[65] Where We Belong

If you haven't had a chance, go check out my new story! "I Might Die At The End". It is rated mature for sexual content. But the first chapter is pretty PG-13

A little early chapter as a gift, it's my birthday so I want to celebrate by posting! Tell me what you think!

It was a bad idea, but I felt I had to see it. I turned, leaning on my hip, and pushed myself up, trying to peek over. As soon as I saw it, a bullet pinged against the metal table. I yelped and dropped back into place.

"Fuck," I swore, then followed it with many more. I couldn't try to look or find out where the shots were coming from; I'd just get shot at again.

Even without being able to hear much. I could tell Guillermo was crying. I wanted to do the same.

The assault rifle was two feet away, unshielded by metal or wood. We hadn't put one there yet.

I stared at it. Waiting and wondering. Then I dove quickly, my ribs smacking hard into the cement. I gripped just an inch of the metal and dragged it to me, pulling myself back behind the table.

Words escaped my mouth, shocked and relieved at what I'd done. I somehow had made it without getting shot or killed.

I had a weapon then, but it was as helpful as a broom in my situation. It was nothing like the one I stripped when working with Carl. I could probably figure out the safety. But in my adrenalin, in my fear, I couldn't concentrate. My brain, heart, surroundings, everything was going a mile a minute.

'They say in that kind of situation things slow down that's crap, they speed up.'

I didn't know the gun. I had to figure it out. There was no time for that. What was next? Escape, get away, defend. My eyes went to Guillermo; we were both useless. He was making me even more so because with him there; I couldn't just leave, make it to the door. I might as well have been on my own.

'Adrenalin, It'll cripple you if you let it. You need to use your instinct.'

"Out," I said aloud, even though I couldn't hear my voice. My instinct was to get out, to run. I could have just gotten to the door, but an invisible force kept me down, staring at Guillermo's crumpling form. I wasn't sure if instinct said I couldn't leave him. The others needed help. I could hear some far, some near gunfire; they were firing back. Get off the bridge, find the others. Get out, then fight.

That felt right. I'd decided. But again, I couldn't do anything with the gun I had, there would be no time to find another, and there was a chance I needed to use it to get Guillermo and me off the damn bridge. It was stupid not to have my gun on me, but sitting on the ground next to Carl made it dig painfully into my side so I'd set it down. I would never go without it again after this.

Although, the one I held would be better than my handgun because even if I had to aim, the fact that it shot more bullets meant that it would provide better protection than my handgun. This gun was what was necessary for fighting, for assault.

"Rule it out," I spoke to myself, voice still muted among the gunfire. "No adrenalin, focus. Rule it out."

'somebody is going to die, and you better hope you're the one who's making that decision.'

"I ain't dyin' on this fuckin' bridge."

I wouldn't be able to figure out the gun with time, yes, and quiet. But not in a fight, not in that moment.

I put my hand on Guillermo's back, shaking him and calling out his name, "we need to go!" My hand gripped his shirt. He was holding his head in his hands. "I know yer scared, this is real fuckin' scary, but I need you!"

I couldn't get his attention. I used the butt on the rifle and slammed it into his side, shocking his system. He yelled out and finally looked at me.

"Tell me what to do!" I annunciated every word carefully and loudly, hoping if he hadn't heard, he was reading my lips. I felt something wet fall down my cheek, falling into the corner of my mouth. I had no idea I was crying.

"You gotta shoot, we gotta go! I can't!"

Guillermo shook his head, mouth moving, but I couldn't understand.

My free hand fell hard on his cheek, "tell me how then!"

His eyes went elsewhere, examining his surrounding as he sobbed. "Dead, we're all dead."

I could see the words leave his mouth, just barely hearing between the brief silences of the shooting.

"Not! Here!" I shouted, holding up the gun.

Guillermo commented on how they should have given Axel a different gun; he'd known as well as I did it was the wrong one for a starter. Guillermo had known and told me how to strip the M4A1. Guillermo was a leader of a group a long time ago. He used guns before his people were killed in the nursing home. Rick said he used to protect them, and he had even given Guillermo's people guns. He was in charge, so he needed to know how to protect his people.

But he didn't answer. He was still shaking, crying, and muttering things in Spanish that I didn't understand. It was frustrating, I was scared and needed him to help me, but he wasn't. He couldn't.

"Guillermo!" Again, he remained unresponsive. I reached out to grab his wrist, and his head snapped to look at me. "I know yer scared, but I ain't gettin' shot again; that shit really sucked. Please!"

I hoped, wished that he would take the gun and start shooting. But I knew he wouldn't. I could quickly tell how defeated and broken the man was.

"I really need you to tell me what to do!" I exclaimed. "Please, I know, ya know. Either take it or tell me what to do!"

Guillermo finally nodded but remained quiet. With palms flat on the floor, Guillermo dragged himself backwards, sitting straight against the metal.

The shooting wasn't as wild and rapid but still actively going. Pausing here and there between those I assumed were reloading and ducking into cover.

My head turned to the side as Guillermo straightened himself up. I wanted to scream, tell him to hurry and get himself together. But I was lucky enough he'd gotten this far. I was eyeing the table's edge, not having felt any fire hit our barrier in a few moments. I fought the urge to peek, wanting to get a better idea of what to do and where everything was.

Glancing back at Guillermo, he seemed more composed, but his eyes were bloodshot and chest heaving. He wiped his face with his sleeve and looked over.

I went to hand him the gun, but he raised a hand to stop me. I pleaded with my eyes, and he only shook his head, "I c-can't."

I was frowning, staring at him as he stared down the firearm. I thought hope was gone, and he wouldn't do anything. Then after too much time had passed, he spoke again, "loaded?"

I nodded. The rifle had been in the finished pile when I grabbed it. However, I hadn't worked on it myself. I would need to check again. My hand wrapped around the curved magazine. It jiggled a tiny bit but was locked in.

"Lever, there," he pointed.

Seeing the lever sticking out, it was under the top and right behind the magazine. Pressing a thumb down on it with the same hand, I pulled, struggled, and finally released it. It was full, and I sighed with relief. Again, I knew it had been down, but it would have been just my luck to grab a gun just as useless as I was.

I started to place it again but struggled harder, but my brain wasn't working, and I was panicking. I just wanted it quickly to go in so I could shoot and get out of there.

Guillermo's hand went over mine on the magazine, he rocked it in at an angle, and I heard the satisfying, relieving click of it locked in.

I saw another long lever, flat and close to the barrel. I wasn't sure; I didn't recognise the style. "Safety?" multiple shots behind us fired at once, causing me to jump and whimper. With the sound, I wasn't sure he had heard my question.

With his hand still over mine, gripping it and lifting it over the long lever or switch I was asking. I sighed, grateful that even without hearing me, he was addressing it.

"Safe," then pressed my hand into it harder, dragging it down one click, "full!"

I looked at him, more firing had interrupted, but after a second, my brain processed the broken sounds of his words and understood. He dragged my hand down further; the switch clicked at the bottom, "single!"

Okay, I understood, but that was very new to me. I'd never used something with those in the same place. I was going to mess it up. Guillermo's hand left mine, and I saw his eyes become glassy as he grew silent.

I was losing him, "G!"

His eyes flashed to mine as if he'd forgotten what was happening.

I knew what I wanted but didn't know how simple it would be. And I wasn't sure if Guillermo was really in a state to tell me. I moved the switch to the middle.

"No!" He used a finger and pulled down the switch to the bottom himself. "Single! That's—"

"—I know what it means!" I shouted in frustration. Ignoring him, I moved to put the switch back where I had it.

"No!" Guillermo's hand shot out, slapping my hand away before I could change it. "This isn't a movie! No spray and pray! You can't handle the burst, and you'll waste your rounds!"

My eyes went wide at his words and expression. In just a few seconds, his whole demeanour had shifted. Not exactly calm, but composed, focused. He was speaking in whole sentences. I wanted to argue, but I was too shocked by his certainty.

Guillermo took a deep breath, eyes on the gun, showing me a pointed knob higher on the shaft. Then his finger made a long straight motion. Grabbing the handle, I dragged it down, as he indicated, and let it go. The handle bounced back up, clicking loudly as a round had been loaded.

I felt my pulse quicken. It was getting very real.

"Do I reset?!" I asked. I wasn't sure if it was necessary, wanting to just get on with it.

When he nodded, I clenched my teeth. I didn't want to waste any time, at least on full, where I wanted it to be; I wouldn't have had to bother. But again, his certainty had shocked me into obedience.

"This, hold," my finger went over the trigger. I was shaking. My opposite hand went to the lever, but not moving it, "pull. Then fire?" Resetting was usually the same process, just different depending on the mechanism.

Guillermo nodded, turning his head around, glaring at the table's metal. I was familiar with the feeling of wanting to look, see, and do more. But not able to look beyond or through our only protection.

I sucked in a deep breath, "Okay." Letting out the air seemed to stutter; not even my lungs could focus on their task. My throat itched, and I let out a slight cough. Another breath in, I lifted myself slightly, peeking over the metal. I flinched a few times at the sounds but finally mustered up the bravery to keep looking.

Shots were hitting close by but not entirely our way. With all the people around and the shooting going on, the attention had been drawn away from Guillermo and me enough to see what was happening.

I saw Maggie standing behind a metal filing cabinet for cover, also holding an assault rifle far off to the side of the courtyard. Carl was behind a wall, standing next to Beth and shooting at the guard tower. Sure enough, a man fired back at Carl as he ducked behind the wall.

I saw a pickup truck in the far distance, both front doors open. Their distance made it hard to see how many men there were. But beside the truck, there was a tall and imposing figure. I recognised it, the Governor.

While the guard tower was closer, I'd have to expose myself. Although farther, the truck with the other shooters was almost directly across. I didn't know if they were ready or knew we were still there, waiting for us to run. I couldn't risk it. I'd get the first shot in, even as a distraction.

I twisted myself so I was on one knee, ready to stand and shoot when I needed to. I tucked the stock against my shoulder, pulling the weapon's rail close to my cheek. I wasn't sure if it was correct, but it seemed okay. I was sure I wouldn't get hurt from the position. Only my accuracy would be impaired. I didn't expect to have much of that anyway.

Turning to Guillermo, I saw that he was now covering his ears, tears still pouring down his face. He couldn't stay out here; he was going to get shot. Any kind of focus and composure he'd conjured was gone, a shell of the man he'd been only seconds before.

"I'mma get ya inside," I shouted, "and come out and help."

I don't think he heard me, but it didn't matter. The point remained.

I spun my whole body in their direction, still on one knee, ignoring the pain that it caused my leg to be crouched in such an awkward position. Then I aimed the barrel over the table and stared down the scope.

A man I didn't recognise had stepped out of cover from behind the truck. That was what I aimed for. Not any of them, or the Governor, even though I wanted to shoot him. The truck was a bigger target.

I let out the air I'd been holding for too long in my lungs. Pulling the trigger, it fired, and a surprised sound escaped me. It didn't seem like I hit anything. Eye away from the scope, I held the trigger and found the handle to load another bullet. I let the trigger go to reset, then looked back through the scope.

My body tensed when I saw the man again, still so far, but I was sure his gun was pointed at me. I fired again, then again. Trying to hit the guy, or at least the trick, to do any damage. My body begged to go back under cover, but I kept still, firing round after round. I finally dropped when I heard a bullet hit the cement on the bridge, only a foot away from my cover.

"Oh, fuck," I paused, looking over at the door and the distance to get to it. I took another breath, furrowing my eyebrows in anger. "Fuck yer stupid fuckin' truck!"

Aiming back at them again, I fired two rounds. I saw something. White pieces flew off the truck. The man had turned, arm going up to shield for the fragments of broken headlight I shot off the truck. The Governor, only a few feet away from him, was holding a gun but not aiming. Instead, he just turned to the man, looking over at the damage. I wanted to keep firing, and I could do it. He wasn't watching. I could keep going.

But then we'd miss our chance.

With the desire and anger I felt to keep shooting, and I was surprised by my lack of hesitation. I grabbed Guillermo's hand, moving to pull or drag him across the bridge to the door.

His heavy weight caused me to stumble as he didn't move fast enough, but suddenly he got the message and stood. We ran, my knees bent in a crouch as I went, not able to look to see if Guillermo was doing the same.

Letting go of his hand, I threw myself against the door. Then I tried to open it, my hands shaking, after a few struggling attempts, the door was open, and we rushed in. The door swung closed hard behind us.

I couldn't take him down into the cell-block, even if being further away meant he might calm down. I didn't have the time. As much as I wanted to help him stop panicking, I couldn't. The others needed as much help as they could get, and Guillermo was just going to have to panic inside the doorway where it was safe.

Guillermo was on the ground again, the distance muffled the gunshots, but his hands were back over his ears.

"Stay here!" I turned, not bothering to see whether he responded or not.

I practically flew down the stairs we'd gone up not very long before it all started. It was challenging to hurry while favouring a leg, but I still did it, not willing to slow, yet not willing to have the stitches pop again. One hand on the railing, the other holding the gun, I kept pushing myself up to hop down a couple of steps at once.

At the bottom of the staircase, I slightly bent to pull up my pant leg and eyed the still, very clean bandage that covered my stitched with satisfaction.

Then I went for the closest exit, shoving my body against the door to open it quickly.

Outside, I paused. No gunfire.

"T!"

My head swung around. T-Dog was against a sheet of metal laid up on the fence across the courtyard, some kind of furniture on one side, a desk maybe. He pointed away from me, I followed it to the corner of the building, and quickly I positioned myself, able to peek out and see him.

While out of cover for just a second, the shots started again, and he dropped back into his protective make-shift corner.

The shots impacted and blew dirt and cement around him, but he looked fine. Just barely been missed.

I looked at the guard tower, seeing the man aiming and firing. While he was distracted, I lifted the gun, looking through the scope at a safe distance so I didn't get smacked in the eye.

I shot toward the guy a few times. Each shot had me more and more impatient with the fire rate. The man dodged several times, not only bullets from me. He would stop aiming to stand straight and then go back to firing. He was careful, confident, and ready.

Trying to hit him wasn't working. He was the closest in our territory, and I'd seen how he was aiming and firing toward Carl. I couldn't see Carl from my position.

With my back pressed against the wall in cover, I decided. "Fuck it."

I found the long switch, moving it to the middle position for full-automatic fire. Then I pulled up the handle to ensure a round was loaded and ready.

Holding the gun tight, I didn't turn to lean out of my cover, and I didn't peek out of my cover.

I completely left it, staring down my sights and exposing myself fully.

Squeezing the trigger, I shot straight at the guard tower. I held the trigger and shot off as many rounds as it would take to hit him or cause him to hide. My whole body shook, vibrating against the rapid burst fire. I fought and failed to keep my aim steady with the kickback. It wasn't as bad as I'd been expecting, but still tricky.

I saw the glass behind the man shatter, and he flinched and fell. Then he stood, his gun turned at me, ready to fire. More shots rang out. His body jerked and convulsed with the impacts of bullets before falling.

Gun down, I looked across the distance to T-Dog. He nodded at me, no longer behind cover but standing bravely, his gun in the tower's direction. I glanced back briefly before going into cover. The guy did not get up. T-Dog had shot him dead. I'd distracted him enough to die.

Then it was quiet again. The only shots I'd heard before were my own, the guy that had been in the tower, and T-Dog's. All other fire had ceased.

Peeking around my corner, T-Dog was searching around. I waited for a sign, a hint of what was happening. He didn't seem to know.

There was a sound of a distant engine. It became louder and louder.

Finally, a vehicle came into view, white and fast. It slammed into the entrance gate, dragging and destroying both fence barriers, and barrelled into the yard.

Everything was still, quiet, and terrifying when the van stopped in the yard—doing nothing for a long time. The van was white with a thick red streak on the side. There was an odd black patterning on the side of it, clumsy and awkward, and there were streaks of whatever it had been dripping down. It looked like spray paint to me. Something was drawn or spelt there.

T-Dog and I just watched as the van's back door dropped down, smashing against the ground and sitting like a ramp. I was curious why until the walkers stepped out.

A man stepped out of the vehicle, dressed in all black, like the riot gear we had taken from the prison. It was different, but he was still more protected than our people.

My gaze went away from him. He was too far and protected for me even to try. I heard another shot from a distance, either the armoured man or someone else. That one shot caused many more to follow it.

Bullets whizzed past my ears, and I quickly placed my back against the wall. I looked in the distance when it seemed they weren't coming at me. That truck was moving, swerving in a quick U-turn. I didn't see the Governor. He must have gotten into the truck.

Then another truck was in the yard, a different colour. I was worried until I realised it was one of ours.

Others were coming out of their hiding places. Maggie appeared with Beth, Carl following them to run forward to the gate. I hesitated, not ready to go out into the open.

Our truck drove across the field, stopping almost in the middle, which made me confused until I saw another body in the field that was not a walker, but Hershel.

I stepped out of my place, limping as I felt the soreness of my leg slowly going forward. I was ready to drop down at any second. I wasn't confident another man was hiding, ready to shoot.

Going forward, I could see Glenn leave the truck, rushing and helping Hershel to the vehicle and closing the door on him. Michonne was also running across the field, slicing and killing walkers as she ran before climbing into the truck's bed.

The truck started moving again as Carl unlocked the gate, Maggie dragging it open quickly after. Maggie ran out to the gravel, holding her gun and shooting at the walkers flooding the yard. Beth did the same in a different direction, along with Carl, who was using his pistol.

I was closing in on the gate, ready to raise the gun and shoot. Then I saw the body. My head turned as it caught my eye. I saw the dark blue jumpsuit and the blonde hair. No one was there helping him,

Axel was lying dead in the cement.

The others were shooting the walkers. I had to help but couldn't seem to make myself go closer. One of the walkers had seen us, coming closer, anything to have a bite or food. Not caring that the gunshots would kill them.

I stared at the distant ruined gate the van had smashed through. I could see more making their way straight for the opening. I could only imagine how many had heard the gunfire. Turning my back, I walked back toward the building, rushing my steps as I feared any more gunshots.

Inside, I could once again hear the muffled gunshots. They were different, though, not being shot at the building but away—a much less threatening sound.

Seeing the staircase, I thought about going up to see Guillermo. Again, I couldn't make it myself. There was some robust and invisible barrier stopping me. I had no will even to call out. Part of me wondered if he stayed or if he had started outside again and gotten shot.

Instead, I continued to the cell block. Soon enough, I heard the footsteps of some others coming in behind me; I didn't slow my pace but forced myself to limp a bit more strongly to favour the bad leg.

I thought of speaking up, telling the others about him, but decided against it. I had no energy to speak, and with the silence behind me, I guessed they didn't either.

I didn't go into the cell-block, instead stopping at the wall near the entrance. The assault rifle in my hands clattered to the ground noisily as I dropped it. I placed my forehead against the cement wall; it felt cool and comforting against my clammy feverish skin.

"Are you hurt?" T-Dog asked, suddenly at my side.

"Not this time," I twisted my face to look at him, keeping my forehead to the wall. "We shot that guy."

"We had to," T-Dog said dejectedly. I wasn't sure if he believed it.

"Guillermo," I finally forced out. "He's inside, at the bridge. Not shot, just . . . I left him there."

"All right. I'll find him. Oh, shit."

Confused, I took my head from the cool surface to turn around, following T-Dog's eyes. Oh shit, was right. Rick had just walked in, with Daryl at his side.

I had shed too many tears in the past forty-eight hours, all stemming from various emotions: pain, anger, fear, sadness, and confusion. I wanted it to stop; I hadn't lost this much control over my feelings since the day Shane died.

Seeing Daryl there, greeting the others, their smiles as they welcomed him, I couldn't make out what I was feeling. All I knew was that my eyes were filling again; this time, there was no clue why that was.

I turned my head away, standing still. My eyes trained on the floor as I breathed in through my nose, teeth clenched as my eyes and throat burned.

Blank, blank, blank. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I blinked rapidly to rid the tears, gaining some composure over myself. I knew if anyone looked at my face, it wouldn't hide shit; what I didn't know was what they would see.

As Daryl made his way further into the room, Merle entered. He'd gotten some stares, none of them happy. When Glenn's eyes lingered too long, Maggie said something in his ear, pulling him further to the side, away from Merle. But no one said anything. Merle only walked into the room, looking around, watching, before settling against the wall. Rick was observing him.

Maggie reached out, squeezing Daryl's bicep as he passed, "we're glad you're back."

"You're with us then?" Glenn asked. He looked sceptical. I didn't blame him, with no clue what this return meant.

"It's like you said," Daryl eyed him; there was a calm steadiness in his gaze. "My blood, my family, is right here."

"Good to hear it," T-Dog said. He shook Daryl's hand hard, patting him on the back.

Daryl was a few feet away from me, continuing forward. Our eyes met when he turned from T-Dog. I quickly averted my gaze.

I could feel him in front of me for a long few moments. Finally, I got the courage to look up. He was only staring at me. The steady, content expression he wore was gone. Instead, he looked uncomfortable. I could tell he wanted to say something, but when nothing came, I decided there was no reason to wait.

I mumbled a quiet "bye" and turned, heading into the cell-block. It didn't make sense. Daryl made it clear he wasn't coming back.

You leave; you're gone. You can't just come back. You're gone, or you're not. He's not here. He's not staying. He's not ours. He's not mine.

"No."

I was in the cell-block, almost at the stairs, when I heard his voice stop me. Turning, I could see he'd followed me. Behind him, I saw some outlines and movements of the others. Still, in the common room, no one else followed.

"Toby."

The tone in his voice irritated and confused me. What was he asking? What did he want? Daryl looked like he was the one that wanted to talk, yet he wouldn't.

"I said bye," I clarified. In case he hadn't heard, that must have been it.

"I said no."

"No, what?"

Daryl closed his eyes, taking a long hesitation. I recognised the intake of breath that meant regaining control, the same breath I had taken just moments before. After, his eyes opened, steady again as he stepped forward. "I was . . . what happened—"

"—Why're ya here?" I cut in, growing impatient. Any composure I had gained was dissolving. I just kept hearing his words from the day before, seeing his back as he walked away.

"I fucked up. I don't belong out there. I know that now."

"You said ya weren't comin' back."

"I was wrong."

"You said . . ." I cringed at how whiney, how petty I sounded. You said you didn't want me. Shut up, shut up. Why would you say that? I inwardly scolded myself. Why would you tell him that? He knows what he said. He doesn't care. So stop caring about it. I was trying to reel in the feelings and maintain the control that was slipping.

"I lied. I didn't mean it."

Lied about what? Does he know what I meant? My brain stalled at his words. All I could do was stare him down. Daryl didn't look as if he had anything else to add. Instead, he looked expectant, waiting. That made me more confused. No elaboration, no correction, no explanation. I lied.

The weight of his gaze started to wear me down. I forced a frown and looked away, shrugging off the odd emotion his words left me with. With my eyes cast in another direction, I just scoffed, "whatever. I don't need no babysitter."

The longer he stared me down; every word broke down whatever emotional control I held. I could hear those other words in my head every time he'd told me how he felt about me. Every instance, he pointed out. He wasn't my keeper. He wasn't my babysitter. He wasn't my daddy. He wasn't my anything. He wasn't mine.

Just because she follows me around like a lost puppy doesn't make her my responsibility.

I ain't yer dad!

I don't give a shit 'bout some dumb kid!

I don't want ya here!

I ain't her fuckin' keeper!

"Good. Never was one."

I furrowed my eyebrows, keeping my eyes on a spot on the wall. Again, Daryl did not continue, putting me in a frustrating and awkward position to lash out and snap. My control was going . . . "Then what're you?"

"Here."

I hadn't expected that. That odd emotion, that feeling in my stomach, grew. It wasn't heavy like grief or anger or even frustration. No, it was lighter, fluttery, erratic. It made me feel restless, adding to the mixed feelings of wanting to run at him, hit him, squeeze him. Some form of contact was what I wanted. I could feel the tingles on my skin. I didn't understand it. My arms went up to wrap around myself, squeezing lightly.

"How long?" Going . . .

"I don't plan on goin' no where."

Gone. "You a'ready did! Ya left, you were gone!" it blurted out, every word spilling out of my mouth uncontrollably.

"I ain't makin' that mistake again."

"They don't want Merle here! They're gonna kick him out, or he's gonna leave. Then you—"

"—That happens, he's on his own. My place is here. With them. With you."

"Me?" I wanted to wipe my eyes. He could see I was crying, but I still refrained from drawing attention to it. My brain and my body were screaming for different actions. The desire and anger of wanting him to leave, to be far from me, wrestled with the want and need to grab for him and never let go. I didn't want anyone else to leave, and I didn't want anyone else to die. But him. Something was always different with him, I knew that. But that didn't matter. Because I didn't matter. I quickly leaned forward, both of my hands pressing hard on his abdomen to push him away. "Just leave, just go!"

Daryl just barely stumbled back, then stepped forward, closer. "Aye!"

"I don't want you here!"

"Yes, you do!" He shouted, causing me to halt any movements. "Same as I need you!"

"Stop sayin' stuff! Ya don't make sense! You got Merle now! Yer not stuck with me no more! I ain't just some stupid kid gonna follow you 'round." That's exactly what I am, but I wouldn't do it just waiting for him to leave. My hands went up, one of my fists hitting him in the stomach, followed by the other. "I ain't doin' it no more!"

Daryl's hands grabbed my wrist, "knock it off! It was never like that!"

I just glared and pursed my lips as more tears fell. I tried to jerk away, but he held tighter. I lifted my shoulder to wipe my face with my sleeve.

"At first, yeah," he continued. "Things aren't the same. That's why I'm here. I came back. We belong with these people, they're mine, I'm theirs. Same with you, yer mine. Yer with me."

I was stunned again, a sob escaped, and I tried to play it off as a scoff, "Yer stupid—"

"—just shut up," Daryl said harshly, jerking my wrists again to get my attention. It didn't hurt, but he was too strong for me to do anything about it. And I got more embarrassed the more I failed to escape from it. I watched as he lowered himself onto one knee, not letting me go. "In Carnesville, at yer house. I told ya shit had to change between us, and it did. I just fucked it up again. I can't say I'm not gonna mess up. I will. But I ain't gonna leave."

"Everyone leaves," My voice was quieter. Listening to his words, thinking back on that day, my anger faded into desperation. "Or dies."

"Gonna have to be that then," he said thoughtfully. Seeing I had calmed, Daryl released my wrists, only for his hands to tightly squeeze each of my arms. He was just inches away, our eyes level. "I'm not goin', yer not goin'. Merle was gone, and you just attached yourself to me. Doesn't matter why. Yer pissed and pushin' me 'way, I pulled the same shit so many times, and you just wouldn't go. Just cut the bullshit—you and me. I'm tellin' you this is how it's gonna be. We gotta work with that, not against it."

I swallowed and wiped my face with my wrist. I remembered him saying that before, back in my bedroom in Carnesville.

"You lost the chance to get rid a'me a long time ago. Only way that's happenin' is if one of us is dead."

His words prompted any memory my brain could handle. Every disaster, any moment where suddenly, I was at his side. Eating dinner, his bedroom at the CDC, sharing the tent, riding in that truck, clinging to his back on the motorcycle ride to find Shane's corpse. I chose to go with him rather than stay on the farm, telling myself there were other reasons, but I wasn't sure I believed in those anymore. His reaction when I needed the medication, us rushing to Hershel's, then the prison. He'd just known I wasn't going to or didn't want to on my own and dragged the mattress beside his. Then I remembered the other time I was almost gone when Shane and I had driven off to leave. I'd heard his bike, not at all dismayed or angered by the sound as Shane had been. When Shane first told me about wanting us to leave, I'd gone straight to Daryl after. No plans to tell anyone but him. When I found him, he was busy with Randall, angry at me for going close to them then, and I left it alone. When I couldn't tell Daryl, I didn't bother anyone else. I went to him after finally deciding to tell someone about Carol.

I brought up my hands, palms pressing against my temples. I could remember and understand all those actions, but the reasoning behind them? Not entirely.

I felt lost at what I should do or say to him. I wanted contact, but the desire to hit or push him was gone.

"I don't get it," I finally murmured—longing for an honest answer to everything, some kind of instruction.

Daryl's eyes rolled, and he pulled me to him with his hands on my arms. His arms wrapped around and squeezed me tight, "shut up."

I tucked my face into his vest. He smelled of sweat, dirt, and smoke. Usually bitter odours, but their familiarity with him was comforting. I remembered when Rick first joined the group when he and Carl had held each other tight. Then daddy and I, standing in Woodbury, curious about what to do with the discovery of each other.

It wasn't like that, not with Daryl. This was better. I preferred this, preferred him.

"I'm not good at this," his voice mumbled next to my ear, still holding tight. "Neither of us are, okay? I'm not Shane. I'm not yer dad. I'm just . . ."

"You?"

"Yeah, that's all I am—just me. I can't be yer dad, yer babysitter, whatever the hell ya wanna call it. But I can be here, so I'm gonna be."

"You can't go again. You can't."

"I won't.

Daryl is back! And better than ever. (or is is Dadryl?)

The tip-toeing around their relationship is over. Although in Carnesville they accepted each other, things were still a bit stand offish. Daryl and Toby never know where they stand with each other. Well, after leaving and putting their relationship to the test. Daryl knows and has laid it out for her.

I had so much trouble writing this reunion. There was so much riding on it, and it such an important catalyst for their relationship, their characters, and the whole story.

Brodunski was a huge help with that Daryl scene! She's so in tune with his character and she really helped get my idea out properly. Go check out her Daryl/OC story Quiet!

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The next chapters of Just Gone: Where We Belong is now available through Early Access on Patr eon! A chapter is often publicly released on the 22nd of each month.

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