Hey guys, how r u all doin? I hope better than me rn.

I have a confession to make.

The last couple weeks, I feel like I've been trudging. Like this story has been dragging on, and to be 100% percent honest with you guys, I feel like I've been grating my forehead against a cheese grater.

I'd rather not give up on this just yet, and if I can find a way to keep it going, I will try my damnedest to see this through to the bitter end.

The point of me telling you this, is to give you a heads up, so it doesn't just come flying outta left field. I am going to experiment a little, take some creative freedoms.

Not everything I try will work, I'm well aware that this could go sideways real fast. But hey if we don't explore, we will never find anything.

So I'm apologizing in advance for any cringe, OOC, or if the pacing gets weird, or any other stupid shit that should never have seen the light of day.

Now that I've cleared that up.

Story time!

Eve's POV

I watched Glenn flinch as I slammed the door shut.

All of them made their way back into the vehicle. Rick and Hershel with the faces of moody children.

While Glenn seems truly guilty, climbing in and spending the next 20 minutes of the car ride glancing at the kid between us.

He helped me bind my shoulder until we get back and Hershel can stitch it. Lord am I not looking forward to that.

I grimaced at the kid beside me, catching Glenn's sight as he looked up from the stranger as well.

He's been out way longer than intended. I really didn't think I hit him so hard but I'm starting to worry his head is softer than it looks...

I chewed on my lip, and pushed two fillanges against his neck.

My gut rolled over itself until the skin pounded underneath my tense fingertips.

I let loose a stunted breath in relief; scrubbing my hand over my neck.

He's alive at least.

"He could wake up soon. We can't have him seein' where we're headed." Rick broke the silence.

"What do you suggest?" Glenn leaned forward a bit, looking between Hershel and Rick in the front seats.

"We could blindfold him." Hershel suggested, glancing into the backseat.

With what? I mean, I guess we could use my belt, or that dirty rag by Glenn—…

I looked down, raising my shirt, searching my waist for the broad holed black belt that's supposed to be securing my pants, but it wasn't there.

Where the… Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

My hand came to my forehead, resting on the ridges of my brows; shadowing my closed eyes.

You have got to be kidding me.

Of all the places— all the ways to lose something and of course, I leave my belt on a dumpster in the center of a walker-ridden town in the dead of night (pun not intended).

I sighed, watching Glenn tie the dirty rag around the kid's eyes.

Dude's gonna freak when he wakes up, but at least he still has a leg. And we didn't leave him for the walkers.

All in all, I think he had a pretty lucky night.

I leaned back, watching out the window as I let my head roll against the seat.

My ribs are sore. Being repeatedly beaten up in less than a week can't be good for recovery.

My shoulder is killing me with the sting, burning pain.

I'm starving. I can barely feel my throat it's so dry. I can't swallow for shit but my throat keeps trying to. And my eyes are heavy but I can't sleep.

I keep thinking about all the ways this is gonna go wrong, how this could have gone wrong. What else could go wrong, because apparently we can't get our shit together to stand for more than 20 minutes before something happens.

God, I dread to think how this is go over with the group— with Officer hothead in particular.

Nobody's gonna be too happy about this. From the tension in my car mate's shoulders, they know it too.

This is gonna be a nightmare.

As soon as the car stopped, I all but dropped out the side. Stumbling onto my exhausted feet, my leg muscles weak like I went on a 10 mile run.

I spied Daryl almost as soon as I looked up. He was already coming towards me, looking me up and down.

"We were 'bout to come find your dumb asses."

I sighed, not even finding the energy to blow my sticky bangs off my forehead. I'm exhausted, cranky, and I just want to take a quiet nap in the sun, in the field, after a hot shower. And not be woken until next week, unless someone's dying.

If I could wake up for five minutes and conk out again like that kid Randall(as we found out) in the car, that'd be great.

"The Hell happened to you?" Daryl's brow knit together as he moved to look at my arm.

I shook my head, using my tongue to pull my dry lips into my mouth and try to restore a little moisture.

"Who the Hell is that?" T-Dog pointed at the car.

"That's Randall." Glenn answered, grimacing.

Daryl looked at me and I already know what he's thinking. He doesn't exactly like people. He can barely tolerate everyone in the group, much less some kid we've never met.

The last time we picked up some kid, Daryl dropped his brother's severed hand in the poor guy's lap.

I don't evny Randall.

"Come on" Daryl tugged on my wrist, jerking his head towards the house.

I followed without question, focusing on not swaying as I went up the stairs.

Water first, everything else can come later.

I sat at the dining table, Daryl had his hand on my left shoulder, keeping me in my seat while Patricia took a needle the size of a spear and poked it through my skin.

If it weren't Daryl's almost painful grip on my shoulder, I do not care how tired my legs are, I would have been long gone the second she came in with the suture equipment.

I'm really trying not to think about it, and thank goodness the entire group assembled in one room is enough bitching to help.

I still tried to get away a few times though. Which is also when Beth came over to hold my hand.

"If you don't want stitches, don' get shot."

Wonderful advice. Thank you, Daryl. I'll be sure to remember that next time we're under fire.

23.

23 stitches and she was finally done.

As soon as she was finished, I was outta that chair so fast it almost fell over.

I went for the door without even thinking, where I was blocked from running by Daryl. "Ey, ey. You ain't done yet."

God no. Damn you and your chest, Dixon. Move!

Maggie came over to bind my arm, while Daryl's tight grip on my other elbow kept me from going anywhere.

When Patricia took the needles from the room, I felt much better and was able to calm down enough to stand there and let her finish; albeit ansty.

Shane was having his usual pissing fit, about the kid. He said something about getting him flowers and candy, but I've started tuning out 90% of what these people say. So only the weird bits catch my attention anymore.

Plus I feel like I'm about to pass out, and honestly don't know what the Hell to attribute it to at this point.

Someone passed me a glass of water and I swear my jaw unhinged to down as much of it in one go as possible. Which was practically the entire glass.

I caught Daryl looking at me strange and raised a brow, but he just shook his head.

Now that I can feel my throat, I might be able to squeeze another hour or so out of myself to play referee.

I should come up with a system to help the kids play with each other. Or maybe I should just let them tear each other apart for once.

I finally understand why parents always look so tired. I haven't slept since yesterday.

I didn't even realize I was beginning to lean, until my uninjured shoulder touched Daryl's and all he did was look at me.

Maybe it's just my state of energy deprivation, but he didn't flinch or tense like usual.

I probably just didn't notice considering I can't even find the energy to stand up straight anymore.

I attempted to get off him, attempt being the key word, but I just couldn't find the energy to care if we're touching shoulders.

How are Rick and them even doing this still? My eyelids are pulling my entire head down with them.

Daryl shifted his weight to his other leg, providing better support for the both of us, and I gave up on trying to get outta his space. If he doesn't mind, I don't see why I should right now. I am barely staying on my feet as is.

I would have moved back to the chair but that's where the needles were, and that ain't happenin'.

When will this um…"adjourning" be over? I don't say this often, but as much as I like listening to everyone and their uncle's opinions, I have better things to do at the moment.

Like, stop the mass murder of my brain cells, and keep my body from going on strike for the next month.