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SlumberingVoid — I preferred the whisperers to the idea the dead actually evolved... but I guess we're going to find out in the spinoff this month.

Daryl took over carrying Jesus' body when Rhys' breathing started getting heavy and his arm began to shake. Carl offered to take over for Aaron. But Aaron refused, holding Jesus' limp wrist tightly around his shoulders.

Everyone was exhausted by the time they reached the horses; shivering from their clothes, made wet from the thick mist. They looked up to the morning sun as it feebly attempted to pierce the clouded sky. The horses reared their heads, alarmed with squared nostrils when they saw Jesus. Rhys helped Daryl and Aaron haul Jesus' body over Downy Beardy's saddle, since he was the strongest of the three horses. Daryl's bike and the other horses were a few miles in the wrong direction, so this was all they had. Yumiko tossed the walker mask Daryl retrieved at Magna.

"Who the hell would do this?" she hissed. "Even think about doing this."

"Give any asshole a how, and they'll figure out the why," Sasha told her.

"It's full-on batshit," Magna said, grimacing at Sasha.

"And you are?" Sasha asked her, looking unimpressed.

"We brought them to Hilltop not long after you left," Michonne said. "Hoped you might take them in."

"We will," Rhys panted, taking a water skin from his saddle and taking a gulp before passing it to a rather breathless Yumiko. "Jesus would have wanted it that way."

"You think there's more?" Aaron asked.

"Yeah," Daryl said, a wisp of doubt in his husky voice.

"So what do we do?" Yumiko asked, climbing on the horse she and Magna must have stolen to follow them out here. Rhys recognised Mel, Tara's steed.

Michonne glanced at her, helping Eugene and his dislocated knee onto one of the other horses. "Right now, keep moving."

"Hilltop is closest," Carl said, pointing down the road they came from.

And they followed that road.

Rhys walked ahead of the others, Dog trotting along by his side, licking his fingers after Rhys scratched the top of his head. Rhys looked back at where Aaron was riding Carl's horse and leading Downy Beardy. The overwhelming urge to cry, or puke, or both started bubbling inside when he saw Jesus' body slung over Downy's back. Carl caught up to him.

"You okay?" he asked, his face sweaty around the nose.

Rhys nodded, clearing his throat. "Jesus would be glad we made it out."

"I meant..." Carl pointed to Rhys' arm. "You okay?"

Rhys looked. A deep gash was carved into his bicep, just below the hem of his t-shirt sleeve, that he hadn't noticed despite the blood trickling down to his fingers.

Rhys grimaced, putting a hand over it. "Shit, I didn't realise—"

Dog started to whine beside them. Figuring he was thirsty after the long night, Rhys paused to look at his blood palms, then, without asking, he took Carl's cleaner hands, ignoring the fluttery feeling in his belly as he pressed them together to make a bowl. He pulled Carl's cupped hands down until they were both kneeling on the road and poured water from his canteen to his palms. Dog quickly lapped it up with his tail wagging. Everyone passed them. Carl was quiet the whole time, the only sound between them being the slapping of Dog's tongue against Carl fingers.

"Can I?" He asked when Dog was done and Rhys stood up, pointing to his arm.

"Yeah, sure." Rhys nodded. "Thanks."

They walked to the edge of the road. Carl called that they'd catch up to the rest when Michonne and Sasha kept glancing back at them. There was nothing to sit on, so Rhys knelt in the wet grass, and Carl squatted beside him, tearing the sleeve off his flannel.

"Of course you still wear flannels," Rhys said, wincing and looking up to the sky as Carl tightly bound the fabric around his arm.

Carl smirked, looking down at the ground. "You okay?"

"Your dad used to do that," Rhys said.

Carl looked at him. "Do what?"

"Look away when checking up on people."

Carl laughed. It was breathy, like he didn't give it permission to leave him.

"Enid said I look like him," Carl said.

Rhys didn't agree. He thought Carl looked like Lori in that photo he used to keep by their bed. The way his dimples added to his smile like an exclamation mark. The curve to his chin it added, and how he didn't hide his teeth with a grimace when something made happy. No, Rhys thought. There was none of Rick in that.

"You didn't answer my question," Carl said.

Rhys nodded again, but then he sniffled, trying to clear his throat as tears started to rise and blur his vision. "We haven't lost someone like that since—"

Carl didn't know what to do, not reaching out with any comfort past saying, "I'm so sorry."

"You guys all done?" Yumiko asked, clearing her throat. She was sitting on her horse with Magna on the back, just a few feet away where the two didn't notice them waiting. "Figured it might be a bit dense to split up right now, yeah?"

"Yeah," Rhys said, wiping his face and getting up.

Rhys and Carl walked alongside the horse towards the others a little ways down the road, and Magna turned to look down at Rhys.

"You meant what you said?" she asked. "We can stay?"

He looked up at her for a moment before glancing at the holster of throwing knives wrapped around her leg. "You steal your weapons back?"

"I mean, they are ours," Magna said.

Rhys squinted her down. "And the horse?"

"Had to keep up, didn't we?" Yumiko sighed.

Rhys sighed back at her. "Jesus was the person that made the choices. Tara will take over, but, yeah... I vouch for you."

"What about the intense chick with the axe?" Magna asked.

Rhys grimaced a little. "What about her?"

"Dunno... seems like she doesn't like us."

"She hasn't made her mind up on you yet."

"I'm sorry, but how do you know?" Yumiko frowned at him. "You all don't seem that close, and she looked pissed off at you back in the graveyard."

"She's my sister," Rhys said. "She doesn't want me out here, that's all."

"Why?" Magna asked.

Rhys decided not to answer.

They didn't speak again until they caught up with Aaron and Sasha. The two were trailing behind Michonne, Daryl, and Dog, who had bounded back to the front with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

Rhys wanted to say something. Anything. But he was struggling. All he could think about was those things that attacked them in the graveyard. People dressed as the dead. Wearing skin over their own.

"I wish I'd met him before," Magna said to Aaron, more gentle than Rhys had yet seen of her. "Sounds like he was a good one."

"He was," Aaron said quietly. "He shouldn't have been out here."

"It's my fault," Eugene murmured, seated on Michonne's horse. "If I hadn't—"

"Jesus made his own decisions," Aaron snapped. He looked at Rhys. "We all knew the risks of being out here. Knowing we shouldn't be."

Rhys shot a look at his feet, guessing that his secret meetings with Mikey and Aaron might be at an end.

"Maybe what happened was bound to happen," Aaron added.

"No," Sasha said. She'd been relatively quiet since Jesus died. "We couldn't have known."

Another thirty minutes passed on Rhys' watch with its dull golden rim and scratched face. Magna piped up.

"We've got some tails."

Dog started barking into the woods, the horses spooking at him and dancing their hoofs against the road, unsettled by the disturbed silence. There were six walkers just past the tree line, weaving in and out of sight.

"The living kind, or original recipe?" Eugene asked.

"I say we find out," Sasha answered, propping her axe over her shoulder.

Not far up the road, they found a covered bridge. Michonne and Sasha hid themselves on the closest end while the rest made their way across to the other where Daryl waited in plain sight with his crossbow ready while the others hid. Rhys watched from the bushes with the others. Once the walkers were crowded onto the bridge and gunning for him, Daryl put an arrow through one of their knees. Nothing. He fired an arrow into the same spot on the next. There was a crack of fresh bone, and the fake walker screamed and dropped to the ground, clutching its leg in agony. The other walkers turned on the imposter, eating him alive. Two walkers near the back stopped still, then slowly shambling back across the bridge. But Michonne and Sasha were blocking the way. One pulled a blade and sprinted at them. Michonne's sword severed its hand from its wrist, and Sasha's axe buried itself into the mask-clad skull. The last one of them drew its knife.

"Drop it!" Daryl barked while Magna and Yumiko cleared out the real walkers. Rhys watched the thing drop its knife and fall to its knees in surrender.

Carl snatched the mask off its head, dark and greasy hair spilling out. It was just a girl, maybe only a few years younger than Carl and Rhys. Her dirt-smeared face was bleached pale in fear.

"Please..." the girl cried. "Please don't kill me! Please."

She was no older than Henry Rhys thought after getting a better look.

"Why'd you kill him?" Sasha screamed in her face.

"We just wanted to know..."

"Know what?!"

The girl wailed and snivelled as Sasha roared at her.

Carl tossed the skin mask to Michonne.

"How many?" Michonne hissed at the girl.

"Please," the girl shrieked. "You killed them all! It's just me now."

Michonne pressed her blood smeared blade to the sobbing girl's throat, watching her swallow against the polished steel. "I don't believe you..."

More walkers were coming.

"There ain't no time," Daryl said. "We need to take her with us."

"Agreed," Sasha growled. "We've got space to lock her up back home until we get what we need."

Daryl pulled the girl to her feet, and Michonne pressed the skin mask to the girl's cheek.

"You try anything..." Michonne barked. "You won't have to pretend."

They got back to Hilltop by noon, having taken a detour to retrieve Sasha, Jesus, and Aaron's horses and Daryl's bike. People were crying before they got off their horses. Jesus was dead, and Hilltop had lost another leader. Every face was reminded how family is temporary and that life remains momentary. Rhys stayed back and watched it all. He watched Enid hold onto Aaron after he helped get Jesus' body off the horse. His body was shaking, and they both started to cry. Rhys watched Tara gently touch Jesus' back and whisper something soft for only the dead to hear.

Enid rushed to hug Rhys when she must have noticed him melting into the background like he used to do when people died.

Sasha dismounted fast, tossing her pack at Marco and marching the girl they captured across the courtyard towards the cells under Barrington house. Daryl and Michonne were on her heels.

"This the one who killed Jesus?" Tammy Rose asked.

"No," Michonne said. "One of her people."

"That one got what was coming to them," Sasha added, getting a firm nod of approval from Tammy.

Once the three disappeared into the cellar with the girl, Rhys quickly slunk away from the crowd of people with questions he didn't have the strength to answer. He knocked on Henry's door, but he found the room empty except for Pumpkin cleaning her coat on his bed. He sat down in a chair by the window.

He didn't cry all that much anymore. Sure, sometimes when he thought back on the years, he might occasionally trip over a particularly sad memory. But at least memories were all they were. Jesus wasn't a memory. Rhys could see them moving his body from the second-story window, and the tears he let out were thick with reality.

"Sorry..." Tara was standing in the doorway, her eyes red and wet, too.

Rhys pressed his palms against his eyes until they were dry enough to look at her with. His palms were bloody when he pulled them away, his face dry and crusty with blood, too. He noticed Tara wasn't wearing her usual leather boots that Sasha got her for a birthday a few years back.

Tara noticed him looking. She wrinkled her forehead and sighed.

"I know it's a bad time," Tara said. "But I need you for something."

Rhys marched down the cellar steps behind Tara, ignoring the whimpering coming from the cell of the girl they captured. They stopped at the bars on the far side of the steps from hers.

Henry was sitting on a small cot inside, hanging his head after he met Rhys' eyes.

"Kal found him outside the gates yelling to be let in and stinking of moonshine," Tara said before turning to leave. "Before he ruined my boots, he threw up on a pig."

Rhys nodded and waited for Tara to leave and shut the cellar door behind her.

"What happened out there?" Henry asked quickly, still sounding groggy. "No one's telling me anything... except that Jesus is dead. Why are you all bloody?"

"Where'd you get the drink?" Rhys asked instead.

Henry shook his head.

"You think I don't already know?" Rhys asked. "Who do you think hung out in that stupid shack before Addy, Rodney, and Gage were old enough to sneak out?"

Henry smirked.

"I'm not trying to be funny," Rhys hissed, scowling at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"If you're going to be an asshole about it, don't bother." Henry grimaced through the bars. "Daryl and Tara beat you to it."

"Don't swear," Rhys hissed at him. "And yeah— yeah, I'm gonna be an asshole about it!"

Rhys' chest still throbbed with grief; tight and breathless. He found Henry to be an almost welcome distraction.

"You'll be happy to know it sucked ass then," Henry groaned. "Moonshine tastes disgusting, and I got stuck in a hole."

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing, not sure if he wanted to know. "You got stuck in a hole?"

Henry pressed his hands to his cheeks and blew air through his lips, clearly still hungover. "They had a walker— like trapped. They were playing with it and I just..." He paused. "It felt wrong. So I jumped in the pit and killed it."

Henry went back to staring at a bucket by his feet.

Rhys sighed. "Has Enid given you some painkillers for the headache?"

Henry nodded.

Rhys felt relieved but didn't dare show Henry that.

"You still feeling sick?"

"Yeah," Henry groaned. "Feels like I'm still drunk."

"Good," Rhys said.

Henry glared at him, standing up from the cot and marching up to the bars to face him.

"Who even asked you?!"

"You're mum would have a damn fit if she knew you snuck out!"

"Like you would know!"

Rhys' eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"YOU— you don't even like my mom! You barely know her!"

"I've known Carol for a long time, Henry."

"Doesn't mean you know her. I know you hate her. I don't know why— she won't tell me. But I'm not an idiot!"

"Oh, you're not?!"

"Yeah, I'm not!"

"Could have fooled me. It was pretty damn stupid to sneak out like you did!"

Henry hiccupped. "Point still stands. You don't know her like I do."

Rhys grimaced. "Maybe not. But if I know one thing about your mum..." he let out a deep sigh. "It's that she's not stupid."

Henry sank back into his cot after that.

"Will you tell her?"

"Are going to sneak out again?"

"No."

"Then no, I'm not going to tell her."

Rhys folded his arms, turning his back on Henry and leaning against the bars.

"You know why Tara came and got me, right?" he asked over his shoulder.

Henry was quiet, so Rhys answered the question for him.

"You might be Earl's ward while you're here, but I'm the one that brought your ass through those gates. I vouched for you. That means something at Hilltop."

"I'm sorry," Henry whispered.

"It was a new group that killed him. Wearing walker skins," Rhys told him quietly then, realising he was avoiding talking about it, and remembering why he went to find Henry in the first place. "Tara loved those boots, so you've got a lot of apologising to do. And if you ever pull this shit again, I'll have Sasha run training drills on you for a month. …I'll send someone down to get you. Fresh air will do you good."

Rhys left before Henry could try thanking him, start yelling at him, or just grunt some unintelligible response. He was furious and heartbroken and couldn't face Henry any longer for all those reasons. Daryl met him at the top of the cellar steps.

"You mind taking Henry outside for a bit?" Rhys asked after reviewing the fresh cuts and bruises on Daryl's face he hadn't noticed until now.

"Sure, man," Daryl grunted, patting Rhys' arm. "You okay?"

"No," Rhys admitted, smiling a little at him, appreciating the gesture. "Haven't been that scared since..." Rhys trailed off.

"I know," Daryl said.

"I will be okay, though."

Daryl nodded.

Rhys watched Marco and Kal as they helped a few others dig Jesus' grave a few paces away.

"You're doin' a good job with him," Daryl said. "Ain't your fault he did something dumb."

"I told Carol and Zeke that I'd keep an eye on him," Rhys said. "I ran off on his first night."

"I did the same thing," Daryl sighed, scratching his chin. "The boy ain't a kid. He'll learn."

"Still..." Rhys shrugged. "Maybe I should do a better job teaching him."

"You thinkin' about letting him out early?" Daryl asked.

"Tara said he's got another night in there," Rhys said. "I'd make it two if I could."

Daryl smirked. "Y'know, my older brother was shit."

"I've heard," Rhys said.

Daryl nodded, patting his arm. "You're doin' alright, man."

That made Rhys smile, remembering when Morgan had said something similar to Benjamin years ago. But then he felt shit. He wondered if Benjamin would hate his guts for last night. For leaving his brother alone and pretending he was something he wasn't to him. Rhys slept well after that, too tired to be sad and basically collapsing on his bed with Pumpkin asleep on the balcony ledge, the warm night air drifting past him and filling the small room. There was so much more to worry about — a group of people went out looking for them earlier that day and hadn't come back yet, but there was only so much they could do about it now that it was getting dark.

Rhys woke up early, before any chores needed to get done, and after cleaning yesterday's blood off his skin, he decided that he could scrape enough time together to do something else. He found Carl down by the stables with Michonne and Aaron loading up a cart with crates of tomatoes and their packs. The sun was barely in the sky.

"You're all leaving?" Rhys asked, pissed at himself for sounding upset in his groggy state.

"People back home need to know about this," Michonne said. "I'm taking my people back, but—"

"But I'm staying," Carl cut in. "With everything going on, it'll be good for someone from Alexandria to stay informed on what this girl spills about her group— if that's okay with you and Tara?"

Rhys nodded, pulling at a loose thread on one of his shirt buttons. "I'm sure you can stay."

"Thanks."

Aaron told Michonne he'd tell Siddiq to get Rosita and Eugene ready for travel and started towards the infirmary. He stopped beside Rhys first. "Michonne was right, Rhys... we were nieve not to see it. I guess I didn't want to see it. Alexandria has everything it needs, and Hilltop has everything you need. It's Carl's choice to stay right now, but I'm going to ask Mikey to stop coming out... to stop taking unnecessary risks. We should all be behind our walls. Protected. Taking care of what we have and each other."

Rhys didn't answer back or tell him he disagreed. He gave a warm smile. "I'm sorry for what you lost out there."

"Yeah," Aaron said. "Me, too."

Once he was gone, Rhys did everything he could to avoid Michonne's eyes, but when she spoke to him it got a lot harder.

"Sending you away was one of the hardest things I've—"

"We don't need to do this, Michonne," Rhys said harshly.

Carl was so put in the middle of this that he chose to take a few paces back. After all, what happened back then didn't involve him all that much.

"I think we could try and—"

"You want to talk about P.J? About Jocelyn?" Rhys asked, full of bitter feelings. "You had your chance. I've moved on."

Michonne's face tensed up, her jaw going sideways from clenching. Daryl came down from the loft over the stables with Dog, where they most likely spent the night, and the moment Michonne broke eye contact with Rhys to look at him, Rhys took it as his cue to leave.

Rhys noticed Carl standing by the cooking pit under Maggie's office window, watching people pass by while keeping his eye on the scene Rhys just caused.

"Sorry about that," Rhys said, heading over to him and leaning against a metal grill that someone hadn't yet stocked with coals for tonight's supper. "I know she's family to you."

Carl smirked. "Y'know, apart from Judith, I think you're the only person to stand up to her in years."

Rhys snorted. "Mikey's told me that Gabriel has had plenty to grill her on recently."

"Sure," Carl admitted. "The only other person that upsets her when they stand up to her then."

Rhys felt better about that than he probably should. Then he thought about how they could have all died last night, and he really shouldn't be frightened of anything anymore if he could hold his nerve against Michonne's temper and an army of skin-wearing freaks... least of all a boy.

"Jesus and Aaron..." Rhys said slowly, his voice sad. "I think they really liked each other."

Carl nodded, looking down.

"Do you...?" Rhys paused, realising he actually could very well be terrified.

Carl frowned. "Do I?"

"Do you want to..." Rhys searched his brain for the sort of words that Enid would practice on him when she started seeing Alden. The sort he hadn't given thought to in a long time. "Do you want to go on a date?"

Carl's wide eye gave Rhys some hope he wasn't the only one who had suffered from blue balls for years. "A date?"

"Tonight," Rhys prefaced. "Sevenish?"

"That sounds... good."

Rhys nodded.

Carl nodded back.

They both nodded again.

"Meet by the riding school," Rhys added. "I'll bring weed."

Carl laughed, and Rhys took it as his cue to scurry away.