliver still noticed.

And Oliver realised.

And the room and the world fell still.

"You," he whispered, before he could stop himself, "no..."

Dante glared down at him with a very different look on his face now than normal. It was something like that emptiness from before, only worse.

"Shit..." he said finally. "I walked right into that one, didn't I? And I was doing so well."

Oliver's heart sank.

"You're one of them," he whispered. "You were... at the barn..."

"Not just the barn, either," Dante said, like he was glad to get it off his chest, "but you'd never seen my face so the boss lady figured it wouldn't cause a problem. Guess she was wrong. Or maybe... this was part of her plan."

Oliver had to snap out of his fear. He had to think of how to get away, to warn everyone, to think ahead of where Dante's train of thought was taking him. Dante spoke before he thought of anything.

"You're wondering where you know me from other than the barn?"

As not to die too quickly, Oliver nodded.

"Well, first time I saw you was in the woods," Dante explained. "Yeah, we were out there laying a trail of arrows, setting up a trap for... what are their names? Luke... and... damn, I can't remember the other one."

"Alden," Oliver whispered through gritted teeth.

"Yeah," Dante said. "Alden. You saved him that day, you know, showing up like you did, leading them away... but you couldn't save him again in the barn."

Oliver was so angry. He felt tears leaking from his eyes. As one fell, gently, Dante wiped it away. Oliver jerked his face back, disgusted.

"This place is special," Dante cooed. "Alexandria, too. I got that right away. The communities work 'cause they're villages. It takes everyone to build, grow, and fight, raise rug rats, and heal people. Everyone carries equal weight."

Oliver stared up at him, breathing fast and hard. He wasn't following what Dante was saying. He was focusing more on how trapped he felt and how huge Dante looked looming over him with one hand above Oliver's shoulder, squashing the cushion underneath his head, pulling some of his hair unintentionally.

Somehow, on shallow breath, Oliver asked, "What did you do, Dante?"

Dante swayed his head in thought. "Crushed a few unripe black nightshade berries into the stew every day, though, there wasn't enough to go around for everyone. Still, killed two so far, didn't I?"

"There was a plan," Oliver said, meaning it to sound like a question.

"Encourage your paranoia about us, push you into bad decisions," Dante explained. "See, places like this crumble at the smallest nick."

Oliver couldn't see a way to defend himself. He could only think to keep Dante talking in hopes someone might hear from outside. "And... err, what are you going to do now?"

"That is a damn good question..." Dante inhaled through his teeth and smiled. "But a better question, perhaps, is what am I gonna do with you now?"

Oliver felt himself pushing backwards into the couch-bed. Quickly he said, "If you kill me, someone will hear. And you won't be able to hide my body either. There are too many people around. Like you said... it's a village."

"Then so be it," Dante said. "Hell, I'll enjoy watching your people figure out what to do with me after they find out what I did. Just like with Negan."

"That's what you want? A public trial? A chance to give your side?"

"That's what they'll give me. Because it's 'right'."

Oliver stared at him, shaking and weak.

"You know, this is all such a shame, Oliver," Dante told him. "I was really trying to save you..."

"Save me?" Oliver asked, outraged. "You... poisoned me."

"No..." Dante said, his voice very low now. "I was saving you..."

He reached forward with his spare hand and touched Oliver's face. Oliver pulled away, but Dante simply slid his fingers gently around Oliver's hairline, then down along his jaw and neck.

"You have got... such lovely skin," Dante told him, "and it would've looked... great... on me..."

Panic flooded Oliver's brain, paralysing him. It wasn't until Dante moved to place both of his hands around Oliver's neck that he was jolted into a reaction. Surged by adrenaline, he brought his knee up fast. It crushed Dante's groin, sending him recoiling backwards with a yelp. Oliver tried to launch forward, hoping to knock Dante away, but he wasn't strong enough and Dante grabbed him. Oliver felt the couch-bed leave him as he was thrown to the floor. Dante sat on him. It was as if he was made of stone. He was so heavy, with his knees squeezed around Oliver's ribcage and both his hands clamped around Oliver's throat. Oliver was trapped. He tried to fight, to pry himself free, to breathe, but his shuddering arms and legs were too weak.

"Don't fight it," Dante whispered to him, clamping tighter and tighter, squashing heavier and heavier. "Close your eyes. Just... close your eyes..."

Oliver exhausted himself quickly. He was so furious and he was so weak and he was so devastated and there was nothing he could do but feel the heaviness suffocating him until he was swallowed and swallowed and swallowed by it. He must've blacked out. He barely felt the relief of Dante letting go of him by the time he finally opened his eyes again, coughing up his lungs. There was grunting and yelping and before Oliver could see what was happening, something smashed, and the trailer went dark, and suddenly a heavy weight landed across his chest. Oliver cried out under the pain of it. His throat ached, still coughing violently, trying to pull himself free. Without any light he could only identify what was on him by feeling it. He felt the shape of Dante's face, his stubbled chin and his thick hair, and a warm, wet gash on the top of his head, spilling down fast and soaking Oliver's face and shirt. He shoved with all his might until Dante tumbled off him. He twitched for a moment, then Oliver felt him go still. Something crackled under his elbows as Oliver pushed himself backwards — the broken solar lamp, he felt, when he touched it with his fingers. It cut him. Oliver grunted, his back hitting what he guessed was the oven now. Confused and forcing his eyes to adjust, he searched the darkness around him. There was panting. Not his own. Something touched his shoulder and made him flinch. He saw a face move in the moonlight.

Enid's voice came to him.

"Oliver," she said desperately.

"Oh — Enid," he croaked back, "mio amore, mio amore!"

"Oliver..." she cried.

"Are you okay?"

"I — I think so."

"Did you..."

"Uh-huh..."

"Is he..."

"I think so."

Oliver wasn't sure who hugged who but he didn't care. He held Enid as if he'd never had the chance to before. He held her to make up for all the times he wished he had in the last several months. Her hair was in his face, all tangled and smelling like flowers and sweat and antibacterial soap. He was so grateful. He didn't have the words. He didn't have the words so he pushed his face against hers. It was almost a kiss. It could have been, he knew, if either of them had wanted it to be. But it wasn't. Oliver simply cradled the back of her head in his arms, gripping her hair in his hand, thinking about how incomprehensibly much he loved her.

"Thank you," he said finally, sharing their puffing breaths.

Enid laughed wetly and nodded. They pulled apart. Oliver's hand stung. His throat ached to the touch. It was hard to hoist himself onto the couch-bed so Enid helped him. It was easier to see now with a little moonlight casting across the darkness. Oliver could see that Enid's face was bruised. Her nose was bloody and looked broken. Her hands were bleeding. She must've put up a good fight. Good enough to kill a stone man.

Oliver looked at him, Dante, wiping sweat from his face. "So, you figured out—?"

"He was lying," she said. "I knew from the moment he said he was from Oceanside, that he'd been there since the start."

Oliver frowned at her, then felt his eyes widen as the realisation hit him. "The Saviors killed all of their men. Even the boys."

"I radioed Siddiq as quickly as I could," she said over him. "Before I even started to explain what I was thinking he told me he found out that someone had tampered with Alexandria's water, flipped it from drinkable to undrinkable. It's what's making them all sick. It was—"

"Dante," Oliver said.

"He must've merged into Alexandria after the fair, taken advantage of the fact we didn't know each other, like you said."

"He put some poisonous berry in the stew," Oliver explained. "He told me just before he tried to strangle me."

"Did he say what it was? I might be able to treat it."

"Black Nightshade, I think."

Enid looked horrified. "Come on," she said, "we've got to tell the others, and more importantly, we've got to throw out that stew."

Cause you make me feel
Like I'm so alone
I know is not real
But it's in my soul
And I just can try to face
The dark inside my head

You know
I'll never disappear
Now get me out of here
Just trust in me, my dear
No cure is coming, you know
I'll never disappear
Now get us out of here
Don't trust in me, my dear
What cure is coming near...?

Notes

Song was "Mr. Fear" by SIAMES. Really good song. The music video is great, too, and, if I self-indulge myself, a nice metaphor for Oliver and Enid's turbulent relationship.

I love when Oliver expresses his love for Enid in Italian so that she doesn't know it. He's done it a few times now. At one point in book 3 he called her 'a treasure' and in this he called her 'my love'. Also, an unforeseen consequence of switching Oliver for Siddiq in the barn was that Oliver lived out Siddiq's arc from the show instead. Only he survived because Enid survived the barn, too, and thus was there to save him. It's all a circle, as Morgan would say. As well as that, Siddiq doesn't have to die and totally demean Carl's dying arc in the process, too! So win, win!

I know Dante posed as a random survivor in the show but I changed him to an "Oceansider" to give Enid a more obvious clue. Also removed the tongue click tick that gave away who he was in the show because he'd never done it in the show until the moment Siddiq realised who he was, and they showed that through a single flashback. A bit too shoe-horn-ish for me. If you're gonna write a character with tourettes or a tourettes-like tick, write it consistently. So, yeah, I just put emphasis on his broad-ass shoulders.

As always,
Happy reading.