Reviews:

Slothiest — I do like your Negan theory! But yeah, not quite. I'm glad the chapter where Glenn died didn't make you give up on this fic! That's honestly so exciting to me that you know so little! There's something fun about you now knowing who will live or die by the end! We will see what we see between Carl and Rhys... it's definitely been a long time, so they're spending some time getting to know each other again. Thanks again for your thoughts! :)


Scars — Sending You Away: Part Two

I taste blood.

I see nothing.

I open my eyes.

My arms ache in their sockets above me. My wrists are bound together with rope that scratches against my skin, hoisted over a pipe in the ceiling that keeps me up. I try to relieve some of the pain by planting my feet, but I can't. I'm dangling. My toes barely scrape the ground when I try to stand. I look around the classroom. Daryl and Michonne are tied up just like me. One on either side of me. I try to call out to them, but the grungy rag stuffed in my mouth muffles my cries.

We're in some kind of boiler room. The walls smell like stones when they get wet from the rain — the stink of smoke is overpowering that. Winnie is standing with her back to us, a fire burning low in a barrel in front of her. Jocelyn is sitting in a chair in the corner, her children spread out around the room.

Michonne tries to speak, but her gag doesn't allow it either.

"She is awake," Winnie says to Jocelyn, turning to look at her. That's when I catch a glimpse of what's in the barrel. Linus takes it out, a burning orange cross, hissing red and spitting off metal sparks. He walks behind us. Mitchell raises Daryl's shirt above his lower back. Daryl shakes his head, panicking more and more with each frantic breath.

"Go on, Linus," Jocelyn whispers from the corner of the room. "Be strong."

Linus presses in against Daryl's skin. Daryl howls through his gag. The sizzling of flesh burns into my ears as Daryl wriggles against the scorching steel. Linus keeps the metal pressed firmly against his back until the hissing stops and the X cools, and then he peels it away.

Michonne is sobbing, watching as Linus returns it to the fire.

Tears flood my eyes as fear grips at my gut with a balled fist.

Jocelyn stands then, walking down the line and staring at us. "Well done, Linus," she congratulates him.

"The strong survive," he says.

"And thrive," Jocelyn responds.

The kind, warm voice that we know from her is gone. She speaks with almost nothing in her voice. It's like nails against a chalkboard or metal against stone.

Jocelyn faces Michonne now. "I told you children are capable of anything. I taught them, helped them become what we are because they can't be soft. Not now, not like I was..."

"Where is she?" Michonne screams through her gag.

Jocelyn turns her head to look at the fire barrel as PJ takes the brand from the fire next, the tip red and hissing again.

He moves behind us to where I can't see him. I feel someone grab my shirt and jacket and raise them up my back, cool air touching my exposed skin for a moment. I try begging, crying into the gag for him to stop.

I can't imagine it.

A thing that made Daryl Dixon scream and whimper. Something so terrible it could do that. That it could really do that.

I can't imagine it.

Then I don't have to.

insufferable and blinding agony.

I scream as the searing brand burrows into my skin.

Carl told me about Negan's iron once. I had asked. He said the smell was the worst part. The way the guy's flesh strung from his face like hot cheese before snapping away. The guy pissed himself.

I almost do.

I feel my whole body relax and clench again. Every muscle and joint jerking away and back to my control. I feel the iron melt inches into my back, burying itself like a hot knife through the ice.

I think I might pass out.

Then PJ pulls away and returns to the fire. Someone drops my clothes back down my back, and my burnt skin seethes against the fabric's weight.

Jocelyn watches me for a moment, studying me with bemused eyes as drool trickles from my stuffed mouth and tears stream down my bruised face. Then she scoffs, turning to Winnie, nodding to her.

More time must have passed than I thought because when Winnie pulls the brand from the fire for the third time, it's already hot again.

She looks scared, watching Michonne wail into her gag.

"Control it, Winnie," Jocelyn coos. "Don't let it control you."

"Fuck you!" I shriek, but they ignore me.

Michonne screams louder when the metal hits her back. Louder than anything, roaring into Jocelyn's face. I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut until it stops.

When I open them, Jocelyn and her kids are gone.

We stay like that. Hanging from our wrists like pigs in a slaughterhouse, listening to each other's groans and sobs. It's violating. The way they branded us. Like they were claiming us. Like we're cattle. At least Terminus let us stand on our own two feet. At least they let us die.

Mitchell came back then, barely glancing at us as he starts putting out the barrel fire.

"Hey," Daryl tries.

Mitchell ignores him.

"Hey, asshole!" I try, voice still muffled.

I hear him scoff, but he still doesn't turn.

Michonne doesn't speak, her head hung and shoulders heaving.

"Fucking look at me, you pencil dicked fuck!" I screech at him.

He does turn then, grinning.

I want to spit at him, punch him, anything. But he's too far, and the way I'm held doesn't allow for anything. Even my voice is barely audible.

"You're pathetic," Mitchell scoffs when I speak. "All of you."

"Why's that?" I think is what Daryl tries to grumble through his gag.

Mitchell rolls his eyes, taking a step closer.

"You think you're safe behind your walls," he hisses. "Think you're strong because you can play music and live in pretty, white houses..."

He watches me squirm like bait on a line, my arms burning above me.

He takes another step forward.

"But you're weak," he mocks. "You're small, and slow and soft. Like rabbits in their snares... you're patheti—"

And that's all it takes.

One mistake.

One step closer.

I yank as hard I can, hoisting my body up and forward and slamming my foot into his groin. And Mitchell cries out, staggering forward a few more steps. I try kicking again, but he grabs my leg and pushes it back, punching the air out of my chest.

But now he's closer still.

Daryl cries as he hauls himself up by his hands and pulls his legs over Mitchell's back and around his neck, throttling him until his face is blue and swollen.

Then the pipe above us breaks, everyone falling to the cold floor.

Mitchell gasps, for air when Daryl loses his grip. Spitting and reeling as he tries to get back to his feet. But Michonne's up first, a swift kick to the kid's face knocking him out.

I scramble for the knife on his hip, desperately cutting at the ropes around my wrists. I catch my wrist. It starts to bleed. But I don't care.

"Rhys, slow down, we're good," Daryl grunts.

But I don't, not until the ropes are off and I can drop the knife to the floor. I push myself away from Mitchell until my back hits a wall. I stay there while the other two free themselves.

My back still burns, and I hold my palm against it, hissing through my teeth as I cry.

Michonne crouches in front of me while Daryl ties up Mitchell.

"Hey," she whispers, reaching out to touch my knee after I pull them to my chest. "You okay?"

I don't know what to say. What answer can you give after that. I whisper Maggie's name. I don't even know why, or if I meant to.

Michonne holds me. She asks if I'm okay again.

I nod this time, still breathless.

Michonne pulls away.

"We don't have much time," she says slowly, her eyes wet. "They'll find him. We need to find Judith and the others first. I need you with me."

She stands up, reaching her hand down to hoist me up.

I take it.

"We should split up," Michonne says quietly, pointing to one of the doors leading out of the room.

Daryl nods, and so do I.

The halls are quiet when I reach the top of the steps leading from the basement. I follow art littering the walls from children long gone.

'We can't let Judith go,' I think to myself. I almost lost Carl after we lost Rick. We almost lost Michonne. I don't know what would happen to them if something happened to Judith.

There's a crash down the hall from me. One of the classroom doors slams shut.

I jog to it, keeping to the walls with Mitchell's knife clutched tightly to my chest. Daryl gave it to me before I left. He told me not to hesitate.

I burst through the door.

I gasp, almost relieved when I see PJ — until I get my head straight and remember what happened.

He just stands there, a bag gripped in one hand, the other on the latch for the fire escape door leading outside. I'm still, too, staring at him, the brand on my back still aching.

He goes to leave.

"PJ!" I bark, making him jump.

He goes still again.

"Where are they?" I ask, trying to sound calm.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't move.

I take a step closer. The length of the class and several desks between us.

"Please... please just tell me where they are."

He's staring at the knife in my hand.

"PJ, please, man... just—" I stutter.

There's a sharp ringing in my ears, suddenly. A whistle, being blown somewhere in the school behind me. I hear Michonne scream Judith's name.

I turn to look for only a second, but apparently long enough for PJ to bolt when I hear the fire escape slam shut behind him.

"Wait!" I yell, chasing after him. "PJ!"

My lower back stings as I run, the feeling of my clothes rubbing against the lump in my back screams at me to stop as I move forward. I chase PJ around the building, and when I finally catch up with him, I don't hesitate to tackle him to the floor — the both of us landing in a heap on the concrete. We're in a parking lot. I look up and see most of Jocelyn's kids standing in front of a caravan pulled by horses. They're all staring at the school, and then I see it...

Michonne, standing over Jocelyn; wrenching her sword out of the woman's chest.

I look at the caravan and see Jonah, Minnie's son, peeking at me from a window. I clamber off PJ and scream for him, but Jonah just grins and ducks back down.

They think it's a game. Like the quiet game, or tag.

Michonne clambers to her feet, gripping her katana. "You can all come back to Alexandria," she pants at Jocelyn's kids. "We'll take care of you now."

Suddenly the double doors of the cafeteria behind us burst open, a raving Mitchell storming into the parking lot with blood trickling down his face from where Michonne kicked him. He glares at Michonne, then at me, before hissing to the others, "Kill her and their children."

Then he sprints at me. I don't have time to react before his fist comes down on my jaw, knocking the wind from me and throwing me off PJ. He doesn't relent, kicking me in the ribs over and over before finally stamping down hard on my arm. I hear it pop from the socket.

I howl in agony.

"Rhys!" Michonne screams.

"You know what comes next, PJ," Mitchell spat, still staring down at me as I writhe around in pain, clutching my arm.

I watch Mitchell run at Michonne next, knife out, barely a challenge for her as she twisted her weight to one side and tripped him, sending the boy flying to the ground behind her.

I try crawling towards her but yelp out in pain when I feel a knife slice into my shoulder. I roll away from him, but PJ dives down at me with his knife aimed at my head.

I catch his arm, holding him back. His face is stone. Nothing like the boy I taught to play the guitar. He screams down at me, hitting me over and over with his free arm as I hold his knife back before throwing him to one side with ease. I plead with him to stop as he crashes to the floor beside me.

I crane my neck and watch in horror as Mitchell finds his feet again, swinging a pipe at the back of Michonne's head, but she blocks it with her sword and then cuts open his chest in two swift swings. Blood sprays across the parking lot, dripping from her sword. I almost vomit at the sight as his body collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Then PJ is up again, scrambling towards me. I catch his wrist this time. Begging him to stop through rolling tears. I see Michonne fighting the other kids in the same hopeless way. PJ is light. If I had two arms I could hold him off for hours. But the one arm I do have is getting tired. And his knife is so close.

And I think of Judith.

Jonah.

Alice and Marcus.

Hershel, back home.

I think of all of them as I snatch my knife from the grass beside me with my crippled arm and stop PJ.

I scream.

I'm not sure if it's more the pain, or the rest of it.

I push his limp body off me.

When I look for Michonne she's the same as me, crying and surrounded by small, broken bodies. We're the same. At that moment, we're just the same.

It's just Winnie now, standing at the trailer door and staring at her.

"Winnie," Michonne sobs. "Please... don't."

I'm gripping my knife so tightly I think the handle might crack. Daryl comes bursting out from the school, his knives bloody, too.

Winnie finally breaks, her face scrunching up into tears as she bolts for the tree line.

We don't chase her.

We don't care anymore.

I just watch her disappear. Probably to die to teeth or bullets.

Michonne's voice brings my head back to the caravan.

"Judith," she whimpers.

When Judith walks out, I almost collapse. Maybe what we just did could be considered worth it now.

Maybe.

Judith pauses for a moment, looking at Michonne like a stranger.

Michonne waits, her whole body shaking.

Then Judith pounces forward and holds onto her mom who collapses to the ground with her wrapped in her arms.

The others are safe, too. I try to hold them, but hiss when I remember my arm, dropping the knife with a startled yelp.

Daryl's beside me then, gripping my shoulder and holding my elbow.

"Just dislocated," he says gently, not mentioning the tears in my eyes. I refuse to mention his either. "Bite down on your sleeve."

I do, and Daryl cracks my shoulder into place.

I don't say anything, just wince and nod a thank you.

Daryl looks at all of us, checking the kids are okay.

"Let's get 'em home," he says.


Two Months Later.

Seeing Maggie was good for Rhys. Seeing Hershel was hard, but good, too.

It might have been the first time he had smiled since killing PJ. Holding Hershel. Really getting to hold him and make him feel safe. The same way Maggie made Rhys feel safe when she held him.

It was about the time he'd found his laugh again that Maggie asked him to do a job.

He got excited about it.

Excited up until he was halfway to Alexandria with a convoy of four wagons behind him, Sasha riding beside him on Dusty.

That's when he got nervous.

Maggie had never put Rhys in charge of his own caravan before, so today was a big day for him.

The wagons were packed with cheeses and milk from their cattle. Corn and sorghum from their recent crop yield.

Hilltop's armoury was ever-shrinking, and Earl always needed more scrap metal for weapons and other tools.

The trade would be a simple one, but Rhys knew why Maggie gave the job to him...

Sasha shot a high-pitched whistle at Rhys suddenly, startling him in his saddle. Downy Beardy shook his head in surprise, too.

"Stop slouching," Sasha grumbled. "We're almost there. You need to look official."

Rhys squinted at her and watched as she started fiddling with the small metal pin on her leather jacket.

"Stop fidgeting," Rhys shot back at her.

Sasha brushed him off with an eye-roll.

"It's stupid," she mumbled. "Damn thing's gonna catch on everything. I don't see the point in it. I don't need a badge to keep doing the same job I've always done."

"Why didn't you turn it down then?" Rhys asked suspiciously.

She shook her head. "Maggie jumped me with this whole head of security thing."

"Horseshit," he snorted. "She's been telling you for weeks she was gonna make it official. And she asked you on your day off this week. People feel safer when you're around... Sheriff."

The pin was less of a sheriff star and more of a compass, with the letters 'HS' engraved into the black metal. Alden told Rhys that Earl was pretty chuffed with how it came out. He was riding the wagon just behind them, here to oversee any scrap Alexandria may have.

Sasha grimaced, finally taking the thing off and stuffing it into her jacket pocket.

She glared at Rhys. "Don't tell Maggie."

Rhys just chuckled, taking his eyes to the road ahead.

Trade was more or less a facade for this visit. It had been weeks since Alexandria's last letter, and Maggie was tired of waiting for them to reach out. Part of Rhys knew that's why Sasha was really here. Probably insisted when she knew he was going.

There was relief throughout the whole caravan when they arrived. The sight of guards on the walls suggested that nothing had gone wrong.

But as Rhys and Sasha led the wagons up the gravel road leading to Alexandria's gates, he could tell something was different.

He felt it the second he saw people.

The guard's shifty eyes following them.

The construction groups on the walls that gave them a wide birth as they rode by.

Then the gate didn't open when they halted outside it.

The guard on the wall by the gate had disappeared the moment they saw them coming. Then Michonne and Siddiq were on the wall. Carl climbed up behind them.

The tension was evident and immediate. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Rhys smiled and they did not. It felt like they were strangers to them.

"We got your letters," Michonne said, her voice cold as stone. She still had a scrape on her cheek — a gash along her nose. "Your business?"

Sasha looked at Rhys. Everyone was looking at Rhys.

He stuttered, not knowing what to say. It had only been two months since he was at Alexandria. But there was something about the way Michonne's eyes pierced him and Carl's avoided his that told him he needed to handle this differently.

"Hilltop offers trade," he called up. "Food goods for ammunition. Hilltop's head of security is here to oversee, and Maggie sent me so I could learn a bit more about—"

Michonne cut him off, her lips peeled back like the words she uttered tasted sour. "Alexandria appreciates the offer, but our food situation is steady."

Again, Rhys was lost, tripping over his words.

"I get that, Michonne, but our bullet stores have been running dry and—"

"Hilltop's problems are Hilltop's."

Rhys waited for Carl to speak, waited for anyone to speak.

"Where's Rosita?" Rhys shouted up, a little desperation in his voice.

"At home," Siddiq said. The last time Rhys was here Rosita had mentioned they were messing around together on and off. "She didn't want to be—"

"Where Rosita is doesn't matter right now," Michonne cut in. "If there's nothing else?"

Rhys didn't have any more to say. He'd been watching Carl for a while now, but he refused to meet his eyes.

Sasha suddenly spoke up.

"Where's Daryl?"

Michonne stared at her.

"Not here."

"You kick him out, too?"

Michonne stepped up to the wall then. Rhys saw her flat stomach. He got that ringing in his ears when everything else stops meaning so much. He could still hear it; Michonne shouting down her defence while Earl and Sasha barked back about what was fair.

Fair.

"Was it a boy or a girl?"

Michonne went quiet at his question.

"Leave Rhys," she hissed, her voice hard as steel. "All of you."

The caravan turned around and started back down the gravel road. Sasha waited at the end of it when Rhys hadn't budged.

Michonne was watching him down her nose.

"What we did, Michonne..." Rhys started. "Killing PJ. I thought I was doing it for them. So we could all still be together."

"What we did," Michonne said steadily. "It's the reason we can't. The reason the new world won't work."


A/N

Sorry for the delay on this one! Man, this episode was so heartbreaking, wasn't it?