Thank you so much for the reviews! They make my day seriously

Notes: Daryl and Pheonyx finally see each other! They don't talk yet, not until after Daryl's POV which is next chapter. I really needed to go in depth with their first sights of each other before moving to their interactions. I'm super excited for Daryl's POV. There's lots of denial and internal homophobia but it also will give you an idea of Daryl as a person(At least how I view him as). Also, in regards to Pheonyx's descriptions of himself and how parts of himself cause him to be misgendered, this is just how it has been for me in the past. Flared hips and stuff like that are not an indicator for Gender! But unfortunately things like that are how people "decide" what gender to label people as usually. It's in now way right, but it's how I as a trans person have to look at myself in order to try to be properly gendered with strangers.

Chapter CW/TW: PTSD, anxiety, self-doubt, internal transphobia, mentions of past abuse/trauma, internal homophobia/biphobia

The night was long and Pheonyx was tired. He barely slept most nights anyways, but the stress was what was draining him the most. That and the 2 units of blood he donated the day before. He was worried about Carl. Although the boy was doing better since his surgery, the risk of infection and complications were still prevalent. Especially considering there was no access to modern medical amenities. He was worried about the Shadows reaching the farm. With the weakness from donating so much blood and the constant anxiety coursing through his veins, going out to clear the woods and traps would have been suicide. He was worried about all the new people coming to the farm. The four men already set him on edge. Lori wasn't a problem. Women rarely made his fight-or-flight response trigger. Outwardly, the men seemed nice, especially Rick and Glenn, but that didn't mean anything. The darkest demons always had the bright faces of angels. The one who really worried him was Shane. After informing him of Carl's successful surgery, Rick had given him the condensed version of what happened at the FEMA center when he walked in the house at sunrise. He said Otis told Shane to run, that he would provide cover, but the shadows had gotten him. Pheonyx knew it was a crock of shit though. Otis was definitely the type to sacrifice himself to save a boy's life, but Shane came back with Otis's gun, he had seen it laid on the counter in the house. How did the older man lay cover fire without his weapon? Shane was lying about something. Pheonyx kept his theories to himself, though. He knew if he told Hershel, his stepfather would insist on kicking all the new people out. Despite his anxiety with the strangers, his conscience couldn't handle being the catalyst to throw out a group of people into the world as it was. It would be a death sentence.

He was worried about the little girl that was missing. Those woods were his home and he knew them better than anyone else in the family. Which means he knew how dangerous they could be. A scared little girl running around with no known survival experience? With shadows wandering around waiting to eat any living thing that crosses their path? Her likelihood of survival was small. If he hadn't needed to stick around to provide blood for Carl, he would have spent the night searching for her. He wanted to leave at first light, but Rick insisted he wait until the rest of the group got to the farm. Apparently they had a proficient tracker in their group, and the sheriff wanted both of them–and Kismet– to lead the search for the girl. It made sense but that didn't keep Pheonyx's skin from itching with the need to leave before more bodies invaded the farm.

His issues with strangers stemmed from many different things. When he was younger, after his mother had removed him from his abusive father's clutches, he avoided new people like the plague. How could he trust anyone when the person he was supposed to trust most in the world had torn his body and mind apart? It took years for him to open up to anyone outside his family. All the progress he made, in regards to his fear of strangers, was destroyed when he turned 22 and ended up in the hospital, clinging to life and broken inside. 6 years later, even after leaving Georgia and seeking counseling, he hadn't shaken the fear that coursed through his veins when he had to interact with new people. It wasn't social anxiety. It was fear of being hurt. Fear of being outed. Fear of someone finding out he was trans and hurting him again. Fear of the invisible dirt that still clung to his skin sometimes. Fear of being used and being helpless. Fear of being destroyed. The world falling apart didn't help matters. He was even more fearful of other survivors. The will to survive was a powerful motivator and good people rarely made it out on top. People who were willing to destroy, pillage, and hurt were the ones who lived.

Despite his fear, Pheonyx was currently leaning on the railing of the front porch as he waited for the other members of the group to arrive. His eyes were focused on the dirt road that led to the house. Sweat was already forming on his brow, a sign that the day was going to be sweltering. Pheonyx opted to dress coolly, a simple pair of men's jeans–that were frayed and dirty at the knees from his frequent hunting trips– and a gray tank top. The tank top was for comfort but also to make himself look more masculine to the newcomers. Being misgendered was a huge fear of his. This was rural Georgia, the reactions of people figuring out his gender could be violent. So, he wanted to appear as "manly" as he could. Pheonyx was lean and he couldn't help the flair of his hips that was often deemed "feminine". The softness to his jaw and the roundness of his backside were also causes of his being misgendered. But the tank top allowed his muscled arms–covered in intricate art– to be exposed. Farm work and bow-hunting had shaped his tanned biceps perfectly. They weren't massive but watching the muscles flex and the tattoos on his arm move was very affirming. The flatness of his chest also helped his gender euphoria. He needed the edge of that euphoria to get through this meeting. Along with the masculine clothing, he adorned himself with his weapons. He had his bow and quiver slung across his shoulder. The heavy weight of the cutlass and Glock on his hips provided him a small amount of comfort in the moment. He also had a hunting knife sheathed next to the gun.

Pheonyx wasn't the only one waiting for the others. While Rick, Lori, and Hershel were inside with Carl, everyone else was outside in the front yard. Glenn and T-Dog were conversing quietly but everyone from the Greene farm was quiet. Most were still in shock over the loss of Otis. He did catch Maggie sending careful glances over to the young Asian man and had to stop himself from smiling a bit. Unlike Shawn, Pheonyx wasn't the overprotective big brother. He encouraged his sister to date and form connections. Which was slightly hypocritical considering he avoided dating and relationships like the plague. He lied to Maggie about going on dates. He didn't want her to worry about him, but the pain from 6 years ago still had a deep grip on his heart. And he couldn't bring himself to trust anyone. He had hookups, only with women, never cis men. But even those were few and far between. Love was something Pheonyx wanted, but the initial hurdle of letting someone behind his barriers was the problem.

Kismet–who had been snoring on the porch next to Pheonyx– was the first to hear the caravan of vehicles. Ears perked, he leapt to his feet and his tail began to wag. Despite the plethora of scars from abuse on his speckled body, the pup loved people. Training him to guard had been a bitch. Anytime Pheonyx had Jimmy attempt to attack him, Kismet had jumped into the fray, thinking it was a cuddle game. Eventually the training had set in, but the dog was still entirely too trusting. While he was happy his dog had recovered from the mental scars he'd endured as a puppy, Pheonyx still worried that his love for people might get him hurt one day. He realized he was projecting his own anxieties on the dog but he couldn't help but worry.

The loud rumble of a motorcycle drowned out the noise of the other vehicles, a large RV and a silver sedan. T-Dog made his way inside to let Rick, Lori, and Hershel know that the rest of the group had arrived. Pheonyx straightened, body tensing, as he watched the vehicles approach. His eyes were drawn to the motorcycle leading the group through the gates near the house. Even at that distance, his green eyes connected with ones the color of the Georgia sky.

The vehicles all parked and the man on the motorcycle stopped closest to the house. Pheonyx nearly tripped coming down the porch steps as he got a good look at the rider dismounting the bike. The man looked like he hadn't showered in awhile and his gaze had a hard edge to it, but he was still the hottest man Pheonyx had ever seen. He was definitely older than Pheonyx's 28yrs, with a few crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Short brown hair, perfectly tousled, surrounded a sharp face. Light stubble lined his jaw and his goatee framed soft-looking, pink lips. There were a few gray hairs speckled through the facial hair. A small mole at the corner of his upper lips stood out from the light hair surrounding it. Dragging his gaze from the man's face, his eyes settled on the man's arms. The sleeves of his plaid shirt had been ripped off, and Pheonyx wanted to thank whatever god there was for that. It should be a sin to cover up arms that look that good. Dirt and sweat helped highlight every ridge and bulge of the firm muscles. They weren't the kind of muscles that one gained by lifting weights for hours in a gym, these had been formed by hard work and real life strain. The man's clothes weren't form-fitting but Pheonyx could still see he was toned all over. Before that moment, Pheonyx had questioned if he was really bisexual. He wondered if his attraction to men was more jealousy, wanting to be them, as opposed to wanting them romantically or sexually. This man answered that question. He was definitely attracted to men. This man in particular. The man grabbed a crossbow from the back of his motorcycle and held it in his rough-looking hands. Masculine energy absolutely poured off of him and Pheonyx wanted to be on the receiving end of that energy. He wanted the man to press him up against–

Pheonyx nearly jumped out of his skin when Maggie touched his shoulder. She had moved to his side at some point. "I think I found your dark, mysterious archer.", she whispered in her brother's ear with a small smile. "Close your mouth, Nyx. You're practically drooling."

Pheonyx shut his mouth, his face turning a bright red, and used the back of his hand to check that he didn't actually have any drool on his face. The man's eyes had drifted from his when he was dismounting the bike, but they met his again. Pheonyx's heart, that had been racing from anxiety about the new people, was now racing for a different reason. Heat flushed his whole body and a light throbbing began between his legs. Shame filled his heart and he averted his own eyes from the blue ones that captivated him.

What am I thinking? There's a little girl missing, Otis is dead, and there are dead people walking around. Now is not the time to be lusting after a guy who is most likely straight, Pheonyx thought. A darker voice, one that he always dreaded hearing, pushed to the forefront of his mind. Even if he wasn't, why would he want to be with someone like you? You're just pretending to be a man, just like those demons said–

The dark memories tried to push their way into his head, but he pushed them to the back of his mind. He was drawn from his thoughts when Kismet whined at his side, the dog was practically crawling out of his skin with need to go meet the new people. Pheonyx snapped his fingers to make the dog sit. He wasn't sure if the people would want a 70lb dog rubbing all over them first thing. Besides the incredibly hot man, there was an older man adorned in a Hawaiian shirt and a bucket fishing hat, a woman with short gray hair, and a younger woman with longer blonde hair. The older man radiated energy that reminded Pheonyx of his Grandpops. That man didn't have a mean bone in his body and his soul was much too good for the world. The woman with the short gray hair held her arms around her body, as if holding herself together, and he guessed this was the missing girl's mother. Her eyes glinted with sadness but she held her head high. The younger blonde woman was a bit harder to read but she held her back rigid, trying to appear taller than she was. Pheonyx knew that she was avoiding some kind of pain, putting up a facade of strength.

Lori and Rick came out of the house, Hershel and T-Dog following behind them. The parents were much more relaxed today, and the color had returned to both of their faces. Although, Rick was still a bit pale from donating blood. Approaching the couple first, the man in the fishing hat had a look of concern on his face.

"How is he?", he addressed Rick.

"He'll pull through." Lori smiled lightly and her arm brushed her husband's, "Thanks to Hershel and his people.", she looked at each of the Greene family, her eyes stopping on Pheonyx's form. Gratitude poured from her hazel orbs.

"And Shane", Rick cut in. "We'd have lost Carl if not for him."

Everyone looked at the man hanging in the back. His black curls were gone now, shaved to the scalp after he returned with the supplies for Carl. Clothes much too big for his frame hung from him like a blanket. Patricia had obviously loaned some of Otis's clothes to him, and a roll of anger filled Pheonyx's stomach. Everyone sent nods and looks of appreciation to the man. Everyone except Pheonyx, of course. He knew the truth. Or suspected it, at least.

"We owe a lot to Pheonyx too. He donated blood. Gave Carl time until Shane could get back with the supplies.", Rick continued and looked at him. Just like his wife, the sheriff's eyes leaked waves of thanks.

All eyes turned to Pheonyx, including a pair of icy blue ones, and he had to stop from physically recoiling. He kept his eyes downcast and busied himself with scratching Kismet's head. The dog was still shaking with excitement and appreciated the touch. Maggie reached out and placed a comforting hand on his back, noticing her brother's anxiety.

From there, hugs of relief were exchanged in the group. Pheonyx released Kismet from his sit command and warned him not to jump on people. The pup went up to each of the new people, butting their legs with his blocky head in greeting. Smiles lit up dirty faces and Pheonyx felt a sense of pride, knowing that his dog could bring a bit of happiness to people who were experiencing a plethora of hardship. Kismet's wiggly body went from the young blonde woman, to the woman with short gray hair, to the man in the fishing hat. Each one of them gave him a head scratch and body pat. Lastly, the dog ended up in front of the man with the crossbow. Pheonyx tensed a bit. Yes, the man was incredibly hot. But he also was very gruff and had a hard edge to his energy. Pheonyx didn't want him to be angered by a rambunctious dog. But his worry was for naught. The man wasn't as open with his affection for the dog, but there was a whisper of a smile at the edges of his lips. He dropped one of his hands from his crossbow and let Kismet sniff the dirty digits. Taking it as an open invitation, the pup rubbed his head against the man's large hand. Thick fingers deftly scratched behind his soft, floppy ears and a look of bliss filled Kismet's chocolate brown eyes. Pheonyx couldn't help but feel a bit jealous at the attention Kismet was getting from the man. He would kill to have those calloused fingers scratching behind his own ear.

"We're about to have the service for Otis. If your people would like to attend, they're welcome to.", Hershel said to everyone before leading Beth, Jimmy, Patricia, and Maggie towards the copse of trees where they decided to place a marker for the deceased man. With the FEMA center being overrun, there was no chance of getting Otis's body back for a burial. So early that morning, Jimmy and Glenn had started a large rock pile as a memorial for the man who gave his life to save Carl's.

Everyone gathered around the tribute. Choosing to stand a few feet away from the service, Pheonyx quietly told Kismet to sit and placed his hand on the dog's head, more for his comfort than Kismet's. The only sounds around them were the sniffling from Beth and Patricia, and the whistling of the trees as a light breeze blew through the farm.

Hershel pulled out his bible, the one his father had handed down to him, and began to recite some verses. Each person, even those from Rick's group, took turns placing rocks onto Otis's memorial. Pheonyx tuned it all out, choosing to stare out into the field, watching the tree line to make sure none of the dead snuck up on them. He was only brought back to reality when Hershel asked Shane to share Otis's last moments. The man protested, panic filling his brown eyes. But Patricia pleaded with him, wanting him to reassure her that Otis's death had meaning. Pheonyx had to hand it to the man, he did have a way with words. His voice was very reminiscent of a football coach, giving an inspirational speech before a homecoming game. Pheonyx knew he was lying though. He was too detailed. Focusing on small details too much. People who go through extreme trauma like that don't remember the small details. He sounded like he was reading from a newspaper article. Feeling his anger rise, Pheonyx sneered and turned his head so no one could see his reaction.

Carl and Sophia, think of them. Pheonyx thought and took a deep breath. If Hershel finds out Shane is lying, he will throw the group off the farm.

The only thing he was grateful for was that Patricia was placated by Shane's words. She was wiping her tears and smiling as Shane placed a rock on top of the pile. Hershel had everyone bow their head in a brief moment of silence for the deceased man. With everyone's eyes averted, Pheonyx took that moment to step forward and grab a rock from the wheelbarrow. The dirt from it smeared on his hand. The weight of the rock symbolic of his grief, Pheonyx placed the stone on top of the memorial. Those few seconds were all he allowed himself to feel the pain from losing Otis. He didn't have enough room in his heart for more and a sense of foreboding told him that this was only the first of a long line of deaths yet to come.