Daryl sat all alone on the front steps of Barrington House, quietly watching over the people of Hilltop as everyone began to retreat back into their homes as night began to fall. A few feet away, Earl and Tammy-Rose were carrying the newest addition of the Hilltop colony - the baby that one of the new arrivals (Connie, Daryl reminded himself, her name is Connie) had saved mere hours before.
The elderly couple had taken charge of the new baby surprisingly quickly, taking the wailing infant out of Connie's arms a few seconds after she, Rick, and a few others were back within the safety of the community's walls. Daryl knew he should have been relieved by the fact that the baby was safe and with a couple who obviously cared about him. But all he could feel as he stared at Rick - who was standing at the gates with Michonne, the two of them getting their horses ready and preparing to make the long ride back to Alexandria with Judith and RJ - was ashamed.
A couple short hours since they'd been forced to hand Lydia and Carl back over to those... those people, and despite what he had said to Carl about telling his dad about who he was, he still hadn't uttered a single word to Rick about the whereabouts of his son.
Guilt coursed through him - gnawing at him inside and out. It was a feeling he was quite familiar with but could never quite get over no matter how many times he's experienced it. And how could he possibly stop feeling guilty after fucking up so many times in the past ten or so years? After causing so much pain, heartache, and death - how could he not feel guilty. Especially now, with one of his biggest fuck ups yet.
He was so fucking stupid. Why didn't he do more? He should have done more - so much more! After so many years of guilt - of watching his brother break down and scream and cry and grieve for a son that Daryl himself had lost while being unable to do a single goddamn thing about it - had finally figured out that Carl was alive and had been all these years. He had found the boy that his brother had been grieving for even after so long, only to let the kid slip away from him once more, just like he had nearly ten years ago back at the prison.
But this time, instead of leaving Carl all alone to fend for himself, he left him in the hands of a woman who obviously hurt him and Lydia - without even telling Rick despite knowing his brother should have been the very first to know.
Daryl thought back to a time long before the world went to shit - when he was still a kid himself. He vaguely remembered wishing for someone - literally anyone - to get him far away from his own father. To have someone who cared enough about him to get him and Merle out of their father's abusive hands. That had been when Daryl was around five or six years old - before he realized that the only person who actually gave a damn about him at the time was Merle. Most of the adults who saw him just scowled or turned their heads or gave him pitying looks before going on their way, not doing a single goddamn thing to help.
And now, here he was, doing the exact same thing that those adults did to him. Putting two children (okay, a teenager and a young adult, but Carl will always be kind of a child to him while Lydia was way too fucking mature for her age) back into abusive hands. What kind of person did that make him? Certainly not a good one, that was for sure.
Daryl was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear Rick coming up next to him. He looked up at the sound of footsteps, blinking slowly at the sight of his brother standing a few feet in front of him, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared down at Daryl with a curious expression. Dog trotted up to Daryl from behind Rick, giving a small bark before resting his head on Daryl's lap. Upon realizing that Daryl had seen him, Rick gave him a kind smile, taking a seat next to him and clasping his hands in his lap.
"Damn dog has always liked you more than me," Daryl grunted after a moment, scratching Dog behind the ears. Rick snorted at this, his amusement visible on his face.
"Probably because Michonne, Judith, and RJ keep sneaking him food half the time. Therefore, he thinks I should too," Rick said as he reached over, giving Dog a small pat on the head. Dog responded by giving Rick a lick on the hand, causing the man to smile wider.
"How are they?" Daryl inquired, a grin of his own spreading across his face at the mention of the two kids. "Judith and RJ, I mean. Haven't talked to them in a while."
That sure made him feel like a bit of a dick when he put it like that. They lived in the same goddamn community, for christ's sake, so shouldn't Daryl be able to know the answer to that question without even having to ask? Inevitably, the mention of the two younger Grimes' kids made his thoughts drift back to the older one. The one that Rick still didn't know was alive, and his smile fell immediately.
"They're fine," as expected, Rick's whole face lit up at the mention of his two younger kids. Daryl could only imagine that he did the same when talking about Beth and Anne. "RJ ended up learning what ninjas are from Aaron - now he's convinced he was meant to be one."
Daryl snorted out a laugh at the mental image that produced, "is he any good at it?"
"Seeing as he managed to scare the shit out of Michonne last week, yes." Rick hardly bothered fighting back the amused smile at the memory. "Hey, did I ever tell you that Judith was the one who brought Magna, Yumiko, Kelly, Connie, and Luke to Alexandria? I don't think you were there for that."
"Really?" Daryl raised a brow, surprised at this new information. "I'm assuming you and Michonne weren't too pleased - with the rules about letting strangers in and all."
"We weren't, but things worked out in the end," Rick responded, running a hand through his hair. Then, his hands went to his beard, and he grimaced. "God, I need to shave this thing."
Daryl couldn't help but laugh. "And you've just realized this? We've been telling you to shave that for ages, wolfman."
Rick swatted his shoulder, laughing loudly. "Oh shut up, Michonne likes it." At Daryl's groan, Rick defended: "You're acting like you wouldn't do the same if Beth told you she liked your hair long or somethin."
"True," Daryl muttered, fighting back the grin on his face, then he glanced toward Michonne, who was talking to one of the women of Hilltop - Hilda or something. Hell if he knew. "You headed back to Alexandria then?"
"Yeah, we are. Can't risk those back at home not knowing what's going on." Something in Rick's expression changed. "How are you holding up, by the way? I know you liked those two-" Rick's voice started wobbling slightly, and Daryl had a pretty good idea as to why "-and I'm sorry things turned out the way they did."
If only you knew, Daryl's mind murmured as he looked at Rick through the corner of his eye, his guilt only worsening at the thought. Daryl stared at him for a long few moments before bowing his head, his hair falling in front of his face as he focused all of his attention onto Dog, whose head was still resting on his lap.
He really shouldn't have been as surprised as he was that Rick would easily be able to tell how he was feeling. While Daryl prided himself on being a difficult person to read, Rick had known him for at least ten or so years, so it was expected that Rick would see right through any walls that he tried putting up. Both he and Beth could do that without any trouble.
Daryl let out a small sigh, forcing himself to look up at Rick. "We didn' get much choice, needed t'get Alden and Luke back. Did what we had'ta." The words felt both hollow and bitter on his tongue, and his guilt only doubled in size. This ain't right.
"Still," Rick insisted, reaching out a hand to rest on Daryl's shoulder. "I didn't really want to give them back, either. That woman... I feel like today is not going to be the last we see of her."
"You and me both," Daryl mumbled in response, eyes trailing back over to the gates. Then, he glanced over to Rick. Daryl knew what he should do - he should tell Rick right now before he and Michonne left for Alexandria. That would be the right thing to do. But even as Daryl opened his mouth to do so, something inside was stopping him.
Goddammit, stop being such a coward, Daryl and just fucking do it! Tell him the truth! Tell him about Carl!
But he didn't - he couldn't! Instead, he stayed silent, sitting next to Rick on the steps of Barrington House as the seconds slowly ticked by. None of them said anything for a long time. There was nothing much there for either of them to say. Or at least, on Rick's side, there wasn't much to say. Daryl had so much inside that he wanted to let out, and yet he wasn't even able to muster the courage to utter a single goddamn word.
After a few minutes, rapid footsteps from behind them quickly caught both of their attention. The both of them looked up, and Dog clambered off of Daryl's lap, looking toward the door with curious eyes. Daryl slowly stood up, as did Rick, the two of them turning around and tensing up as Maggie came sprinting out of the house, her face filled with thinly disguised terror as she approached.
A horrible feeling started forming in Daryl's gut.
"Maggie?" Rick tried, taking a small step toward the frantic woman, a hand outstretched. "Maggie, what's wro-"
"Henry and Hershel-" Maggie managed to gasp out, not waiting for Rick to finish his sentence, her green eyes wide and frantic as they darted around, "Henry and Hershel... they're... they're missing!"
Shit.
Carl doesn't really remember the first few days after escaping the prison.
Okay, that was a bit of a lie. Carl vaguely remembered escaping - he remembered Daryl saving him, remembered running into the woods right after. He had passed out at one point - he knew that. But Carl could hardly remember the specifics of it all. How long he had traveled alone for, how many times he had gone to sleep hungry or crying - days had just ended up blending together until there was only today, yesterday, and tomorrow. There was no next week, no next month, or next year - he didn't keep track of time. There was no use in doing things like that. Especially after he became a part of Alpha's ranks.
All that he knew was that he had to keep surviving. That he had to keep moving.
Had to keep walking.
And walking...
And walking...
And walking...
And walking...
Kind of like what he was doing now. Though this time, he wasn't walking alone.
Carl and Lydia paced side by side through the seemingly endless ocean of trees surrounding them. Alpha walked ahead of them with the rest of the pack - or at least, the ones she brought with her to Hilltop - trailing steadily behind them. Everyone was completely silent as they moved, though that was just how it was most of the time. The only sounds that could be heard were the oddly rhythmic crunching of leaves underfoot, the groans of the dead around them, and the occasional animal call from somewhere in the distance. Everything else was quiet. Still. Silent.
They weren't heading in the direction that their previous camp had been in - the one by the bridge - so Carl could only assume that they had, in fact, moved to a different area as he had told Daryl they probably would. Briefly, he wondered what had become of his possessions back in the bag he had left at the old encampment. If worst comes to worst, then his things will probably be long gone at this point - either left behind or stolen by someone in the pack. If not...
Well, if he were being honest, Carl couldn't care less about what happened to his old things. The only thing that he actually cared about that he had left back at the old camp was his father's hat. And, while losing something that meant so much to him would definitely hurt quite a bit, the only reason that he had kept it with him over the past few years was because Carl had believed it was the last thing he had left of his father, and therefore did not want to get rid of it.
This obviously wasn't the case now, seeing as the man was both alive and well - albeit oblivious of Carl's own survival, but still, Carl would be lying if he said he didn't care about what happened to the hat. Because he did, it just... wasn't as important as it was before. That didn't mean he would be wanting to get rid of it anytime soon, though.
Carl kept his eye on the ground, his long, dark hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he shuffled along. He doesn't really know how long they walk for, but by the time the pack had stopped to rest somewhere in the forest, Carl felt as if his whole world had been turned upside down, which, in a way, he supposed it had been. Wouldn't be the first time that something like this had happened - it was just yet another even to add to the gradually growing list of things that went wrong in his life over the past ten or so years. It was nothing new.
As Lydia was led away by her mother - who no doubt was going to be grilling her about the events of the last few days - he pressed his back to a nearby tree, making sure he was out of view of most of the pack, slowly sliding down until he was sitting in the dirt with his knees pulled to his chest. He stared blankly up at the canopy above as his thoughts whirled around at a rapid pace. It was almost as if a tornado had taken residence in his mind. He couldn't think clearly; his mind was confused and disoriented. Muddled. He just-
He was...
He just...
Carl shook his head rapidly, reaching up and running a hand through his matted hair and for once not bothering to pay attention to the painful way the tangles pulled at his scalp. He then began worrying his bottom lip in between his teeth, squeezing his eye shut as he tried desperately to regain his bearings.
Needless to say, it didn't really work.
He was just so confused.
None of this made any sense whatsoever!
Why would Alpha come back for him? Her coming for Lydia was something he could definitely get behind - she was Alpha's daughter, of course the woman would want her back - but what he couldn't understand was why the hell she would come back for him too? Carl already knew he was no one special. He was Alpha's fourth in command, sure, (third possibly if Gamma was, in fact, dead or a deserter), but Alpha usually never gave a damn about how important the one captured may or may not be. All of them were replaceable to her, including him; Carl had accepted that fact years ago. So what made him any different from the rest?
Maybe it was because he was there? Perhaps she decided that since Delta was in the same place as Lydia was that she should just get the both of them instead of one. That would definitely make some sense, and that was probably the reason why. There was no other reasonable explanation that he could come up with that could somehow explain why she had come back for him as well.
Why can't things ever be easy? He pondered briefly, staring down at his hand and running his fingers through the loose dirt. Why does everything have to go to total fucking shit all the time? First the world, then the farm, then the prison, and now fucking this. He had no easy answer for this - life was never easy, Carl knew that, but despite this, it doesn't stop him from wondering, from wishing.
Carl was interrupted from his churning thoughts when he heard a twig snap somewhere in front of him, and he lifted his head, not at all surprised to see Lydia approaching, her face sullen as the teen steadily made her way over. When she reached the tree that he was sitting under, Lydia sunk to the ground beside him, scooting into his side and wrapping her arms around her knees as she leaned into Carl. After a moment, he curled an arm around her shoulder, pulling Lydia closer until her head was resting against his chest.
None of them said anything for a few minutes. The two of them just let the silence stretch on and on, both perfectly content with not saying a single word. Sometimes, talking was not wanted or needed. Carl often preferred the silence to talking - it was always so much simpler. But despite this, he knew that one of them would have to say something eventually. There was no way they could just ignore what had happened mere hours before, no matter how much Carl wished he could.
Another few seconds passed by without any of them saying a single word, and Carl finally decided that he would have to be the first one to speak.
"How was your chat with your mother?" Carl questioned, playing with a strand of Lydia's hair. After a second or two, Lydia sighed before promptly twisting her body around and burrowing her face into Carl's chest, screwing her eyes tightly shut. Carl hummed at this response, not the least bit surprised: "That bad, huh? Do you think she'll be talking to me later?"
"Probably," Lydia affirmed, voice muffled slightly by the fabric of his shirt but still relatively easy to discern despite it. "She wants information about them - that's pretty much why she wanted us back in the first place. Or at least, I think it is." She shrugged, pulling away somewhat to look up at him.
"Did you tell her the truth?" Carl inquired softly, and, after a brief pause, Lydia shook her head. Carl would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little surprised at this. They had spent three days as Hilltop's prisoners, and while Carl had known some of the people there before, Lydia didn't. She had only known them for a few days. If anything, Carl would have expected her to try and readapt to life with the Whisperers.
But at the same time, Carl found that he really wasn't all that surprised by her answer. Not only did Alpha abuse Lydia, but the revelation that her mother had been lying to her since she was six-years-old had clearly affected her more than Carl had first been led to believe - and honestly, he really couldn't blame her for that either. If he had found out that his parents had been lying to him for most of his life.
Well, he wouldn't have taken it nearly as well as Lydia currently was, that was for sure.
"I told her some stuff..." Lydia started slowly, pulling Carl out of his thoughts. She paused, doing a quick glance around the area to make sure no one was listening in. When she had confirmed nobody around was currently in earshot of their conversation, Lydia looked back to Carl, her brown eyes wide as she began to speak again. "I... I didn't tell her that Henry mentioned a second community - I didn't tell her about him at all. I told her that I saw no signs of another community, that they were weak, that they had little weapons and..."
Lydia trailed off, and there was another long silence that stretched on for what felt like an eternity, but Carl knew it had only been a few seconds. The only things that filled the silence was the sound of nature around them: the air blowing softly - picking up stray leaves and twigs from off the ground, the rustling of leaves, some birds chirping in the distance... Hell, Carl could also hear the sound of chatter coming from the pack members that had come with Alpha to Hilltop, though it was quite faint, and Carl was unable to tell what was being said.
Lydia's tongue darted out from her mouth, wetting her lips. Then, she looked down at her feet, body slumping against him. "They're not weak, Delta." She whispered, her voice cracking with unshed tears. "I thought they were at first... but they're not. I know that now." She shook her head, silent for a few moments as she tried to find the words she wanted to say. Finally, after a few seconds, she raised her head and met his gaze, a sad look in her eyes as she spoke once more. "Delta... I don't know what to do."
Trust me, I know. Carl thought sadly, his mind wandering to his father, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, and whoever else in his old group who might still be alive. He had thought they were dead for nearly an entire decade, so to find out they were alive - and his enemies now, at that - after all that's happened was really, really fucking with his mind, making things a whole lot harder than they had been before. I know how you feel, and I don't know what to do either.
"I know, Lydia," Carl said aloud, his heart breaking at the devastation that covered her face. Carl wished he could do something, anything, to help her out, but he couldn't - he was totally helpless, and he hated that so, so much. He was her friend, for christ's sake, shouldn't he know what to do to help her?! But despite Carl continuing to tell himself this, his mind remained void of any ideas. "I know. I don't know what to do either."
Lydia's lower lip wobbled slightly at his words, and she swore upon noticing it, wiping a hand across her face and laughing sadly. She was practically sitting in Carl's lap now, her legs entangled in his own while one of her hands moved to his chest, her fingers digging into the fabric of his faded shirt slightly as she tried to regain her bearings. Something she was clearly struggling to do. Carl wasn't too bothered by how close she was to him; personal space was never really a thing between the two of them. While Carl hated it when most people touched him, Lydia was the main exception.
He began rubbing circles into the small of her back, waiting patiently and quietly for her to regain control of her falling composure. It didn't end up taking very long at all, and she soon removed her hand from her face, staring up at him with wide brown eyes that were now showing no signs of tears as they had been before. A few strands of her long, dark hair had at some point fallen in soft waves in front of her face, and Carl resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear.
"You were scared," Lydia said suddenly after a couple of moments, and Carl arched a brow, curiosity blatant on his face as he stared at her, a little confused at the sudden change in subject.
"What?" He questioned, cocking his head as he let his head fall back against the tree. "You need to be a little more specific, Lydia." Her face twisted into an expression of annoyance, and she reached out her other hand, flicking him on the forehead and ignoring his baffled expression as she sat back, a hand still placed on his chest.
"Scared," Lydia repeated slowly, as if she were talking to a small child. "When we got captured on the bridge-" Carl stilled instantly at the mention of the bridge, his one eye narrowing as she continued on "-you... you looked... you looked scared, Delta."
"What are you-" He started, confused about where this was going, but Lydia shook her head, covering his mouth with her hand to stop him from speaking.
"No, let me speak." She shifted slightly, nibbling on her lip as she began playing with a strand of his hair, her eyes focused on her hand as she spoke. "You were scared... and..." she shook her head, "I - I... at first I thought it was because you knew we might have died there, or something like that. But that didn't make any sense to me." She lifted her head, meeting his gaze head on.
"You've been in worse situations and have never once been scared. You've nearly died a thousand times in the time that I've known you, probably more, and never seemed the slightest bit terrified. So why were you so scared there? Was..." she paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words, "did something happen? What was so different about the bridge?"
"Lydia, I..." Carl trailed off, unsure of what he should say. He honestly wasn't that surprised that Lydia had been able to notice those things. She'd always been pretty attentive. But her observant nature had now dug him into a bit of a hole. At least it's her and not someone else. God knows that this would be a hundred times harder if it had been Beta or Alpha asking these questions.
"It wasn't just at the bridge either..." Lydia went on, tilting her head, "when... when - the night after Henry let us both out - when I realized my mom was lying to me about my dad. Daryl asked to talk to you about something. You were... terrified... when he asked. It wasn't of Daryl. I could tell you weren't scared of him. So what was it? Why were you so scared, Delta?"
Carl swallowed down the lump in his throat, staring at Lydia with his one blue eye wide. "Lydia..." he trailed off, his mouth going dry as he struggled to find the right words. What could he even say to something like that?
Should he even tell her? Lydia didn't deserve to be kept in the dark - Carl knew that, and he didn't want to be the type of person who did things like that either. But what if Lydia got mad at him for keeping his relation to his father a secret from her? What if she told her mother? If she did tell Alpha, Carl knew the chances of him getting out of that situation alive, much less unscathed, were horribly slim.
Hell, the mere thought of Alpha figuring out about his dad sent a shiver of fear down his spine.
Realistically, Carl knew Lydia wasn't the type of person to do something horrible like that. She and Carl had been friends for almost a full decade, and hell, he probably knew her better than he knew himself. They confided in each other, protected one another whenever they could - she told him things she would never dare say to anyone else - not even her own mother. And Carl would share something to her about himself he wouldn't say to anyone else in turn, he told her about his nightmares, his family, his fears... He told her about things that the rest of the pack would consider signs of weakness, and she had never once judged him for it.
But there would forever be that dark spot in the deepest darkest depths of his mind that would always be contradicting every good thought. Would be whispering every negative outcome to every single thing he did. He knew that Lydia would never purposely do something that could potentially harm him, but he couldn't help it... Lydia was right. He was scared.
"Your right," Carl said finally, lowering his gaze, "I was scared. Both at the bridge and with Daryl. But not because I thought we might die, though I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a part of it. I do think we could have died at the bridge, but..." he shook his head, reaching up a hand to grab Lydia's. "I... that wasn't why I was scared. It's the same with Daryl. I was scared when he asked to talk, but not because I was afraid of him."
"Then what were you scared of?" Lydia inquired, her eyes narrowing as she processed his words. "What did Daryl even talk to you about, Delta?" Her voice softened slightly during her last few words, but her eyes remained insistent and searching. Looking for every small sign that could give her some sort of hint. "Did... did he threaten you or something?" There was a hard edge to her voice as she said this, pressing her lips together in a hard line right after.
"What?! No!" Carl shook his head violently, eye widening in disbelief at the thought. Then, he did a quick glance around, aware of how loud he had just gotten. When he was satisfied that no one had heard his exclamation, he returned his gaze back to Lydia, his voice much quieter as he spoke again. "Lydia, I can assure you that Daryl did not threaten me. The opposite, really."
"Then what did he talk to you about?" Lydia questioned, her eyebrows knitting together. "Delta, please, what's wrong? You've been acting weird ever since the bridge. Like with Henry-" she paused, glancing around, "-with Henry, you usually would not have hesitated in killing him. But you did hesitate. You didn't kill him. Why?"
Carl lifted an eyebrow, "can't I leave someone alive because I'm feeling merciful?"
"No, because you usually don't do that kind of thing, so tell me," she demanded, her eyes boring right into his, "and don't say it's because he's a kid like me. You don't care about age as long as they pose a threat to us. And I've seen you kill people younger than him without feeling a shred of remorse."
Carl let out a sigh, knowing she was right. He rubbed his forehead, looking away from Lydia and running his fingers through the loose dirt and leaves next to him. He stopped after a few moments as he tried to gather his thoughts. Then, his gaze returned to Lydia, who hadn't stopped staring at him with that look of determination and worry in her eyes.
She wasn't going to be letting this go.
So with a deep breath, Carl nodded, finally making his decision. "I can't really answer why I didn't kill Henry back in the cellar because I honestly have no idea why I didn't do it myself." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, "I really don't know, Lydia. I - I just - I just didn't want to kill him."
"That doesn't sound like you at all," she said, giving him an odd look, "just doing something without thinking even knowing why."
Should've seen me eight years ago then, he thought dryly. A small part of him wanted to say it out loud, but he squashed that bit of him down fairly quickly.
"I know," he said to her instead, "and if I figure it out, then you'll be the first to know. I promise." He gave her a lopsided grin, and a flush crept up onto Lydia's face.
"And what about Daryl?" She questioned. "What did he say to you?"
Carl opened his mouth to say something, to answer her question and finally tell her the truth that he had been hiding for long enough, but he didn't get the chance to.
Because, at that very moment, a tiny figure tumbled out from the bushes in front of them, a faint oof escaping them. Lydia leaped up to her feet, Carl not far behind. But then he stopped, eye nearly popping out of his skull as he took in the sight of the little boy who now lay splayed out in the dirt, a familiar baseball cap lying on the ground a couple feet away.
"Hershel?!"