Reviews:

Guest: Because of the 'also,' I'm guessing that you wrote both of the guest reviews, so I'll reply to both in one message, if not, I'm sorry to whoever wrote the second, my bad, and your reply is at the end of this one! I agree, fear is very detached for the most part, if I do write this crossover idea (which will be an AU story, so it won't affect this fic's future), it will be Rhys crossing over into that story at a certain point in this fics timeline, probably joining fear somewhere between fear season 3 and 4, with a few characters crossing with him. I hope that makes sense? My head is all over the place with it. The author is Michael Morpurgo, who's written a lot of great young adult books :)

BabySlothXYaoi- I'm sorry! It was heartbreaking to write if that's any consolation! I love that so much, Rhys' spirit animal could definitely be a dragon, and I think he would love the ability to become one, plus the idea of someone that rides a dragon, and can also become a dragon is too awesome, I actually love it. Rosita, I just wanted to give her a bit more character than the show had at this point, I latched onto her having a nephew and wrote that background for her, so I'm very glad you liked it and picked up on how it showed in past chapters! I know, it sucks so damn much, I'll be honest, I contemplated keeping Beth alive, but decided not to, since I don't have a vision of her in the future and didn't want to do the character an injustice by just having her hang around. Carl's definitely bolder than Rhys atm! Thank you, thank you, thank you, for such lovely words!

"Hungry?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Carl hands me the peanut butter Big Cat Bar anyway. I thank him for seeing through my lies of fullness.

"You know," Carl starts to speak as he watches me nibble at the stale bar, his knee's pulled to his chest on the car hood we're sitting on, "It's been six days since the hospital..."

I nod, looking across the deserted parking lot we've made camp in, watching through a grimy car window to a car beyond, Glenn and Tyreese searching it desperately for fuel.

Carl keeps trying. "Do you know what I could do right now?"

"What?" I ask.

"Go swimming," Carl motions a breaststroke with his arms. "Our neighbour back in King County had a pool in their backyard, used to let us use it in the summer."

The name of Carl's home sounds strange for some reason. Like I can see it on paper but can't quite read its name. A spiders web that snaps when tugged too hard.

"I had a pool back home," I tell him.

"You mean, like... your own pool?" Carl raises an eyebrow, sounding suspicious.

"Yeah," I shrug.

"Privileged git."

That gets a chuckle from me. Over the past few days, Carl has been picking up on more and more of my more uniquely British insults. Occasionally asking me to teach him some, to which Rick has warned me against doing.

"Am not," I retort. "I never even used it."

"Why? Did the butler not clean it regularly enough?"

"No... I didn't have a butler," I mumble. "I can't swim, asshole."

Carl's smirk softens. "You're parents never taught you?"

I laugh at this, but Carl seems to find it sad.

He goes on, "I can teach you."

"Yeah? With what pool, doofus?" I realise that I've been picking up some of his more American insults too.

"Seriously!" Carl insists with an earnest look. "Next time we get the chance. My dad taught me. I can show you."

"Thanks, man."

I slide off the car hood, hoping to keep balanced, my leg numb from having it tucked under me. I hand Carl the last half of the Big Cat.

"Don't you want it?" He asks.

"No, thanks," I tell him, "I prefer chocolate over peanut butter, anyways."

I leave Carl to finish my meal for the day. The food situation has gone from bad to real' bad. Yesterday the whole group had to share a bag of cheese and onion crisps. What's worse is Tara kept correcting me every time I said crisps, telling me that they're called 'chips.'

I look around the car park. Almost everyone is gone, out scavenging for supplies. Of those of us that remain, Tyreese and Glenn are still working on checking cars for petrol. Sasha is sitting atop the firetruck, parked in the centre of the parking lot; she's moved a folding chair up there, sitting on it with her rifle across her knees as she keeps watch. Tara's trying to feed Judith beneath a sad-looking tree, growing on a rough patch of grass, surrounded by concrete. She's giving her the last of the formula we have.

The last person who's still at camp is Maggie. I find her sitting in our white van- A vehicle we found three days ago outside a long since looted convenience store. The van has now replaced the fire truck as our stuffy home. Most of us choose to sleep outside under the stars anyway, but having the option is nice.

I clamber into the back of the van and ask her, "Have you eaten?"

Maggie doesn't say anything.

I sit next to her inside the van, amongst the sleeping bags and rucksacks.

She still doesn't say anything. Instead just staring at the floor as she leans against the van's wall.

"The others went to find some food," I say to the open van.

I reach into Carl's orange rucksack, pulling out a half-full water bottle, offering it to Maggie.

I tell her, "There's nothing harder than losing someone you love. What you need to do is rely on the people you still have."

Maggie finally looks at me.

I continue, "You told me that back at the prison. Said we don't get to ask for more than that."

Maggie doesn't take the bottle. Her eyes are puffy with tears. The look she gives me is more sullen, though.

I put the water bottle by her feet before climbing out of the van, understanding her silent request for solitude.

I head over to a struggling Tara, Sasha nodding to me as I pass the firetruck. Apart from Carl and Tyreese, Sasha has been the person I've been spending my time with the most. Our sniping lesson at the prison has turned into a daily occurrence on the road. Since the only thing we don't seem to be dangerously low on is ammunition.

"You'd think she doesn't like this stuff," Tara tells me, desperately trying to give Judith her bottle. Judith's arms flail as she cries. "Just take it, little Jude-dude, otherwise I might drink it."

"What did you call her?" I chuckle.

"Little Jude-dude," Tara tells me like it's obvious.

"She's not a dude..."

"Everyone's a dude, dude."

"She's not hungry," I tell Tara.

"Then why is she crying?" Tara asks, dodging a baby fist. "I just changed her."

"Give her here." I hold my arms out, Tara gladly giving up the screaming infant.

I take Judith in my arms, holding her close to my chest as she cries. I rock her back and forth as I start to hum a soft tune to her.

Judith's tears slowly stop, replaced by a curious look, as she pulls on the zip of my jacket before slowly settling.

"Man," Tara whispers, "How the heck did you do that?"

I shake my head, "It's Paddy Reilly, not me. Beth used to sing it to her when she wouldn't settle. She told me her mom used to sing it when she was little."

Tara nods, looking at her feet and shuffling them awkwardly.

"Did you have siblings before?" Tara asks.

I shake my head.

"How are you so good with her then? When my niece was born, I couldn't ever get the hang of it," Tara says.

"My friend, Sean- he had a kid brother. I practically grew up at his house since my parents worked all the time. So I used to help look after his little brother."

"You must miss him." Tara smiles.

"Sometimes... Sometimes not. He could be an asshole."

"Your friend or his brother?"

I laugh.

I tell her, "Sean could be an asshole. His brother was the sweetest kid you can imagine."

"How old was he?"

"His name was Flint," I inform her. "He was six when Sean and I flew out here. So he would be seven now. Wherever he is."

I hand Judith back to Tara, "Don't force-feed her," I warn her. "She'll let you know when she's ready to eat."

"How will I-"

"She'll let you know," I wave over my shoulder, leaving Tara to it and walking towards Tyreese and Glenn.

I search a car as I pass by it, finding nothing in the glovebox except some crappy CDs and a couple of loose mints. I pocket the mints before throwing the CDs back into the car. I pop open the car's boot with my half-spear when the release switch doesn't work. I find nothing but dust and an old blanket that smells like wet dog.

Disappointed, I go and join Glenn and Tyreese at their vehicle, hoping they're having more luck than me.

"Dammit!"

Maybe not.

Glenn's frustration catches the attention of a walker stumbling down the road, crossing into the parking lot entrance.

Sasha aims her sniper.

Tyreese grips his hammer.

Glenn grabs a tire iron from the car boot.

"I got it," I call before anyone else can.

I jog over to the walker, forcing the spearhead through its temple with a wet squelch. The walker drops to the floor, a sack of bones and rotten flesh.

I wipe my spear on the walker's shirt to rid it of foul-smelling blood before heading back to Tyreese and Glenn.

"I can take over, sir," I offer to Glenn. "If you want to go check on Maggie."

Glenn gives me an appreciative pat on the back before handing me the siphon hose and heading towards the white van.

"Glenn."

He stops at my voice.

"I found these. Since I don't think it really counts as food... Maybe she'd like them?"

I hold out the two mints wrapped in loose plastic.

"Thank's Rhys," Glenn says, taking the mints and continuing back to the van.

"That's nice," Tyreese smiles.

I shrug my whole body at him. "Guess."

The two of us head to the last car in the parking lot left unchecked.

"Fingers crossed," I say, handing Tyreese the siphon hose.

"What was with that walker?" Ty asks me as he starts checking the fuel tank.

"Huh?" I look in the car through a dirty window, wiping it with my sleeve.

"You just seemed pretty... I don't know- Ready."

"Ready for what?" I ask, trying the car door, locked.

"Ready to kill it."

"That's what we do," I tell him.

"I know," he nods. "Just know you can talk to me whenever, little man."

I smile at him.

"Jackpot!"

A satisfying trickle starts as a liquid begins to pour from the car and into our fuel can.

Not much, but enough to move on.

The others arrive soon after Tyreese finishes siphoning the petrol. Rick decides that the group needs to stay put this evening, rest in the parking lot, so we're ready to push on tomorrow. Rosita makes a fire, which we all huddle around. I sit beside Carl as we all try to stay warm.

At some point, Tyreese notices my shivering and passes me the moth-eaten blanket that smells like a wet dog. Carl and I manage to both huddle beneath it, keeping out the biting air.

While everyone is talking in hushed tones- describing their day and what comes next -I look to Carl, who is staring into the fire with a longing look of contemplation.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

Carl is startled slightly by my words, breaking his gaze from the fire and attaching it to me.

"What for?" He asks.

I think for a second, like I'm not sure why I apologised in the first place.

"I saw a comic in the backseat." I motion to the car that gave us the petrol.

"Still waiting for why you're sorry." Carl smiles.

"I couldn't get it for you. The door's locked, and Ty was worried the alarm might go off if we broke in."

Carl nods. "I do miss my comics," he admits. "But we'll find more."

He squeezes my hand, beneath the blanket.

"I'm gonna go check on Sasha," I tell Carl.

"Okay," he smiles again.

"I love you." His voice is quieter when he says this, secluded from everyone but me.

"I love you too."

"Thirsty?" I call up to Sasha. A paper cup in my hand.

She smiles meekly down at me from atop the fire truck, reaching down to help me up, careful not to spill the drink.

"Watch out," I warn her, "It's hot."

"What is it?"

"Just hot water," I tell her. "We still haven't found any teabags."

"I never liked tea." Sasha sips the hot water slowly.

"You've never tried mine," I tell her.

Sasha had moved a camping chair on top of the fire truck earlier in the day, planning to spend her time up here. She sits in her chair, and I sit on the truck's cold roof, my back against the chair leg.

"I'm sorry about Bob," I tell her.

"Me too." Her response is sharp. She sounds more irritated than sad.

"I'm sorry we all keep apologising for it."

She repeats her last response, letting out a sigh with it.

We let a long silence sit on the truck with us. We let it pour over us. Sasha has been wearing Bob's jacket since we lost him. I haven't seen her without the oversized coat, the sleeves rolled up to fit her, its hem hanging low, military patches sewn into the green fabric.

Sasha hands me the cup, and I hold it in my hands, warming them up before taking a sip.

We both spot a walker appear from the darkness, still far enough that it might not see us. Definitely far enough that only the two of us notice it.

Sasha stands up, taking aim through her night scope.

"Mind if I do it?" I ask her.

She hesitates before handing over the painted black rifle, swapping it for the paper cup.

I lie down flat on the roof, aiming down the green lensed scope. Still not entirely used to the kickback.

Chook.

"Missed."

Chook.

"Missed."

Chook.

"Nice."

Sasha's love of telling me when I miss never seems to stop amusing her.

"Better than wasting seven bullets," Sasha tells me. "But still not good enough."

"Next time, it will only take one," I reassure her.

We swap cup for rifle again. Both nearly empty.

"I like it up here," Sasha tells me. I'm not sure why she does.

"Because you can see everything?" I guess.

"No..." Sasha hesitates for a second, until, "I used to be a firefighter."

"That actually makes a lot of sense."

I watch people starting to turn in for the night as Sasha reloads her gun. Some people get into unlocked cars, while others lie out sleeping bags by the fire. I can see Carl climbing into the back of the white van, Judith in his arms.

"You tired?" I ask Sasha.

She yawns in response. "Yeah," she admits.

"I'll keep watch," I tell her.

She thinks about it, looking out towards the rest of the group, her eyes lingering on the van.

"Nah," she shakes her head.

"You sure?" I ask, hopeful she might change her mind.

"Tell Carl I say goodnight."

"Okay," I relent. "Night, Sasha."

"Night, Rhys."

I say goodnight to anyone still awake, avoiding more than a wave to Tyreese since he's sitting with Carol. Carol and I catch eyes for a second, nothing but blank looks between us. I look away.

I climb into the back of the van, carefully closing the doors. Only Judith and Carl are in here, both already asleep.

Carl stirs anyway.

"Rhys?"

"Yeah, it's me," I tell him, taking off my spear and putting my gun down with it on the floor.

"Everything okay?" he mumbles.

"Yeah, go back to sleep."

"Okay." He's already still again.

I lie beside him. Putting an arm over Carl as I relax into the van's floor, feeling safe with Carl and Judith beside me as the night swallows us.

A/N

This chapter was comfort food.

Reviews and Feedback are always welcome!

:)