Wands and Walkers

by FireAndFangs

When Sirius falls through the Veil in OotP, Harry dives in after him. He finds his godfather in the United States, with no evidence of witches, wizards, and magic as they know it. Instead, they are greeted by one of the walking dead and a crossbow-wielding Muggle with a Sirius-sized temper. Watch them make both friends and enemies as they try to find their way home.

14. Useful and Useless

Author's Note: I know it's been way too long. I'm seriously sorry. I got an unexpected offer to make my pro boxing debut and have been working my ass off in fight camp, while also still doing my day job, coaching, and taking care of my dogs. I've hardly had any time or energy for anything else. I have been working on this chapter and the next one on my phone while at my day job when I can, so I promise it hasn't been ignored. My fight is the day before Thanksgiving, and I'm taking the rest of that week off, so I'll be having more writing time come Thanksgiving. Anyway, I appreciate anyone who's still reading. This story will take a while for me to finish, so I understand if you get tired of waiting or prefer to mark it and save it for whenever it is complete. I do promise to finish it, though. I need to, for my own sake.

To clarify for anyone interested in what to expect, the second half of the story will be taking place in the Wizarding World, with a few of the Walking Dead characters being there. We're getting closer to the world switch, which will take place in season 5 of Walking Dead. This story is going to be looong but with an ending that I think will pay off highly.

This chapter is very Harry-centric, and Carl-centric.

Content warning: reference to a past suicide attempt; some derogatory dialogue of a sexist/racist nature that is spoken by someone who is meant to be a villain and in no way reflects my views; a scene of attempted sexual assault on a minor, not graphic or anything worse than what was depicted in the Walking Dead show, there will be a ***** above the paragraph where that situation occurs for anyone who wishes to skip it.

Again, thank you for reading!

---

Daryl's breath was passing through him rough and ragged, leaving his throat, mouth, and lips dry as bone. His legs, back, and shoulders burned from exertion as he moved at an awkward jog, his crossbow and Beth's bugout bags bouncing on his back. His left arm was wrapped around a semiconscious Harry's middle, his fingers digging into the boy's ribs in an effort to hold onto him. His right hand had a firm grip around Harry's right wrist, holding the arm in place around Daryl's neck. Beth was holding onto Harry in the same position on Harry's left.

They had set out through the stretch of woods that sat closer to the back of the prison, opposite the woods where lie the main road. They had managed to keep well ahead of the large group of Walkers pursuing them for a few minutes before both of them slowed significantly in their effort to support Harry's weight. But now, Beth kept pausing to adjust her hold, her teeth bared as she strained. The pauses frustrated Daryl, but he knew it wasn't her fault. The girl was small and lacking in any sort of muscle. Daryl himself was starting to struggle more, his fingers slick with sweat and sometimes compromising his grip.

The next Walker growl he heard sounded closer, which Daryl confirmed with a glance over his shoulder.

"Stop, stop, stop," he said briskly. They both came to a halt. "Here. Let go." Daryl used his right hand to gesture toward himself as Beth unwrapped her hold on Harry. Daryl glanced back again. The Walkers were almost on them. "C'mon. Quick!"

Taking Harry's full weight against him, Daryl bent his knees and dropped down slightly before standing back up with a grunt as he lifted Harry into both of his arms, bridal style, while Beth grabbed the bugout bags and slung them over her own shoulders. Daryl exhaled sharply and continued running, nodding for Beth to go ahead of him now that she was free of Harry's weight. His body still balked against the strain, but he was able to move much faster this way and keep a hold of Harry without slipping.

They passed through the treeline and into a meadow, the Walkers that were still following them not far behind. They ran several yards into the meadow before Daryl had Beth stop again. He lowered Harry as carefully and quickly to the ground as he could before setting him down.

"We're not leaving him!" Beth panted, her eyes wide and fierce.

"No shit. Get down there with him and stay hidden," Daryl wheezed, indicating the waist-high grass, and readied his crossbow. "Get your knife out."

Beth dropped down onto her stomach in the grass and Daryl moved a few feet away from her and Harry before aiming at the nearest Walker. That one went down, and he took out three more before he was out of space to shoot. He set his crossbow down and went after the rest with his hunting knife, trying to lead them away from the teenagers as he fought.

Another five more were down. Seven were left. Daryl's movements were starting to get sloppy from fatigue, his focus dwindling. He had to keep moving away with each hit or kill in order to prevent himself from being surrounded. At this point, he was back at the treeline they had come from. He shuffled backward into the woods and used the trees to help break up the cluster, hurrying behind a large oak, killing one Walker that came at him from the left of the tree and then one that came from the right. Then he moved backward behind a different tree and did pretty much the same thing. He repeated his process until all the Walkers were down, then took a moment to lean against the nearest tree and catch his breath before running back to the meadow and making sure Beth and Harry were safe.

He didn't see them, which he took as a good sign that they had stayed hidden. He called Beth's name and she stood so he could see where they were.

"Is that all of them?" she asked as Daryl approached.

Daryl dropped to the ground as he reached her, sitting so that he was leaning back, his hands propping him up as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. He could hear Beth sit down across from him. "S'all the ones that stayed with us," Daryl breathed.

He opened his eyes and looked over at Harry. The kid's head turned and he made a soft groaning noise but his eyes stayed shut. Daryl transitioned to his hands and knees to look him over. Harry's face was a shining mess of mingled blood, sweat, and dirt. It looked like he had a small cut at his temple and a broken nose. Daryl's eyes moved down to the small shard of metal protruding from Harry's thigh, leaning closer to it now that he had a moment to actually check it out. He had been worried about removing it, but it wasn't in so deep that he thought he'd be putting Harry in more immediate danger by taking it out.

Beth was unzipping one of the bugout bags and rummaging through it, pulling things out as she spoke. "I got clean washcloths, bandages…gauze…peroxide, scissors, tape…gloves…"

Daryl watched as Beth set each item on a small towel, pleasantly surprised. "You packed all this?"

Beth glanced up at him with a mildly annoyed frown before she began cleaning around Harry's leg wound. "I'm good for more than just babysitting, you know."

Daryl winced internally, feeling bad, but honestly, Beth had never shown any interest in doing more than domestic chores. "I know."

"Almost everyone was sick or quarantined. Y'all were on the medicine run. I started thinking…I mean, I know the evacuation bus is stocked with some stuff, but what if something happened and we had to leave quickly, couldn't get on the bus for whatever reason? We've had more supplies thanks to Harry and Sirius. So I packed some bags with first aid stuff, food, and water and placed 'em in different parts of the prison for people to grab and go in a hurry."

Daryl nodded in approval and began cleaning Harry's head wound. "That was smart."

The head wound wasn't actively bleeding and there was some bruising and swelling around the cut. Any serious damage from it would be internal, and there wouldn't be much they could do for something like that, if anything. They would have no idea how bad it was until Harry was fully conscious anyway. Daryl was hoping for no more than a mild concussion.

"All right," he sighed. "We gotta get this thing out." He gestured unnecessarily at the shrapnel. "You pack any kind of pliers or anything?"

"No, just the scissors," Beth frowned.

Daryl shook his head dismissively. "That's all right. I think we can make those work."

He sat there for a moment, thinking about how Harry might wake up when the shrapnel was pulled out, how he might scream and attract Walkers. He could gag him with one of the cloths Beth had packed, but he didn't want to risk making him choke. There was also the matter of infection, which was Daryl's biggest concern for the wound, and the fact that they were currently preparing to treat it on the ground.

They needed a shelter, somewhere it would be harder to be heard if Harry screamed, somewhere with a table or at least a hard floor they could wipe down.

The closest building he could think of was a gas station about five miles away. It had been stripped of all food or anything else of value, but they could treat Harry on the counter and stay there until he was healed enough to travel.

Travel.

Daryl released a huff of frustration. There was no way he and Beth could get Harry there in a reasonable amount of time, and the sun was setting. He didn't want them traveling in the dark.

They were going to have to do this right here.

"All right, here's the plan," Daryl said bracingly. "I'm gonna pull this fucker out of him. He's probably gonna bleed—a lot—right away. So soon as it's out, you gotta press down as hard as you can with the towels and hold 'em there. I'll hold his body down and try to keep him quiet if he wakes up freaking out." He locked intent eyes with Beth, making sure she was paying attention. "Got it?"

"Yeah," she replied with a firm nod. They both donned latex gloves and then Beth gathered all of the hand towels she had packed from both bags. She moved to her knees and scooted forward until they touched Harry's uninjured leg, while Daryl sat on his haunches across from her on Harry's other side. She kept three of the cloths in her hands while unfolding the rest and draping them over her shoulder, ready to go.

She looked up at Daryl with nervous but calm, focused eyes. He nodded encouragingly at her and then looked down at Harry's wound, bringing the scissors over it.

He carefully clamped the shrapnel with the scissors and adjusted until he was sure he had a firm hold. Exhaling sharply, he glanced at Harry's face and said, "Sorry, kid."

Then he pulled upward.

The shrapnel slid slowly at first as the bottom of the shard passed through the top of the thicker, dermis layer of tissue, and then it budged and moved more slickly until Daryl had it out completely.

Harry jerked awake with an abrupt yell. The wound immediately gushed blood as Daryl had predicted, but Beth was on it in an instant with the towels, leaning forward as she pressed down. Daryl pressed a hand to Harry's chest to keep him lying down, as the kid kept trying to sit up, and he brought his other hand over Harry's mouth to muffle another yell, making sure to remove the hand right after so that Harry didn't panic or struggle to breathe.

"I know, man. I know," Daryl said as Harry groaned. "Ya gotta stay still. We're just trying to help ya."

Beth exchanged cloths, as the three in her hands were now drenched. Harry made another small noise of pain that was somewhere between growling and whining. His face was scrunched as he turned his head restlessly from side to side.

Beth winced at him. "Sorry, Harry."

"Once the bleeding has slowed enough, we'll get this thing clean and bandaged." Daryl glanced between Beth and Harry as he said this, though Harry might not have heard him. When Daryl felt the body beneath his hands go slack after being so stiff with tension, he saw that Harry had passed out again.

Probably for the best.

Once the bleeding had mostly subsided, Daryl inspected the wound again and then poured water followed by peroxide on it, dabbing at it with a fresh cloth. Harry groaned again and shifted slightly but didn't wake.

Daryl looked at Beth, who was watching Harry with worry. "We got any thread or needles? Anything to stitch him up?"

"No, I didn't think of that," Beth said somewhat dejectedly.

"No matter. Bandages should be enough." He wasn't terribly certain about that, but it wasn't like they had any other options, and if not for the bugout bags, they would have been in a much worse situation.

Daryl set to work carefully applying a large bandage and then gauze to Harry's wound, which he wrapped around his leg and secured with tape. When he was done, he released a deep breath and looked over his work, thinking about the best next step. He looked up to see Beth holding Harry's hand in hers, stroking his fingers with her thumb. Her eyes were sad and tender as she watched him breathe.

Daryl wanted to tell her Harry would be all right. The words sat on his tongue for a moment, but he just couldn't bring himself to speak them. Not after Michonne. Not after Hershel.

Not when everyone else they cared about was probably dead.

Grief reared its ugly head from where it had been sleeping deep within Daryl, finally able to get his attention now that he, Beth, and Harry were out of immediate danger. He pushed it back down and cleared his throat, removing the latex gloves and rising to his feet. He looked back toward where they had come from, grateful to see no more Walkers emerging from the woods. The opposite end of the meadow looked clear too, which was just as well because the sun had almost disappeared beyond the horizon and the meadow was too open to stay in overnight.

Beth packed their things and Daryl scooped Harry up once more. They made it to the woods in just under fifteen minutes, at which point it was officially dark. Daryl found a spot to situate themselves for the night, laying Harry down in front of a tree and putting one of the backpacks beneath his head as a poor substitute for a pillow. Beth sat next to Harry against the tree, while Daryl sat against a log across from them. He and Beth quietly drank some of the bottled water she'd packed. They ignored the food for now. Daryl had no appetite, and he was sure the same was true for Beth.

He stayed awake for most of the night, even though he was exhausted. He told himself it was because he wanted to keep watch, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he tried. Images of Michonne's Walker corpse tied to a pole and Hershel's head sliding off his torso kept flitting through his mind.

It was dark enough after a couple hours that Daryl couldn't see Beth or Harry beyond just the outlines of their bodies. Harry hadn't woken, and even though Beth was silent, he could tell she was awake too. After all, she'd watched her father die today. He knew he should say something to her, offer some form of comfort, but he just couldn't. He had no idea what to say that wouldn't be bullshit and he was simmering with too much anger of his own right now to offer any kind of tenderness.

Eventually, he heard the telltale sounds of stifled crying. Beth sniffled and occasionally let out a muffled sob, but she was mostly quiet, clearly trying to hide it.

Daryl heard it anyway, but he didn't say anything.

---

Sirius paused where he was, scanning his surroundings with a frown. He and the kids had passed the main road from the prison half an hour ago in their attempt to circle around the prison grounds through the woods and find Harry, Daryl, and Beth. He had had a fair idea of where he was for a while, having previously patrolled the inner sections of trees to kill Walkers and coming out to hunt with Daryl, but he hadn't been this far out on foot before without someone who truly knew the lay of the land. Everything was starting to look the same.

The sun had so far served as an effective compass, but it had just disappeared beyond the horizon a few minutes ago. He held his wand out in the palm of his hand and muttered, "Point me." When the wand spun and pointed North, Sirius beckoned the girls to follow him Southwest.

"Shouldn't we be stopping soon?" Lizzie asked. "It's getting dark."

Sirius was about to reply that he would light his wand, but thought about if they encountered Walkers or Death Eaters in the dark. If he needed to defend the girls, it would be much harder to keep track of them and any assailants with only his wand light. He sighed. If he had been by himself, he would have walked all night.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Sirius said somewhat gruffly.

They walked another few minutes until Sirius found a fairly spacious spot. First thing first, he put protective enchantments around the area, marking Xs in the trees with his wand and telling Lizzie and Mika not to pass them.

Judith had started making fussy noises and squirming in her sling. Sirius shushed her gently before sitting down against a tree with her, bringing her close to his face, and sniffing. She needed a nappy change.

"Mika, can you toss me a blanket and a nappy?" he asked as he hefted Judith from the sling.

Holding the bag of baby things that she'd grabbed when searching for the sling, Mika tilted her head and said, "What's a 'nappy?'"

"Er…what do you lot call them? A diaper?"

"Oh!" Mika sat down and dug through the bag, passing over a diaper and blanket. She searched through the bag some more and then also passed Sirius a packet of baby wipes.

"Thanks," Sirius said as he lay the blanket on the ground and then lay Judith on top of it. "You girls were very smart to grab this stuff." He undid the bottom of her onesie and removed the diaper, balling it up and then Vanishing it. Sirius wiped her and then paused briefly to look at Lizzie and Mika. "It was also thoughtful of you to go after Judith and make sure she got out of there. Thank you."

"Everyone else was too busy fighting," Mika said. "You don't think Carl and Rick will be mad we took her, do you?"

"They can't be mad," said Lizzie. "They're dead."

Sirius, now wrapping the clean diaper around Judith, paused again as Lizzie's words, spoken so matter-of-factly and unexpectedly, hit him in the gut.

"You don't know that," Mika argued.

Lizzie shrugged. "You don't know that they're not."

"I'm sure they're all right," Sirius interjected, closing Judith's onesie back up. She cooed at him, which he took to mean she felt better now. "And they won't be mad. They'll be happy with you for saving her."

Sirius kept his eyes averted, wanting to believe that Rick and Carl—and everyone else—was okay, but he felt like he was lying. He hadn't seen Carl at all, and while he had seen and spoken with Rick not long before leaving, Rick had been in considerably bad shape.

He couldn't think about that now.

"You've got blood on your face, you know," Lizzie said as Sirius put the diaper things back in its bag.

Sirius reflexively tapped a finger to the small gash on his cheek from one of Bellatrix's curses. "It's just a little cut from the fight. Nothing to worry about."

"No, not that. You have spots of it all over. Kinda like Chicken Pox."

Sirius finished folding the baby blanket and stuffed it into the bag. Then he reached up slowly to touch his face this time and indeed felt dry specks of blood that he was ninety-nine percent sure wasn't his.

Hershel.

Sirius pointed his wand at his hand and cast Aguamenti, using his wet fingers to scrub at his face. He could feel bits of blood collecting beneath his fingernails and grimaced. Internally, he was squirming, not because of the blood itself, but because of whose it was and how it got there. He probably would have been more frenetic in his efforts to get the blood off him had he been alone, staying composed strictly for the kids who were watching him.

He looked at Lizzie and leaned closer to her, turning his head from side to side. "Did I get it all?"

Lizzie stepped closer to him and squinted. "Mmm…most of it. There's just one more spot." She licked her thumb and rubbed above his left jawline. Then she inspected her work and grinned. "Yep, all gone!"

Sirius could only breathe out a rough, "Thanks," as he turned away from her while she sat on the ground and began doodling in the dirt with her knife. This girl had just wiped a fleck of his dead friend's blood off his face as if she was a mother wiping chocolate off of a child. His breath was quickly becoming uneven at the absurdity of it, recalling that the last time he'd had a friend's blood on him had been when he'd found James' body. Lily had been clean since she had taken Voldemort's curse willingly, but James had tried to hold him off for her as long as he'd been able to, which likely wasn't very long. He had probably thrown whatever spells he could at Voldemort while also throwing himself to the ground or behind furniture to avoid being hit with the unblockable Killing Curse. The debris littering the floor indicated as much, as did some cuts and scrapes Sirius found on James.

The image of the Governor swinging Michonne's katana at Hershel played vividly in his mind and Sirius had to physically shake not only his head but his hands, too, to get rid of it. He pressed his fingers to his temples and focused on steadying his breathing as he tried to hide his reaction from the girls.

Someone touched his elbow and he jumped. He looked down to see Mika standing there, smiling sadly at him. "Look at the flowers." She pointed to a small patch of buttercups. Sirius' eyes landed on them but he didn't see anything special about them; they were rather common. Before he could ask, Mika muttered, "Lizzie gets attacks too. My dad and I found it helps her get through them if we find something pretty or nice for her to look at until she calms down."

Sirius took a deep breath and did as Mika suggested, keeping his eyes locked on the stupid buttercups and forcing himself to think only of how ridiculously bright and yellow they were against all the green and brown tones around them. They were such stubby little things. He remembered one time in his last year at Hogwarts when Lily had tucked a buttercup behind her ear and James made an idiotic joke about Lily having an identity crisis over what flower she was named after.

The memory was enough to make him let out the smallest huff of laughter and he found his breathing even again. He looked back at Mika with raised eyebrows and gave her a quiet, very sincere, "Thank you."

She smiled more broadly and replied, "You're welcome."

After taking a few minutes to slowly walk around and rock Judith to help settle her, Sirius made himself as comfortable as he could leaning against a tree with Judith snuggled against his chest in her sling. He was slightly taken aback when Mika came over and lay down on her side next to his leg, nestling her head on the top of his thigh and curling in on herself. He couldn't help smiling at seeing how much she trusted him, and he brough his arm down around her shoulder. Then Lizzie came over as well, but stopped and stood before him hesitantly, hugging herself. He tilted his head toward his other side to beckon her over. She snuggled into his ribcage instead of lying on the ground and Sirius lifted his other arm to wrap around her as she burrowed her head against the side of his chest.

As shitty as things were right now, Sirius couldn't help feeling a warmth spread through him as these three little girls clung to him. It made him ache with a longing to have had been able to hold Harry like this through his childhood so that he could have grown up feeling safe and secure and loved. Hell, he'd still hold Harry like this now as a teenager if he didn't think he'd embarrass the kid.

He closed his eyes, hoping with all his heart that Harry was okay. Despite how worried Sirius was, he had faith in Harry after everything his godson had survived so far. Knowing Harry had gotten away from the prison and that Rookwood hadn't killed him made him feel better about his odds as well.

Some minutes later, the sound of Mika snoring softly filled Sirius' ears. It was oddly endearing.

"Hey, Sirius?" Lizzie said quietly.

Sirius opened his eyes. "Hm?"

"Do you think killing makes someone a bad person?"

He took a moment to choose his words. "I think…in general, yes, but it depends on the circumstances. If you're defending yourself or someone else, definitely not." Sirius thought about how viciously he'd killed the Governor and how, while it was in defense of Rick, the way he'd gone about it had been driven by vengeance for Michonne and Hershel. He wasn't sure if that made him a bad person or not, but if it did, he was okay with it. Not that he would tell Lizzie that.

"I killed two people during the battle," Lizzie eventually said.

Sirius looked down at her, not expecting to hear that. She tilted her head up to look back at him, her eyes somewhat uncertain but not emotional. He gave her a quick squeeze with his arm before bringing his hand up to slowly stroke her hair.

He cleared his throat and murmured, "How'd it happen?"

Lizzie looked down again and returned her cheek to where it had been pressed against Sirius' chest, seeming to relax at his touch. "Sasha, Tyreese, Maggie, and Karen were running away. I saw a man and a woman going after them, so I snuck up and shot them."

Sirius exhaled through his nose and leaned over to kiss the top of Lizzie's head. "You defended the people you care about. That doesn't make you a bad person at all."

Lizzie was quiet for another moment. "What if I kind of…liked it?"

Sirius tensed and stared straight ahead, now somewhat unnerved, though he tried to sound casual. "What do you mean?"

"You know how when you haven't eaten in a while, you don't feel very good but you kind of get used to it? Then when you do get some food again, you feel stronger and happier? Well…it was kind of like…like that…I mean, I shot at those people to protect Sasha and the others, but I also felt like it gave me more…energy or something. It made my mood better."

Alarm bells were ringing loudly in Sirius' head, but he tried not to jump to conclusions. After all his time in Azkaban, he wasn't exactly a good representation of a mentally healthy human. He had issues with depression and rage that he had struggled not to expose to others after escaping prison. He knew people could sometimes see his lack of wholeness, but none of them had any real idea of how deep it went. They didn't know how fixated he could get on his anger for people who had wronged him or those he loved, or how sometimes he had violent urges that yearned to be released with that anger. Truthfully, these were things he carried before James and Lily were killed and before Azkaban, likely having begun festering inside him while growing up with his parents, but his time in Azkaban had definitely made it all worse. There was a large accumulation of darkness inside him that he regularly fought not to act on.

He didn't entirely understand what Lizzie was talking about, but he did a little, and he wasn't sure if he was more disturbed by what she was saying to him so much as that he did actually relate to it somewhat.

Knowing how challenging and isolating it was to struggle with mental/emotional issues like this, Sirius didn't want to judge Lizzie harshly or turn her away. She was an orphaned child in an incredibly ugly, brutal world, and she deserved compassion.

"I think it's okay to…feel that way," Sirius said slowly, "as long as you don't let it control you. So if you hurt someone just to satisfy those feelings, that's bad, but if you hurt someone to keep yourself or someone else safe, and you happen to feel that way when it happens, well, that's okay. That's not something you can help. Does that make sense?"

"I think so," Lizzie replied. "What if it's animals?"

"Have you killed animals before?"

Lizzie nodded against his chest. "Mice and rats, mostly. I…I didn't start doing it until after the Walkers came. Then after my mom died, I started doing it more. And I've really been wanting to do it more this week, after my dad died. I've been finding rats at the prison and stabbing them. Sometimes I feed them to the Walkers."

Sirius closed his eyes as he was hit with a hard pang of sympathy. Well, that explained why Walkers were continuing to be attracted to the prison even though he had been hunting them. From what he could tell, Lizzie seemed to have some kind of mental disorder that worsened more with trauma, maybe even with age, too, as she was just beginning adolescence. He wasn't really sure what to say.

"I don't want to have these feelings," Lizzie continued. "I don't want to be a bad person."

Sirius squeezed her against him again. "I know, honey…I don't think you're a bad person. We've all got both light and dark inside us. I think you're just a good person who bad things have happened to."

They stayed silent some more for a while as Mika and Judith continued to sleep. Sirius was deep in thought about Lizzie's behavior and what he could do to help. Then he found himself having a question of his own.

"Does it bother you more to kill the Walkers than it does to kill people?" He recalled how Lizzie was naming Walkers by the fence the day of the Big Spot run and how she had gotten hysterical when Sirius was killing Walkers as they tried to escape the prison.

"Yeah," she answered.

"Why is that?"

"Because when you die as a person, you're still there. You just become different. When you die as a Walker, you don't come back at all." She looked up at Sirius again. "Sometimes I think our Walker forms are better versions of us. Like an upgrade or evolution."

She didn't wait for Sirius to respond before bringing her head back to its resting position. Sirius, meanwhile, tried to wrap his head around what she just said. He wasn't sure he had the energy right now to try to explain to Lizzie how convoluted her view was. That might be a topic to tackle later.

"You should try to sleep," he told her. Lizzie's breathing eventually became slow and deep like Mika's, but Sirius was up most of the night.

The next two days were an exercise in patience for Sirius, who longed to be able to push a faster pace to search for Harry. He couldn't help periodically wishing he was on his own so that he could take more risks, push through the nights, and not have to make so many stops while traveling during the day.

Judith obviously had a lot of needs as a baby, and he said several silent "thank yous" for the diaper bag, which had a good amount of baby food. The diapers he could duplicate magically. He had begun putting Silencing Charms on her when she cried, which he wished he had thought to do when they were first escaping the prison, but with so many things running through his mind at once, the idea hadn't come to him. Perhaps that was for the better, as Sirius had found himself rather hesitant the first time he was about to silence her. Even though he knew it would do her no harm, a part of him felt guilty anyway, as if he was stripping her of a natural freedom. He knew he couldn't risk attracting Walkers, though, so he went through with it. Judith's mouth still opened and her face still scrunched up, but no noise came out.

Lizzie and Mika, for their credit, were fairly helpful, but Sirius had to worry about finding food for them. If alone, Sirius would go without food for as long as he could to keep himself moving. After all, he was used to starving from his time on the run. He couldn't let Lizzie and Mika suffer that way, however, and he couldn't let them push themselves that hard. It would be both cruel and negligent. He managed to hunt and catch some small animals as Padfoot. The problem was his lack of knowledge in how to prepare and cook the animals safely so that the kids didn't get sick. He skinned them as well as he could and made sure to cook everything well, but he only actually let the girls eat small portions of the meat that passed his inspection. So while Lizzie and Mika weren't quite satisfied, they still had at least something in their system to keep them going, and they didn't get sick from it.

Sirius was currently leading the girls through the woods as a dog, nose to the ground as he tried to detect the scent of Harry or anyone else they knew. Lizzie carried Judith while Mika carried the diaper bag as they both trailed behind, gabbing to each other about all sorts of different things that Sirius wasn't paying much attention to. So far, animals were the only living things he could pick up.

"Berries!" Mika exclaimed at one point. "Sirius, can we eat these?"

Sirius turned around and moved over to the bush she was pointing at. He sniffed the berries and his canine senses told him they were edible. This trick didn't work for the meat he cooked because Padfoot could consume dead animals much more safely than a human, whereas the berries were safe for the girls if they were also safe for him. He nudged Mika's hand toward them in affirmation with his muzzle before resuming his hunt.

He got a decent way ahead of them while making sure they were still within earshot. Then something caught his attention and he paused. He smelled another human, and it was a scent he recognized from the prison community. It didn't belong to Harry or Daryl, the people he had been around as a dog frequently enough to identify, but he still knew it belonged to an ally. He followed the scent with excitement until he reached a large old tree with a deep hollow at the trunk.

Whoever he smelled was inside.

Sirius returned to human form and drew his wand, just in case. "Hello? It's Sirius. It's safe to come out."

There was no noise or movement at first, but then there was a shuffling and scraping sound and someone emerged, hunched over, from the hollow. They stood upright, a gun in hand.

"Carol!" Sirius breathed, smiling. Sure, she wasn't necessarily Sirius' favorite person, but he liked to think they had been turning over a new leaf before everything had gone to hell. Not to mention, she had offered to ensure no one murdered Harry while Sirius retrieved the antibiotics. Regardless, he was just happy to see another member of their community safe.

She was dirty and had a cut lip, but looked okay otherwise as she eyed him up and down. "How'd you know I was in there?"

"Smelled you," Sirius replied before quickly adding, "as a dog, I mean. I'm glad you got out."

She shook her head. "I wasn't there for the fight. I got back in time to see the smoke and the Walkers everywhere. I got close enough to find the Governor's body and…" she sighed, "Hershel's head. And I saw a tank off in the distance."

Sirius frowned. "Got back from where?"

Carol's eyes roamed as she holstered her gun and adjusted the bag on her back. "Oh, Rick and I went on a quick scavenge nearby while you were on the medicine run, just to see if we could find anything to provide temporary relief for the sick until you got back. I decided to keep looking and told Rick to keep an eye on Harry for me. And I made sure to ask Beth to check in on him before I left."

Something in Carol's demeanor seemed off, but Sirius couldn't place what. Before he could say anything else, he heard footsteps behind him and Lizzie excitedly called, "Carol!"

The girls ran past him to embrace Carol, Lizzie hugging her sideways to avoid crushing Judith.

"Oh, my girls!" Carol said happily, hugging them tightly. "You're okay!"

"Yes, ma'am, we're strong," Lizzie said with pride as she pulled away. "We did things just like you taught us."

Carol touched a palm to Lizzie's cheek, still smiling deeply. "I'm so glad." She brought her hand back and looked up at Sirius, her expression becoming solemn. "Sirius…I saw one of them."

Pretty sure he understood but still needing to check, he asked, "Who?"

"A witch. A bad one."

"Where?"

"There's a river not far from here." She pointed in the general direction. "I saw her yesterday. She tried to kill me."

---

Carl was sprinting so hard down the country road that he was kicking up dust, which swirled and settled in the air behind him. Somewhere ahead, a baby was wailing. He knew without question that it was Judith, even when a small voice in the back of his mind kept whispering, I thought we lost her…

As the cries became louder, the sound of several Walkers growling also began to fill Carl's ears. He grunted as he attempted to throw himself forward even faster. The volume of both the cries and the growls steadily increased as he ran, only to immediately stop as he rounded the corner of a small shop he remembered scavenging with his dad.

Carl came to an abrupt halt, surprised and confused by what he was seeing. There were no Walkers. His mother was sitting on the ground, her back against the building, cradling a bundle in her arms. Lori merely cast Carl a small smile before returning her gaze to the bundle, which Carl assumed contained a baby. He couldn't see it, though.

"You found her?" he asked breathlessly.

Lori only nodded. She stayed silent, as did the bundle. Then, after a moment, Lori looked up at Carl and held the bundle out to him. Carl took it from her as his mother stood.

"Judith, you in there?" he said quietly as he began unwrapping the blankets. A little baby hand poked out and flexed its tiny fingers before Carl revealed the face.

He gasped. It was indeed his baby sister in the bundle, but it wasn't her anymore. She looked up at him with glassy eyes while her mouth opened and closed, eliciting a high-pitched, screechy sort of growl.

Carl's gaze snapped up to his mother, who was standing there with her arms crossed and lips pursed, her eyes dull and cold.

"Your father let this happen," Lori said. Then she shook her head in disappointment and walked away, disappearing behind the building.

Carl stared at the Walker Judith had become, her hand reaching up for him. He stifled a sob. Walker Judith was reaching for him because he was food, but human Judith—the real Judith—would often reach for him because she wanted the physical contact, the affection. She would grab at his chin or his nose and coo or giggle.

And then Carl's heart sank when he realized his mother had left him to put Judith down.

He shook his head. "I can't…I can't…not again, not to you…"

His head swiveled in all directions, looking around for help even though he knew no one was there. He looked back down at the baby Walker and shook his head again.

Carl lowered himself to a crouch and set the bundle on the ground. It continued to screech as he backed away.

He collided into something behind him and whirled around with a stumble. The Governor was standing there, his eye looking beyond Carl at the bundle.

The Governor exhaled sharply through his nose. "This was always going to happen." He walked past Carl and pointed a gun at the bundle, Carl watching as he fired.

Carl woke with a jolt, lifting his head and looking around. He was in the living room of the vacant house he and his father had found yesterday, the day after the battle of the prison. It was in a suburban neighborhood that they had only scavenged here and there while still at the prison, as the neighborhood was contaminated with quite a solid amount of Walkers scattered all over the place.

He sighed and rubbed hard at his eyes before sitting up and looking across the living room, where Rick still slept on the couch a few feet away, his breaths coming out as wheezes. He had been sleeping deeply their first two nights away from the prison, to a point where Carl was pretty sure he was actually unconscious due to the severity of his injuries as opposed to just being asleep.

Injuries acquired fighting and almost being killed by the Governor (Carl inwardly thanked Sirius for saving his dad and finishing the job), who Rick had known was still out there and had tried to pretend was no longer a threat. He'd tried to make Carl transition from being a fighter to a farmer, and Carl had gone along with it because he trusted Rick, trusted that his dad knew what he was doing. Yet the Governor eventually came and no one was ready for him. Michonne went out and got herself killed trying to put an end to him because she, like Carl, was certain that he would return, and she respected Rick's decision to step back, but she couldn't do the same. If Rick had assembled a team to track the bastard down before he could recover his resources, the Governor could have been killed cleanly; Judith, Michonne, and Hershel would still be alive; and they would all still have a home.

Rick had buried his head in the soil and everyone else paid the price for it.

Carl scowled at his father and shook his head, standing up and stretching before standing over the couch. The first few hours that the two of them had made their way from the prison, they had clung to each other in their grief, but after the shock and devastation had subsided, Carl had started walking ahead of Rick as he found himself frothing with contempt. Rick had tried using his hoarse, raspy voice to call for Carl to slow down as he limped along, and Carl had ignored him. Carl's anger and irritation with Rick had only continued to build as they went, especially every time his dad had tried to give him some kind of instruction or order him not to do something. The fact that the man had the audacity to still think he knew what was best had grated at Carl with an incessant intensity.

He shook Rick's shoulder and said, "Dad," three times before giving up. Rick was still alive and breathing, but Carl knew there was a very real chance he could still die.

"If you're gonna do it, just do it already," Carl muttered.

He was about to wipe off a spoon and bowl from the kitchen for the stale cereal they'd scavenged, but without milk, it seemed silly to dirty the dishes. Instead, he sat at the kitchen table with a book and ate the Frosted Flakes by hand right out of the box. The crunches were loud in his mouth with no other sound around. He missed reading with the background noise of the mundane hustle and bustle of the prison. It had always been a source of comfort.

After deciding he was full enough and finishing the chapter he was on, Carl changed his clothes and holstered his gun at his waist, taking some of the small stash of ammo for himself. He made one more attempt to wake his dad, sighed, and then made sure the front door was properly barricaded. He started walking toward the more secure side door of the house before the resentment inside him brought him to a halt. He cast a last look at Rick, hating him for his passivity and uselessness…hating him for failing so badly and causing Carl to lose everyone and everything else that mattered.

"I'd be fine if you died," Carl said scornfully before leaving.

He walked down the street of the small suburban neighborhood with the intention of clearing and scavenging some of the surrounding houses. A couple of Walkers stumbled his way from a yard two houses ahead. He looked around and spotted a knocked over mailbox with a broken post. He grabbed the post and held the pointy end up.

Carl drove the post through both Walker skulls and then took it with him as he entered the first house on his list. He kept it raised and ready as he slowly stepped through the house, smacking it on walls and doors to draw any Walkers to him. He gradually relaxed as he continued to explore without encountering any threats, letting the post fall more loosely at his side.

He collected a few things from the first floor that he found to be potentially useful, like a roll of fishing line and some binoculars, and then went upstairs. He cleared two bedrooms and a bathroom before there was only one room left. Carl was sure it was safe since its door was open and no Walkers had come out by now, but he still approached it with caution.

His mouth fell open as he crossed the threshold, a small gasp escaping his lips. This bedroom had clearly belonged to a teenager, most likely a boy based on the clothes that were strewn about and the decorations. He looked around at the posters, sound system, and video games with reverence, as if he was at a museum exhibit for a unique historical period.

He began sifting through the stack of video games, spotting a few that he had played and a few others that he knew of from commercials or other kids. He wondered if Harry had ever played any video games, as he knew Harry had originally lived with Muggles until turning eleven (although from the sound of it, Harry's relatives likely would never have let him). Did wizards have video games? If not, Carl considered that a major mistake. He wasn't sure if he could choose between video games and magic if he had the option.

He wished Harry was here. It would be fun to peruse all this stuff with him and pretend they were normal teenagers who weren't traumatized in a post-apocalyptic environment.

He wondered for the millionth time if Harry was alive.

Carl abandoned the video games and made a beeline for the comics. He began shuffling through them with a fervor in hopes of finding the next issue of the comic series he had been reading at the prison. A grin spread across his face when he found not only the next issue he needed, but the next two issues as well.

"No way!" he breathed. He put the later issues in his bag and then plopped down on the navy blue beanbag chair with the first issue he needed. He leaned back, stretched his legs out in front of him, and began reading.

Carl gave himself fifteen minutes before deciding he needed to get moving. He marked his spot in the comic and added it to his bag. He then turned his attention to the clothes in the closet and dresser, trying to find things he could wear. He found a couple of cool shirts and stuffed those and a pair of jeans in his bag. Then he cast the room one last look of longing and left.

Since Carl hadn't found any food in that house, he decided to see what he could find in the next one. He still had a small amount of room in his bag, and he reminded himself that he could drop things back off and then return for more.

He was rummaging through the cupboards of the next house's kitchen when he started to hear several Walker growls outside. He peered out the windows to see a group of five of them coming his way from across the street. Returning to his search, Carl decided the Walkers could wait until he was back outside.

The majority of the cupboards were bare, but Carl had yet to try the top ones, which were too high for him to reach. He stood on a chair, keeping his expectations low, and opened them.

"Oh, hell yeah," he laughed to himself. A large box of Pally's chocolate bars sat before him with all the allure of a treasure chest. He remembered how the candy bars were commonly used for school or sports fundraisers before the turn. He himself had had to sell some to raise money for his soccer team.

Carl pulled the box down with him and dumped the bars into his bag with glee. He kept one bar out to eat right then and there, unwrapping it with fumbling fingers. The first bite had him closing his eyes and moaning through the mouthful of chocolate. He quickly finished the bar and then headed out to go drop off his first haul, as he had officially run out of space in his bag.

He took the back door out to avoid the group of Walkers, which were now congregating in the front yard. He carefully crept to the next backyard before going through the gap between the two houses and back to the street. The Walkers he'd seen out the window were now at the house he'd just scavenged, meandering around the front porch. Carl kept glancing over his shoulder to check that they hadn't noticed him as he headed in the opposite direction of them. He was almost back to "his" house when he heard Walkers growling somewhere ahead of him.

Carl halted, listening carefully. It sounded like more than there had been in the group he'd just ditched, and it sounded like they were coming his direction. He readied his gun.

Sure enough, a group of seven or eight Walkers emerged from around the corner of the house across from Carl and Rick's. They made an immediate beeline for Carl, who began swearing under his breath. He knew he couldn't take them all on by himself, but he didn't want to lead them to his house. Even if he managed to slip back inside safely, they would be at the doors and windows trying to get in, leaving him and his injured, likely still unconscious father trapped. And even if Rick woke up right now and came rushing outside, he was in no shape to help.

Useless.

Carl set his jaw and reminded himself that he didn't need his dad anymore. The growth Carl had experienced since the turn had not only put him on an equal footing with Rick in terms of competence, but Carl had now surpassed his father's ability to understand the world they were in and what was required of them. Carl couldn't stay good and innocent and protected like Rick wanted him to.

No more kid stuff.

Carl started jogging back the other way, in the direction of the houses he'd scavenged. The Walkers closer to his house were following him like he wanted. Now the problem was that he was bringing both them and himself closer to the smaller group of Walkers on the porch of the chocolate bar house. He was now giving himself at least a dozen to deal with.

But he made sure he got the attention of the porch Walkers too, and once he had the attention of all of them, he hurried between two houses on the left side of the street. He kept glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were still following him as he began cutting through backyards to get to the next street over.

Carl continued leading the Walkers away from his house until he'd gotten them another two streets away. He stopped briefly to bend over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. He glanced up to check on his pursuers and realized there was less space between them now. Carl was getting tired. The Walkers didn't have that problem.

He brought his gun up and shot the two closest Walkers, dropping them both, then ran down the street. Now that he felt they were a safe distance from his house, he wanted to ditch them and make his way back to the street he and Rick were residing on.

Another three Walkers, presumably drawn by the noise, appeared from a house ahead of Carl that had been torn apart, its front door hanging off the hinges.

"Shit!" Carl skidded to a stop and made a sharp turn to the left. The house closest to him had a decorative lattice wall that reached the garage roof. He started climbing, ignoring the stitch in his side and the way the wood of the lattice was rough on his hands as he gripped it. He got halfway up when the next bit of lattice he stepped on broke. He yelped as he slid down a short way. He managed to catch himself, scraping the palms of his hands, which only smarted more when he gripped the lattice more tightly.

A quick glance over his shoulder told him that the Walkers were closing in on him below. Carl rushed up the rest of the lattice without any further issues and scrambled over the gutter of the garage roof, careful not to let his bag fall. He got to his feet as fast as he could and pointed his gun at the Walkers from above them. He wasn't one hundred percent sure they wouldn't be able to climb up after him, but he didn't think they could.

Carl counted his bullets with a frown. He had nine left. It wouldn't be enough to kill all of them, even if he hit each Walker in the head on the first try, so he knew he had to pick his shots and could only afford to shoot if he was confident in his aim.

He took a steadying breath, eying the Walkers reaching up for him and ignoring the cacophony of their growls. He began shooting, but with enough pause in between shots to truly focus his aim. Only two of his shots missed the head, leaving him rid of seven Walkers. A definite help, but still not great. Six still remained, and if he wanted to kill them, it would have to be up close.

He pulled the mailbox post from his bag and moved to the opposite end of the roof, sitting down with his legs dangling. He hesitated over the height, but knew he didn't have much time if he wanted to get back to the ground without getting barraged by the Walkers. He dropped the post and his bag onto the grass below him and awkwardly hefted as much of his torso as he could over the gutter before letting go and dropping. His feet hit the ground before his legs crumpled under him and he fell onto his side with a grunt. The breath had whooshed out of his lungs somewhat and his body ached in protest of the impact, but he was able to get to his feet. He snatched the post off the ground and moved to the corner of the garage, leaning against it and peering around.

Two of the Walkers were coming around the opposite corner, having abandoned their place groping for him at the lattice wall. Carl kept in view of the two advancing on him but took several steps backward to put more distance between them and their companions. Then he methodically moved forward enough that one of the two Walkers deemed him near enough to lunge at.

Carl brought the point of the post through the Walker's eye before pulling it back out with a hard yank. Then he darted sideways out of the way of the second Walker before ramming the post into the side of its head.

Only four left.

Carl ran back to the front of the garage and tried to charge at least one of the Walkers from behind. It turned its head toward him just as he reached it and he used his momentum to plunge the post through its forehead.

The Walker stopped moving, but the post was stuck. Carl tried to wriggle it out as the Walker's body began to sag, pulling uncomfortably at his wrist. The other three Walkers were behind that one and immediately began converging on Carl. After one more failed pull, he abandoned the post and ran back into the street, eyes darting around.

The house that sat diagonally from this one had a rake lying in its front yard. Carl sprinted over and grabbed it just as the remaining Walkers caught up to him. He swung the rake high at them, hitting two of them and knocking them down. He took a few bashes at the skull of the one lying closest to him, but it wasn't enough to kill it and the still standing Walker was upon him.

Carl swung the rake at that Walker and knocked it down as the one he had already dropped but hadn't tried bashing yet returned to its feet. He knocked that one down again and, this time, flipped the rake upside down to try plunging the handle through its head. With a few attempts, he broke through enough of the head that the Walker was killed. He repeated his process with the other two, knocking them down when they got back up and then driving the end of the rake through them.

Once they were all finally dead, Carl stood there, panting, before dropping the rake, taking a few steps back from the corpses, and sitting down in the grass. His palms were scrapped and bloody. His ankle ached but wasn't broken or sprained, and his hip bone and elbow ached too, his elbow visibly bruised. There were rips in his jeans from all the climbing and Walker blood splotched his entire ensemble.

He was still sitting there catching his breath when he heard footsteps that didn't belong to Walkers. A group of rather dirty, tattered men were walking toward him from one of the houses adjacent to the one with the lattice wall. Carl leapt to his feet and drew his gun in an instant, knowing he had no bullets but hoping the men didn't know that.

He aimed at them and yelled, "Stay the fuck back!"

A couple of the men laughed, but none of them stopped moving. They instead began spreading out and edging around Carl to surround him. Carl's aim shifted from person to person, not liking his odds right now but determined not to show fear.

"Easy there, friend," the man who had been at the center of the group said, grinning and raising his hands up in surrender as he came to a stop. The rest of the men all pointed weapons at Carl, most of them having guns, two of them having crossbows. "We just wanted to tell ya how impressed we were with that display of badassery just now."

"I don't give a shit if you were impressed or not," Carl spat, maintaining an icy glare on what appeared to be the leader of the group. "Back off or you can join them." He nodded at the nearest Walker corpses.

Everyone in the group laughed, the leader's grin only broadening. "Well, you better pick that rake back up, kid, 'cause I know you ain't got any bullets left."

Carl clenched his teeth, hoping his face wasn't betraying his fear. He had no chance against these guys, who not only outnumbered him but all had long-range weapons. He remembered when Harry had told him about being in a graveyard with Voldewart (or whatever his name was) and several of his followers, how Vol—the super powerful dark wizard—had insisted that Harry duel him when both of them knew Harry had no chance of victory. Harry said he had been taking cover behind a tombstone when he realized he would rather go out fighting than hiding.

Carl reholstered his gun in a flash and swooped up the rake he had dropped, holding it up like a baseball bat and staring determinedly into the leader's eyes. He had told Harry he was a badass not for his magic, but for how he chose to face everything head-on, with courage and honor. In this moment, Carl realized he had a choice to do the same thing.

If these men were going to kill him, Carl wanted to die with his weapon raised (even if it was a goddamn rake), ready to fight, not cowering or begging for his life. If he was about to die, Carl wanted to die like a man.

The group laughed even harder. Carl's heart was pounding so hard that he was sure everyone could hear it. He gripped the rake with sweaty, shaking hands and took a half step closer to the leader to show he meant business.

"Well, look-it here!" the leader said, eyes wild with what seemed to be excitement. "Boy wants to go out in a blaze of glory! Isn't that something?" Still keeping his hands up, the leader took a few steps closer to Carl, who felt his face scrunch up in both fear and defiance, his breaths coming out faster and shorter to match the frantic staccato of his heart. The man dropped his hands and then, taking Carl by complete surprise, stuck his right hand out for Carl to shake. "Name's Joe. How about you, kid?"

Carl looked at the hand suspiciously but didn't shake it. He wasn't about to take a hand off his only weapon. "Carl."

"All right then, Carl…how's about you put that silly rake down before my boys snuff out that fire in your eyes for good?" Apparently realizing Carl wasn't ready for a handshake, Joe retracted his hand and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, watching Carl thoughtfully. "We don't wanna hurt ya. A scrappy guy like yourself would make a fine addition to our group, is all. Or do you already have a group to go back to?"

Carl blew out a drawn exhale. "Not anymore."

"Yeah, I thought so." Joe looked Carl up and down, his eyes coming to rest on Carl's hat with a quiet little laugh. "You a bootlicker, Carl?"

Realizing what Joe was looking at, Carl said, "It was my dad's."

"Uh huh…and where's your old man now?"

Carl deepened his scowl and tried to drench his next words with bitterness, hoping to sell them. "Dead, obviously." As much anger and resentment as Carl had for his father right now, he still didn't want Joe and his men to find him.

Joe had the good grace to briefly bow his head in what appeared to be a genuinely solemn manner. "Ahh, I'm sorry, man." He looked back up at Carl, smirking as he shrugged. "All the more reason to come with us, right? No one's tough enough to survive the new world alone." He gestured at his men. "I know we ain't exactly the warmest bunch, but we look out for each other. Or, we could, you know, just kill you and take all your stuff instead."

Carl swallowed. He knew enough by now that he could tell these men had no real loyalty to each other or anyone else, and that they had no problem resorting to violence when dealing with others. Those things didn't endear them to him by any means, but a part of Carl felt like maybe he belonged with them anyway. Clearly, they weren't about to let anyone have the chance to get one over on them like Carl's dad would. They didn't rail against how the world was now, but accepted it and adapted to it accordingly. And if Rick did survive his injuries, well…he'd be better off without Carl, really. He could make his own way without having any kids, a wife, or best friends to worry and stress over. Rick could finally be free…

As far as Carl was concerned, whoever he was before losing his little sister was gone, had been killed with her. The new Carl belonged with different people. He lowered the rake with a sigh and dropped it before looking at Joe and nodding.

"Okay."

---

When thoughts finally started forming in his head with some semblance of clarity and without him quickly drifting back to sleep, Harry opened his eyes to try to assess his situation. He had vague flashes of waking briefly earlier—one where he was upright, propped between two people who were hauling him away; one where he was on his back a few feet off the ground, one arm under his back and one under his legs, a familiar blonde figure running just ahead of him; and one where he was abruptly yanked from unconsciousness as a sharp burst of pain shot through his leg. He recalled occasional words passing through his ears without lingering while his head both throbbed and felt like it was floating. He had no concept of time and couldn't remember why he felt this way.

He focused on noting different pieces of information one at a time as they occurred to him.

It was dark. His glasses were on. He felt fresh air on his skin, smelled earth, and heard crickets. He was outside.

He was outside.

A panic swept over him. Was he in the Forbidden Forest? How had he ended up there?

He tried to sit up, but the motion made his head swim uncomfortably and he let it fall back where it had been, which, he realized, was a much softer surface than the hard ground his back and legs were lying on.

"Harry? Are you awake?" a familiar girl's voice asked softly.

He knew that voice, but he couldn't place whose it was at the moment. Whomever it belonged to, he knew she was a friend, and it was her leg that Harry's head was resting on.

"Mmhmm," he answered groggily, bringing a hand up to rub at his eye, only to flinch when he touched his nose in the process and was met with pain. "Wha's going on?"

"You got knocked out. That stupid tank sent you flying. Daryl and I had to get you out of there," the voice replied. Fingers gingerly caressed his forehead (away from his wound) and brushed his bangs back. He closed his eyes for a moment in contentment before opening them again when her words registered.

A tank?

Harry groaned, confused and uncomfortable. He tried to shift his legs and torso to a better position only to hiss in pain when he moved his right leg.

"Stay still," the girl said, lightly pressing a hand to his shoulder. "You got a nasty gash in your leg. Daryl's patched you up but you gotta take it easy."

There was that name, Daryl, again. Harry was struck with another wave of familiarity, yet he couldn't quite picture who Daryl was either. It was like when Hermione quizzed him with flashcards, giving him the name of a spell or a potion that Harry had to provide details for, details he remembered reading about but just couldn't pull from his mind. Then, when he remained stumped, she would provide the details and everything he'd read would come flooding back to him.

"How's your head?" a man's rather gravelly voice asked from a few feet away. Harry knew that voice too, knew he could trust whomever it belonged to.

"Weird," Harry said. "Hurts, but also feels…floaty?"

The man grunted. "Pretty sure you're concussed. You remember what happened?"

Harry closed his eyes again, trying to let pictures form. He remembered being at the Ministry of Magic, battling Death Eaters with his friends. Members of the Order showed up, including Sirius. Then…

Bellatrix Lestrange hit Sirius with a spell and Sirius disappeared through the mysterious Veil he'd been standing by. Harry had gone after him and…

And then what? He remembered woods…a building that looked like…a Muggle prison? And…

He opened his eyes, even more confused. He remembered corpses walking around trying to eat people. That part couldn't be real. He must have dreamed it.

But then a sudden image of one of these living corpses pulling intestines out of a woman's body and into its mouth flashed through Harry's mind.

He sat up and turned his head away to dry heave, the pain in his head only amplifying his nausea. A hand began rubbing his back soothingly. He could hear the girl shuffle somewhere behind him before pressing a water bottle into his hands. He gave one more dry heave before opening it and gulping a generous portion of it down.

Another image popped into his head: being in a bed in what looked like a cell, where a kind-looking old man urged him to stay hydrated and Sirius leaned against a wall, looking haggard but watching alertly.

"What…" he started to ask, even though he didn't have a full question formed.

The girl gently took the water bottle from him and rubbed his back some more. Harry tried to look at her. He could see her outline next to him in the dark and could only partly make out her face. The strain on his eyes hurt his head more and he had to look away. "Why don't you lie back down? We can talk more later. Just try to rest."

But why was it that this girl and this man were helping him and not Sirius?

Panic gripped him again. He reflexively tried looking around even though he'd already ascertained that it was too dark to properly see. "Where's Sirius?"

Another image: Sirius kneeling on the ground, hands behind his back, with the same old man from the cell bound and kneeling next to him. A man with an eyepatch swinging a sword at the old man's neck and his head sliding off.

Harry gasped. "Hershel! But that didn't…that didn't really…"

"My dad's gone, Harry," the girl replied quietly.

"Your dad? Beth?"

"Yeah, you remember me, don'tcha?"

More images: a slightly older blonde teenager laughing at something he'd said…the same girl giving him a quick peck on the cheek…her sitting across from him on a bed playing a card game with him.

"Yeah…yeah, I remember," Harry replied slowly. "Who's here with us?"

"Daryl."

An angry man pointing a crossbow at him and Sirius in the woods…the same man in a cell, telling him he could keep "Padfoot" if he asked the Council's permission…him carefully checking Harry for injuries in another block of the prison.

Harry remembered Daryl too. "Is anyone else here?"

"Just the three of us."

That's not right. There should be more of us than that.

With a jolt of panic, Harry realized he didn't know where Sirius was. He didn't remember if he'd already asked, but said, "Where's Sirius? Is he okay?"

He was met with silence before Daryl eventually replied, "We ain't sure."

Harry immediately stood, hissing at the pain in his leg and blinking away the wave of dizziness. "We have to find him!"

"We can't look for him in the dark, Harry," said Beth, trying to pull him back down to the ground. "We'll try tomorrow. You gotta sit back down."

Harry couldn't believe this. Sirius had been in grave danger. Didn't they understand? There wasn't time to waste! He tried to yank his arm away from Beth. She let go but grabbed him again, more firmly.

"I don't need to sit down!" he argued.

"Yes, you do," Beth said somewhat impatiently, keeping her arm hooked around his so he couldn't go anywhere. "You got a concussion, remember?"

That confused Harry. Sure, his head ached and felt weird, but he was forming coherent thoughts, right? "No, I'm fine!"

There was some rustling off to the side, followed by footsteps, and Harry realized Daryl was coming over to him.

"You're not fine," Daryl growled. "The fact you don't remember me telling you you're concussed a minute ago is proof. Ya need to lie back down and chill out."

A pair of arms that Harry assumed were Daryl's wrapped around his chest from behind and began gradually pulling him down.

"What—no, get off me!" Harry tried to squirm free. He needed to find Sirius. Why was Daryl trying to stop him?

But his injured leg gave out in protest and he found himself dropping, though Daryl kept hold of him to make sure he didn't actually fall. Once Harry was lowered back to a sitting position, leaning back on his hands as his leg throbbed, Daryl let go and moved to a crouch in front of Harry.

"Ya need to try and sleep and stay put," Daryl said firmly.

"I thought you weren't supposed to fall asleep with a concussion?" said Beth.

"Nah, that's a myth. Sleep helps heal concussions. Ya just gotta watch the person to make sure they don't get worse."

Now that he was sitting again and feeling more drained of energy from trying to leave, Harry did find his eyelids were becoming heavy. Sleep actually sounded great.

"All right, fine," he conceded. "But we're looking for Sirius tomorrow."

No one agreed or argued. Beth moved so that she was behind Harry again, presumably leaning against the tree. "You can put your head in my lap again. For a pillow."

Normally, Harry would have protested, but his head was fuzzy and he was so tired. He did as Beth suggested and was quickly asleep again.

When he next woke, he heard birds and the sound of something scraping around a can. He opened his eyes and blinked several times. The sun was high and shining bright. The ground was hard and uncomfortable beneath his back, while his neck felt strained. Slowly sitting up, he saw that a backpack had been placed under his head, which still ached and had that floating sensation, but it seemed to be on a lesser scale. He made to fold his legs in closer to himself until a sharp wave of pain in his thigh had him gasping and clutching at it.

"Hey," a familiar voice said. He looked up to see Beth sitting a few feet from him, holding a can of beans over her legs, which were folded in front of her pretzel style. Her blue eyes took him in warily as she chewed, the dark circles prominent beneath them.

Harry merely returned her gaze with a vague "hey…" of his own as he tried to piece together his situation. He remembered everything from the moment he and Sirius had passed through the Veil up until being sick in block A. He also remembered Beth and someone else—he was pretty sure it had been Daryl—telling him they'd had to escape.

Escape from what?

"Er…why are we out here again?" Harry asked, gingerly touching a finger to his nose to see how much it hurt and wincing at the contact.

"Do you remember the attack at the prison?" Beth replied.

Harry concentrated. He remembered seeing Sirius and Hershel had been captured, being held hostage in the yard by Bellatrix Lestrange and a couple other Death Eaters, along with the Governor. He remembered Rick standing up for him. He remembered Hershel getting executed and chaos breaking out. From there, everything was hazy.

"Sort of," said Harry. "I don't remember getting hurt or getting out." He frowned at how difficult it was to get his thoughts formed into words, speaking unintentionally slowly as if his words were wading through molasses.

"You got blasted by the Governor's tank," Beth said, scraping a spoon around for more beans.

He vaguely remembered running in pursuit of someone, only to then be sprawled facedown on the ground, tasting dust and dirt.

"Daryl was with us, right?" Harry asked.

Beth set her can down. "He's scavenging a gas station nearby. He'll be back soon."

Harry glanced around at the trees and the sky. None of the surroundings looked familiar. Based on the sun's position, it was clearly late afternoon.

How long had they been stationary here?

Beth reached for one of the backpacks and pulled out another can of beans and spoon, along with a half full water bottle. After opening the beans for him, she handed it all to Harry.

He didn't feel especially hungry, but accepted it gratefully. Once the first bite of beans hit his tongue, his stomach growled in enthusiastic approval and he soon found himself digging in.

Daryl returned as Harry was finishing his can, his eyes staying on Harry for a moment once landing there. Then he dropped several things on the ground and began moving around their campsite with a string and some empty cans and bottles, tying the string around the trees. It took Harry a moment to realize Daryl was setting up a makeshift alarm for any Walkers that came near.

"Aren't we leaving today?" Harry asked.

Daryl merely grunted, "nah," as he sat on the ground and began sharpening a knife.

Harry watched him, annoyed and waiting for him to elaborate, but Daryl didn't so much as glance up. "Well, why not? Sirius is out there somewhere!"

Daryl still didn't say anything or acknowledge him.

"Harry, we can't travel yet," said Beth. "You can't walk on that leg. We gotta let you heal a bit first."

"No! I—" Harry began pushing himself to his feet, unsteady. Beth came over and pushed him back down by his shoulders. He huffed and scowled up at her. "I'm fine! Really, I can walk on this. Sirius might be in danger. We need to find him!"

Daryl finally looked up, his eyes meeting Harry's directly. "Sirius might be dead."

The words jolted Harry. He only stared at Daryl as his mind scrambled to put thoughts together.

"Daryl!" Beth hissed reproachfully.

Daryl kept his eyes on Harry. "You'll slow us down too much right now. Won't be safe for any of us. We stay put a couple days or so, then we go." Daryl paused as Harry glared at him. "I ain't letting ya get yourself killed on the off chance your godfather is still alive."

Harry immediately attempted to leap to his feet, his eyes locked onto Daryl. He tried to ignore and hide the pain in his leg so as not to prove Daryl right. Beth grabbed his arms to stop him from falling as Harry stood there and wobbled for a moment. Daryl's eyes were dull as he watched Harry struggle.

"Harry…stop!" Beth grunted as she grappled with Harry and struggled to keep him still. He tried to pull out of her grasp to rush at Daryl, wanting to take a swing at him for believing Sirius might be dead, for being so quick to give up on him, and for stopping Harry from searching for him.

"Sirius would look for you!" Harry exclaimed, still trying to wrest free from Beth.

"Not if it put you at risk," Daryl said evenly. He watched Harry for another brief moment before looking back down at his knife. "End of discussion."

Harry stopped fighting Beth and stood there, staring at Daryl in disbelief and outrage, his leg trembling under him. Beth slowly let go of Harry's arms now that he didn't seem like he was about to attack.

Then an idea occurred to Harry that he couldn't believe took him so long to think of. He let out a soft laugh at his own idiocy and began reaching into his pockets for his wand. He remembered when, over two years ago now, Lupin had bandaged and braced Ron's broken leg with magic. Before Lupin's work, Ron hadn't been able to put any weight on his leg at all. The spell enabled him to at least walk slowly. Harry's leg wasn't as injured as Ron's had been, so if he applied the spell to himself, he could probably move even faster than Ron had. Sirius had started teaching him the same spell at the prison. While Harry hadn't fully mastered it yet, he was certain he could perform it well enough to make a difference after a few tries. He just had to sift through his addled brain for the name of the spell. He remembered it began with an F…

Harry frowned. His wand wasn't in his pockets. "Where'd you put my wand?" He gingerly lowered himself to the ground to pull one of the backpacks to him and began rummaging through it. He glanced up at Daryl and Beth as he searched. "Have one of you got it?"

Daryl and Beth exchanged looks with each other, Beth appearing nervous and Daryl seeming resigned. It gave Harry a sinking feeling in his gut. He pulled his hand from the backpack and sighed, keeping his eyes fixed somewhere in the space between his two companions. "It's not here, is it?"

There was another beat of silence before Beth said, "I think it got lost in the blast, Harry. I'm sorry. We would have looked for it but Walkers were all over the place. We had to get you out."

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose as anger bubbled inside him. Daryl and Beth didn't look for his wand and they wouldn't look for Sirius, at least not yet. He tried to remind himself that none of this was their fault and that, not only were they undeserving of his anger, but they were actually deserving of his gratitude. They had put themselves at risk to save him and were just trying to keep him safe now. Harry was the one who had gotten himself injured. Harry was the one currently holding them back. And…Harry was the one who had attracted Death Eaters to their home, who hadn't given himself up to make the Death Eaters leave.

Truthfully, Harry was angry with himself. Not only was he a liability, but without a wand, he was useless. The least he could do for the people who were risking themselves for him was use his magic to simplify matters for them a little, and he couldn't even do that.

"How am I supposed to kill Walkers now?" he asked gloomily, speaking out loud more than actually hoping for an answer.

Daryl caught his gaze and held it for a moment before returning his attention to the knife he'd been sharpening. He lifted it to eye level and turned it over a couple times, inspecting the blade. Then, he sheathed it and tossed it to Harry so that it landed on the ground next to his leg.

Taken aback, Harry looked at Daryl in askance before picking up the knife and unsheathing it. The blade was long and he could tell without touching it that it was considerably sharp. He glanced back at Daryl, confused.

Daryl bit at his thumbnail. "You're gonna learn to do it the Muggle way. Both of ya," he added with a nod at Beth. Then he pointed at the knife in Harry's hands. "That's yours now."

Harry looked over the knife some more before nodding and sheathing it. For now, it would have to do.

"Let's fix that nose too, before I forget," Daryl said, coming over to kneel in front of Harry. Harry closed his eyes as Daryl reached toward his face, carefully placing his fingers on Harry's nose. He gave him a countdown, pulled, and then there was a crunch and a sharp wave of pain that made Harry yelp.

After that, the rest of the day was spent mostly in silence, an air of despair hanging over their camp as if Dementors were guarding it. Beth occasionally tried to start some sort of conversation, Daryl ignoring her and Harry only responding halfheartedly. He really wasn't in the mood to talk, but Beth had just watched her father die a couple of days ago and he felt bad about leaving her hanging. He figured she was probably looking for some sort of distraction from her grief. Harry himself was distracted by his ruminations over where Sirius was and if he was okay, so it was hard for him to focus on what Beth said, his healing concussion not helping matters.

"Harry…Harry!"

Beth's voice made its way through his ears and he quickly brought his eyes to her. "Sorry. What was that?"

"I was just saying, we're gonna find Sirius," Beth said, leaning forward and raising her eyebrows emphatically. Harry frowned and looked away. "We are. You gotta believe it'll happen."

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back and looked up at the sky. "And what am I supposed to do if I find him and he's…he's a…"

He trailed off, unable to even say the words for the picture that kept running through his head. He clutched his injured leg as he scooted backward to press his back against the tree. He kept his eyes averted as he drummed his fingers along the ground, trying to contain his worry and frustration.

"He won't be," Beth said firmly. "You can't think like that. Instead, think about when you find him—alive—and how happy you'll be to see him. Think about that feeling and hold onto it."

Harry let his eyes drift back to hers, searching. As tired as her eyes were, they were also bright and earnest. How could she be so optimistic after everything? The world had spat in her face and she was still trying to see the good in it.

Daryl shot to his feet and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, stepping over the security string.

Beth watched him head off with a frown and called, "Where are you going?"

Daryl merely patted his crossbow and kept going without a pause or a glance back. Harry took that to mean he was going hunting. Beth stared off toward his path for a moment after he was gone and then stood herself, sighing.

"Guess I'll grab some stuff to make a fire," she said, brushing her hands off against each other. "Do you mind digging a pit?"

"Er…sure." Harry pushed himself off the tree and scooted away toward the center of their camp. He held his hands out in front of him, hesitating. He had never made a fire without magic before. It's not like the Dursleys ever took him camping or anything.

I bet Sirius would love to go camping.

The thought made the corner of his lip twitch up. He would have to ask Sirius if he had ever been camping, maybe with the other Marauders or with Harry's father and grandparents.

He looked up at Beth. "How much should I dig?"

She gave a half shrug. "About a foot, foot and a half."

Harry dug a pit that managed to earn Beth's approval and she got to work starting a fire after gathering enough kindling. He watched closely, knowing he may very well need to do this alone sometime now that he didn't have a wand.

Daryl eventually returned with a few squirrels and sat down to skin them, still silent. He cooked them and distributed the meat as evenly as he could to Harry and Beth, keeping a smaller portion for himself. It wasn't exactly a pleasant meal, but Harry had consumed worse, thinking of the time he'd had to drink Skelegrow for his boneless arm.

The sun set and they each lay down for sleep after sitting silently around the fire for a while. He spent at least half an hour lying there wide awake before his eyes gradually became more and more difficult to keep open.

"Trespassers in our territory…"

Harry's eyes snapped open and his whole body went stiff as he tried to discern whether he'd actually heard a voice or just dreamed it. There was no movement from Beth or Daryl and he didn't hear anything beyond the low whistle of a mild breeze and the leaves that rustled in response. He started to relax and was just about to try closing his eyes again when he heard another voice speak in a loud whisper.

"They are scaring away our food. This is unacceptable."

This time Harry sat up, leaning with one hand pressed to the earth as he looked around wildly. The sky was clearer, the moon fuller and brighter than last night, and there were still a couple of dying embers from the fire, so he could see well enough to make out what was what around him. Beth was still lying down, her torso slowly rising and falling as she slept. Daryl, on the other hand, sat up with much less urgency than Harry had.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked quietly.

"I heard someone talking," Harry breathed, still scanning his surroundings, expecting to see a figure poke out from behind a tree or stalking toward their camp. The cans on Daryl's perimeter hadn't made any noise that wasn't caused by the breeze.

"You sure?"

"You didn't hear them?" Harry whispered, still straining his ears in case the voices spoke again.

"Nah. Wait here."

Daryl got up and stealthily moved across the camp and over the security string. Harry held his breath as he listened and waited, trying to think of what to do if Daryl was attacked or someone attacked the camp. His hand searched the ground around him until it found his knife and he kept his hand on the handle.

"We cannot drive them away ourselves," the first voice said.

Now Harry was hurrying to his feet, hopping somewhat unsteadily until he found his balance. The knife was in his hand, unsheathed.

There was a shuffle behind him that had him turning sharply, a twinge of pain shooting through his leg. It was just Beth, rolling over and lifting her head to look at him.

"What are you doing?" she grumbled groggily.

"I heard someone," Harry said.

Beth groaned. "Was probably just a dream, Harry. Go back to sleep." She rolled back over, facing away from him.

Daryl returned, and Harry could see the man eying him carefully in the moonlight. "Didn't find nothing or no one."

"I know I wasn't dreaming. I heard them!" Harry insisted, annoyed and confused.

Daryl returned to the ground with a grunt, shifting around until he was in a somewhat comfortable position again. "No one's out there. It's probably your concussion messing with you. Go back to sleep. I'll hear if anyone's coming."

Grudgingly, Harry slowly lowered himself to the ground and sheathed the knife, making sure to set it in close reach of his hand. Under his breath, he mumbled, "You didn't hear them before."

Predictably, Harry had a difficult time falling back to sleep, unable to stop himself from taking in every little sound he heard and deciding if it was harmless or not. He managed to scrounge a few hours of broken sleep, as he kept startling awake.

In the morning, Daryl went out to check for a trail, but still found no indication that anyone had been near their little camp. He kept stealing wary glances at Harry as if expecting him to grow a second head at any moment. Harry could tell Daryl thought he was crazy. Even Beth was being awkward around him. Harry kept his space from them as he tried to recall exactly what he'd heard and if there was any way he could have been sleepwalking or something.

The bright side was that his leg was in significantly less pain, the gash already showing improvement, and his head was also much clearer as well. It no longer ached and he was finding himself remembering more specific details of everything that happened before the explosion.

Additionally, Daryl decided to start working with Harry and Beth on using weapons. Other than knives, they only had Daryl's crossbow, so Harry couldn't practice using a gun again, but Daryl did have him try out the crossbow now that he was able to put more weight on his leg.

Currently, Harry and Beth were taking turns shooting at an empty milk jug that Daryl had tied around a tree. Harry tried to adjust his stance according to Daryl's instructions and focused his aim on the jug. He was about to pull the trigger when he heard a voice, speaking in a loud whisper.

"You will bleed…you will bleed and be mine."

Harry lowered the crossbow and began looking around frantically. "Did you hear it that time?" he hissed at his companions.

"Hear what?" asked Beth.

"Seriously?!" Harry began pacing the area, craning his neck to try to see beyond all the trees around him. No one was visible.

He saw Daryl and Beth exchange concerned glances and turned to face them. "I'm not making this up! Someone's out there."

Daryl and Beth just stared at him, both of them looking nonplussed. Then, Daryl's eyes drifted past Harry.

"Gimme that," Daryl said, holding a hand out for the crossbow. "Quick."

Harry handed it to him, thinking maybe he'd finally spotted whoever Harry had heard. He turned and still didn't see anyone.

But he did see a snake slithering along the leaves just a few feet away.

Of course.

Daryl was pointing his crossbow at it.

"No, don't!" Harry pushed the crossbow down.

"The hell are you doing?" Daryl barked, trying to bring the crossbow back up and sidestep Harry, who kept stepping in his way, blocking his path. "We can eat that!"

"No, he could help us," Harry insisted.

Daryl stopped trying to maneuver around Harry and stayed where he was, the crossbow coming down slowly as his arms slackened. He was gaping incredulously at Harry, but Harry turned back around, his eyes darting over the forest floor until they landed on the snake, which was slithering away from them.

Harry stepped toward it, holding up a hand. "Wait! Please!"

The snake stopped where it was, its head rising and curving in an arc to look behind itself at Harry. Its tongue flickered out of its mouth.

"You speak my language?" it asked, and Harry realized he hadn't been hearing whispering; he'd been hearing hissing.

"Yes," Harry replied, stepping closer to the snake and kneeling carefully. "I come from a place where some humans have an ability to speak with snakes."

The snake adjusted itself so that it was fully facing Harry, raising its head higher to get closer to eye level with him. "You are exceptional, so I will spare you, but I must take one of your friends. Your presence in our territory has been chasing our prey away. My kin and I need food."

"I apologize. We will be leaving for good in a day or two, hopefully tomorrow. I cannot let you have one of my friends."

The snake hissed in a way that resembled a scoff, its head turning toward Beth and Daryl before its gaze refocused on Harry. "One of your friends wanted to kill me. You stopped him."

"Yes, he wanted to eat you. We have also been struggling for food. His aim with his weapon is very good. Perhaps we could call a truce?"

The snake stared at him for a moment. "We can do that. We will stay away for now. If you are not gone after tomorrow, we will return and your friends will be fair prey."

"Thank you," Harry said with a sigh of relief. "My name is Harry Potter. What is your name?"

"I am Basileus."

"Have you seen any other humans around here in the last few days, Basileus?"

"Not here, but a few miles that way." Basileus turned and nodded his head to where he was indicating. "There was a dark-haired man traveling with younglings two days ago."

"Harry's heart rate picked up in excitement. "That sounds like Sirius!"

Basileus lowered his head and released an agitated hiss. "My kin have also spread word of a man with a magic stick who burned some of our eggs. He was seen quite farther from here."

"What did he look like?"

"I did not see him, so I know not, but my kin say he was wounded. He bled from the top of the chest and the arm. We wish for him to bleed completely. He will be killed if spotted again."

"Rookwood…the man who destroyed your eggs is an enemy of mine. He can kill you and your kin quite easily with his magic, but I encourage you to kill him if you can strike him before he strikes you. He wants my kin and I dead."

Basileus bowed his head forward in a single nod. "I will share your message, Harry Potter. Consider us allies."

"Thank you, Basileus."

Basileus repeated the head motion, turned, and slithered out of sight. Harry stayed put for a moment as he digested what he'd just learned, and then he stood and turned to face Daryl and Beth. They were both staring with their mouths hanging open.

It just occurred to Harry how weird his conversation must have looked to them. It was something that witches and wizards found perturbing. He could only imagine how much more disturbing such a sight would be for Muggles.

Her voice as quiet as it could be without whispering, Beth slowly said, "Were you just…talking to a snake?"

Harry felt his face get warm. He averted his eyes and rubbed absently at the back of his head. "Er…yeah. Sorry. It's something I've always been able to do. I forgot you didn't know. It's them I was hearing last night." He couldn't help grinning sheepishly. "See? I'm not a nutter."

They both looked at him as if unsure if they agreed.

Finally, Daryl muttered a drawn out, "Jeeeesus Christ…" and turned to slowly pace away, scrubbing a hand over his face and exhaling heavily.

Beth lowered herself to a crouch and massaged her temples, her eyes wide. "So…what did the snake…say?"

"His name's Basileus," Harry said casually. "He saw a dark-haired man with some kids. That sounds like it could be Sirius, right? And hopefully as many of the kids from the prison as possible." He noticed Beth perk up at that, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. "His family also saw one of the Death Eaters some ways away. I guess he killed some of their eggs and now they want revenge on him, which is good news for us if they find him again."

Harry put his hands in his pockets and looked between his comrades. Daryl was standing there, staring off into space while biting at his thumbnail. Beth slowly rose to her feet and brushed her hands off on her jeans, looking at Harry with raised eyebrows and a weird smile on her face. "Anything else?"

"Umm, oh! If we're still here the day after tomorrow, Basileus and his family will come and kill us for food, since us being here has been scaring their usual prey away. Well…he'll kill you guys, not me."

Harry couldn't help grinning at both of them, his mood boosted from Basileus' news and amused by their reactions.

Daryl huffed a short laugh of disbelief and shook his head. Then his eyes widened as if something just occurred to him. "Ya can't turn into a snake too, can ya? Like how Sirius can turn into a dog?"

"No, though I can't say I've ever tried."

Daryl looked like he was ready to murder him. Beth started laughing and Harry, for the first time in days, laughed too.

---

Sirius sat on the forest floor with Lizzie and Mika sitting to his right and Carol sitting across from them. She held Judith while Sirius, Lizzie, and Mika scarfed down some stale crackers and canned tuna that Carol had given them.

"I went to the river to wash up," Carol was saying, "and I saw a woman there. She was facing away from me, sitting in the water in just a bra and underwear. There was a wound in her back. It looked like she was trying to tend to it with one hand and couldn't reach. She was clearly frustrated.

"I told her I could help, startled her. She had her clothes in a pile on the ground a few feet offshore and tried to go to them, but I already had my gun on her. I assumed she had a gun with her clothes. I told her I wouldn't hurt her unless she tried to hurt me.

"Now that she was standing up, I could tell her shoulder was dislocated. Told her I could fix it and take a look at her back. She looked pissed. It was easy to see it was the last thing she wanted to do. But I think she knew she didn't really have any other options. She looked sick and exhausted.

"I cleaned the back wound, asked how it happened. She said a "Mudblood bitch" shot her. The word caught my attention. I didn't recognize it as a Wizarding term, thought maybe it was meant to be something racist. I was somewhat regretting helping her, but figured I didn't have to like her to treat her injuries. Anyway, she said she'd gotten the bullet out already but could feel the wound still bleeding. I used a clean shirt of mine to put pressure on it for a bit and then tied the shirt around her to bandage it. At this point my gun was holstered.

"Then I fixed her shoulder, which required her to lie on her back on a big rock there. She gave me a very, very reluctant thank you. I could see her shivering and went to grab her clothes for her. She tried to tell me she didn't need them, but I was already at the pile, while she was still on the rock. I told her she would heal faster if she was warmer. I picked up what I thought was some kind of cardigan while she yelled at me to 'stop at once.'

"And then a wand fell, right at my feet. I picked it up, put two and two together after having seen what was left of the prison. She pulled a pocketknife out of her bra and charged me. I threw her wand in the river just before she tackled me. We fought. She tried to stab me. I grabbed her wrist and managed to push it away so all she ended up doing was cutting my lip. Then I reached around with one hand to press on her back wound. She yelled, dropped the knife. I punched her. Then she ran to the river to go after her wand.

"Once I got back up I fired a couple shots at her, but it was hard to hit her in the water so I got the hell out of there. I knew if she got hold of her wand it was over for me. I was hiding in that tree since last night."

Sirius stared at Carol, amazed, holding a cracker in his hand that he had forgotten to bring to his mouth.

Carol had thrown Bellatrix's wand into a river…and punched her. He thought she might have just become his new hero.

She raised her eyebrows with a crooked smile. "I'm assuming you know who that was?"

Sirius finally bit the cracker and allowed himself to chew and swallow his bite before speaking. He looked away. "My cousin, unfortunately…Bellatrix Lestrange. She's the most devout follower of Voldemort, the dark wizard who wants to kill Harry and take over." He finished the rest of the cracker before returning his gaze to Carol. "She and a couple other of the followers were with the Governor. They teamed up to try to get Harry to give himself up and to get Rick to give up the prison. The dislocated shoulder was my doing." He grinned before immediately sobering and looking at the ground. "A woman who had been with the Governor but defected gave her the bullet wound. She might have saved my life."

Sirius picked at the grass. Carol didn't seem to need to ask what happened to his savior.

"I'm pissed I helped her," Carol muttered, looking down at Judith thoughtfully and bouncing her a little.

"You didn't know." Sirius looked up from the grass and frowned at her as something occurred to him. "How'd you know how to pop her shoulder back in place? I'm no Muggle, but that doesn't quite seem like common knowledge."

Carol kept her eyes on Judith, but Sirius could see her body tense. She was silent for a moment before saying, "My husband was an angry man…and I couldn't exactly go to the hospital. So I looked it up on the Internet."

Sirius clenched his fists around the grass as Carol's words penetrated him. Carol—sharp, bold, and assertive Carol—had been abused? He hadn't expected that, though he supposed it made sense, especially regarding her seemingly suspicious nature. The image of a large, faceless man grabbing her by the arm and throwing her to the ground suddenly filled his head, and Sirius found himself longing to jump to his feet to storm off and find the bastard. When he spoke again, it was with an angry tremor. "You said 'was.' He's dead then?"

Carol finally looked up at him again and offered him a sad smile. "Yes. He died early on after the turn."

Sirius appraised her with a rush of respect for her strength to have outlasted her abuser. "He got lucky. Whatever death he got was more merciful than anything he'd suffer at my hands if I met him."

Carol surprised him by laughing. "I saw the Governor's body. Or at least what was left of it. Was that your work?"

"Yes," Sirius replied with a prideful viciousness.

Then Carol's smile faded. "Obviously Hershel's dead." She sniffed and glanced away briefly to swipe at an eye. "The sword…?"

"Yeah," Sirius said roughly, gaze dropping to the ground. "The Governor got Hershel. Executed him right next to me. Bellatrix killed Michonne out on the road. I, ah…found her."

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," Carol said softly, a tearful tremor in her voice. Sirius nodded but didn't look at her or say anything. "I know something was developing between you two. We all saw it."

Sirius clenched his teeth as his grief began prickling his insides again. God, could he use a drink right now. He took a moment to stuff everything down before clearing his throat. "It doesn't matter now. I need to focus on finding Harry. The girls said they saw him getting out with Daryl and Beth. I've been trying to track them."

Carol nodded thoughtfully, a spark returning to her eyes, probably at hearing that Daryl was okay. "We should get moving then."

She stood and reached a hand out to help Sirius up. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment before taking it and standing with her.

---

Daryl stayed back as the Walker approached, despite that doing so went against his nature. The kids needed to learn how to kill Walkers on their own, without magic, in Harry's case. For that, they needed practice. He still supervised, ready to intervene if they were struggling too much for his own comfort.

Harry was tackling this one, shuffling toward it carefully with his injured leg. He wasn't able to put full weight on it yet, but he could walk well enough now to travel and to handle practicing self-defense in small bursts. Daryl leaned against a tree with his arms crossed, watching Harry stop to let the Walker close the rest of the distance. Harry used his left forearm to knock the Walker's arm upward as it reached for him, just like Daryl showed him, and then he moved under the Walker's arm to thrust his knife up through the Walker's jaw.

Harry hadn't brought the knife close enough. The blade stabbed through the chin and bottom lip, while merely slicing the top lip and tip of its nose. He pulled it out with a frustrated grunt, shoved the Walker by the chest, and took a step back. When the Walker came at him again, its face now resembling some kind of grotesque Picasso painting, Harry drove the knife forward through the Walker's forehead before its arms could get close to him. The Walker froze and fell, and Harry crouched down to yank his knife back out. He wiped the blade with his sleeve and looked at Daryl in askance as he stood back up.

"Not bad," Daryl said. "If you're gonna go from the bottom of the head, though, ya gotta commit. Try to go somewhere through the crown of the head before reaching up through the jaw." He waved his finger in a circle around the top of his own head for emphasis.

Harry nodded. "You're right. It was just the first opening I spotted."

"You got fast reactions. That's good. Just gotta hone identifying if it's the right reaction."

Harry nodded again and sheathed his knife. It was the third Walker he'd killed without magic so far, and Daryl had to admit that the kid was a fast learner. The first Walker Harry had attempted to kill on his own had managed to fluster him and force him into a standing wrestling match, causing Harry to drop the knife. That was a moment where Daryl had intervened, ramming the Walker away from Harry with his shoulder so that he could get his knife back in hand. Harry stayed more composed after that and moved much more smoothly in his next two attempts.

"Next one's yours, Beth," Daryl said as they continued walking. Beth replied with an affirmative and looped her arm around Harry's to help keep him steady on his leg. Harry looked at her, seeming pleasantly surprised. Daryl was pretty sure he saw him blush a little.

He strode past the teens to lead the way, sighing internally. He didn't like the idea of either Harry or Beth getting attached to each other right now. It was one thing when they had a somewhat fortified shelter or community and the odds of survival were much higher, but even when they had had such a place, people still died. Zach, Beth's last boyfriend, still died.

After everything that happened, Daryl had little hope that the three of them would be okay, that they had some kind of future. That didn't mean he wasn't going to do whatever he could to help his young companions survive. That was just who he was. But he had been trying to stay detached since leaving the prison. Other than when teaching Beth and Harry or going over plans for camp or travel, Daryl refrained from conversation with them as much as possible. Aside from the fact that he just didn't have the mental or emotional energy, he couldn't bring himself to think of them as people he wouldn't see dead soon.

As for Harry and Beth's apparently developing bond with each other, Daryl didn't want to be there to bear witness to the pain of one of them losing and mourning the other, as was inevitable in his eyes. Beth might be okay if Harry was killed. She had already lost two boyfriends in the time Daryl had known her, and she had handled Zach's death almost robotically. Although with losing Hershel and Maggie so recently (he was assuming Maggie was dead, though he knew Beth was choosing to believe otherwise), losing one more person could be the thing that pushed her over the edge. And it was hard for him to forget that Beth had already once been driven over the edge before, though he liked to believe she'd come a long way since then. Harry, meanwhile, had lost his parents as a baby, when he had never had the chance to develop a relationship with them, and the only other person he'd lost in his life before crossing worlds that Daryl knew of was a schoolmate From what Sirius had told him, the death of this schoolmate had taken its toll on Harry because of the circumstances, and not due to them having a close relationship. Daryl was certain losing Beth would be incredibly hard on Harry.

Good lord, he needed to get off this train of thought. He was just depressing himself. The idea was to not feel anything.

Daryl allowed himself to vaguely tune into the conversation Beth and Harry were having behind him, purely for a distraction.

"So how did you figure out you could talk to snakes?" Beth asked. "You said it's really rare."

Daryl suppressed a groan. He wasn't really keen on thinking about snakes again either. While they weren't creatures he generally found frightening, the sight of one speaking with Harry about not killing and eating them had spooked him a little. It wasn't something that could have been faked, because the noises Harry had made had an inherently inhuman affectation to them, and the snake had clearly been listening…and talking back. It had gotten face to face with the kid without attacking and had shown reactions and even gestured in ways that regular humans would never experience seeing from its kind. Since the encounter, Daryl had been unable to stop his eyes from flitting to the forest floor periodically, keeping an eye out for other snakes.

The trio had left their first camp the morning following this encounter. The same snake had found them again and, apparently, thanked them for keeping their word. It had also told Harry that it would relay to as many other snakes as possible that Harry, Daryl, and Beth were allies, should they cross paths. From what Daryl gathered, word between snakes traveled with as much speed and range as gossip among suburban housewives.

"Well…there were sort of…two points of realization," Harry said thoughtfully. "Before I knew I was a wizard, I was looking at a snake at the zoo, and we started talking through the glass. And then I accidentally vanished the glass so that the snake escaped, but that's another story. That was right before I turned eleven. Then when I was twelve, my second year at Hogwarts, the same prat that got himself turned into a ferret conjured a snake during a dueling lesson, and when it started going after someone, I yelled at it to stop, just as a reflex because I was worried for the bloke. It's not like I actually expected anything to come of it. But the snake listened and backed off. Then everyone started staring at me like I'd just set their cat on fire. My friends explained that few people were known to be able to do what I could and that most of those people were dark wizards, including the one that tried to kill me. And I guess it looked like I was egging the snake on instead of putting it in check. A lot of people were scared of me after that."

"So when you talked to the one at the zoo, were you freaked out? Since you didn't know magic was real yet?"

"Not really. Maybe I should have been. But I was sort of used to weird things like that happening around me."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a bit before Beth spoke again. "So…if Sirius can transform into a dog, does that mean he can talk to dogs like how you can talk to snakes?"

"Mmm, not quite," Harry replied. "He can communicate with dogs and other animals to a certain degree while he's a dog. It's not precise language so much as it's more sensing ideas, desires, and feelings. And he can't do it when he's a human."

Beth sighed. "I wish I could talk to animals, or turn into one. Are you ever gonna become a…what's it called? Animage?"

"Animagus. I've never thought too much about it. I reckon I might have Sirius teach me how to become one after Voldemort's gone. The process is supposed to be really difficult."

"You should definitely do it! But you should do it before killing Voldemort. You could become something that helps you beat him. Like a tiger or something. How can he survive being eaten? Oh! You could become a shark! No, hear me out! You could send him something saying he's won a trip to a beach resort and then sneak up on him in the ocean! Even if he somehow survived being shredded to pieces, he'd be stuck in the water!"

Harry was laughing. "You have no idea how funny the image of Voldemort lounging about in an innertube in sunglasses and swimming trunks is."

Daryl, who had heard the infamous Voldemort described as a "bald, pale twat with red eyes and no nose" by Sirius, couldn't help his lip twitching in amusement. He was sure Sirius would have loved to be present for this conversation.

He immediately sobered. He couldn't allow himself to think about anyone else from the prison who wasn't alive for him to see with his own eyes. Granted, Daryl knew Sirius was a survivor, and that after the man's time in that horrible prison, Sirius probably had the highest likelihood of being alive of anyone else from their group. Harry certainly believed the man the snake had referenced seeing was Sirius, but a "dark-haired man" could mean almost anyone. And Daryl knew that even Sirius' unmatched resilience couldn't stop a stray bullet from hitting his head or a Walker from sneaking up behind him and sinking its teeth into his neck.

Daryl shook his head as if to clear it and turned his mind toward his current goal. He and Michonne had once found a dilapidated little shack that had been stocked with moonshine. The shack was in the same direction that the snake had said to follow to find the dark-haired man and kids. Daryl figured it would be a good place to stay overnight, possibly find some useful stuff to grab. He knew there wasn't any food, but it had been littered with all sorts of (mostly useless at first glance) junk. Regardless, it was a better source of shelter than the woods.

There was also the enticing prospect of getting drunk and escaping from reality for a bit, though Daryl lied to himself about the moonshine being a part of the shack's appeal.

They reached the shack after another couple hours of walking, the teens both sighing in relief at having a place indoors to sit and rest. Harry had been slowing down the last half hour, moving more gingerly on his leg, though Daryl could tell he was trying to hide it. Beth started clearing some of the junk on the floor and the two beat-up armchairs, she and Harry each plopping into one. Daryl gathered some of the moonshine from the shed and brought it into the shack. He made sure the windows were covered and then dusted off a glass from the kitchen. He poured himself some of the moonshine and knocked it back like water in a desert.

Normally, Daryl would stay sober in a situation where he was the only protector for two teenagers, but he didn't think he could spend another night listening to them talking and laughing as if they all hadn't just lost everything, as if they were going to reunite with their family from the prison. Besides, they had walls and a roof to keep them safe now. As long as they were quiet and didn't leave the shack, Daryl reasoned they should all be fine for the night.

"What's that?" Harry asked, watching as Daryl sat on the floor.

"Moonshine," Daryl drawled.

"My dad always said bad moonshine can make you go blind," said Beth, leaning forward with interest as she peered at the alcohol.

"What's to see out there anymore anyway?" Daryl poured himself some more, already feeling a buzz working through his head thanks to having lost much of his tolerance.

Beth and Harry exchanged glances, but Daryl paid them no heed. They were silent for a moment before Beth stood and went to the kitchen. She returned with two more glasses and wordlessly set them down in front of Daryl.

He scoffed. "Thought ya didn't drink?"

"I didn't, but…" Beth shrugged, averting her eyes. "Might as well make the best of our situation. It's not like Daddy's around to disappoint anymore anyway."

Daryl stared at her momentarily, taking in the tiredness in her eyes with a pang of sympathy. He still heard her sniffling at night sometimes. Then he poured a glass and handed it to her. He poured the last glass for Harry and passed it to him. Harry took the glass and stared down at it for a moment before taking a swig and almost spitting it out, coughing hard. Beth sipped hers and made a face, but got it down more smoothly than Harry.

All three of them were drunk pretty quickly. It was moonshine, after all, and Beth and Harry were new to alcohol. Daryl leaned against the wall and allowed himself to enjoy the lightness his head took on.

Beth was giggling. She held up some kind of large, plastic, purple bra planter that was overflowing with ash and cigarette butts. It reminded Daryl of something his father would have had on top of his TV and shot at.

Daryl's muscles automatically tensed and he quickly took another sip. He didn't want to think about his father anymore than he wanted to think about everyone from the prison.

This might have been the wrong place to choose to stay in.

Beth held the bra planter up to her chest, still giggling, and said in mock outrage, "Harry, did you turn my boobs purple?"

"What?" Harry's head swung toward her in a confused panic, seemingly forgetting for a moment that he didn't have his wand on him to do magic anyway. His eyes landed on the bra and he stared at it for a moment as if trying to figure out if what he was looking at was actually attached to Beth or not. Then he snorted and grinned sheepishly, turning red. "Those breasts are…smokin'."

Harry and Beth both burst into laughter. Daryl groaned and rolled his eyes. Maybe his idea of escaping their youthful antics was backfiring. Then again, he hadn't planned on letting them drink as well.

"You're such a dork," Beth said as she set the planter on the floor. "You'd totally turn into…like…a possum or something."

"A possum?!" Harry raised his brows at her. "You think I rummage around in garbage?"

Beth shrugged innocently. "Fine, what animal would you want to transform into?"

"I don't know…a lion? Or, no, something that could fly, like an eagle or something. What do you reckon you'd wanna be?"

"Hmm…" Beth looked up thoughtfully as she took another drink. Then her eyes flashed to Harry, lighting up. "A cheetah! I'd be a predator that could hunt my own food and fight off Walkers, but I'd also be fast enough to—" she hiccupped "—run away from them. And I could climb trees to get away from them too."

"That's a good answer."

"What would you want to be, Daryl?"

"A bear," Daryl said. "So I could hibernate through all this obnoxious chit-chat."

Beth rolled her eyes and sang, "Buzzkill," under her breath, though Daryl could still hear her. She took another sip before returning her attention to Harry. "We should play a drinking game. Do you know Never Have I Ever?"

"Never have I…what?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"I used to watch my friends play. We just take turns saying something we've never done, and if the other person has done it, they drink. So like…never have I ever done magic. Obviously you have, so then you take a drink."

Harry took a sip and then said, "Hmm…all right. Never have I ever…" he grinned. "Snogged a boy."

Beth's eyes widened. "Uhh, what does snogged…?"

"Kissed. Sorry, I keep forgetting that's an English term."

"Oh," Beth said, visibly relaxing. She grinned back at him and took a drink. "Okay, two can play at that game. Never have I ever 'snogged' a girl."

Harry sighed and drank.

Beth's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh yeah? How many?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Just one."

"What was her name?"

"Cho."

"That's pretty. What happened with her?"

"Er…it's a long, complicated story." Harry cleared his throat and hastily continued speaking. "Never have I ever…been in a church."

"Really? Never?" Beth drank as Harry nodded. "Not even like with a friend or for a relative's wedding or funeral or something?"

"None of my wizard friends go that I know of. And my aunt and uncle, the ones I grew up with, they never would have take-taken me with them for anything social like that," Harry slurred, a note of bitterness in his voice. "I was lucky if they let me go to the grocery with them. The trip to the zoo was for Dudley's birthday and I only got to go because they were sort of forced to take me along."

Daryl watched with interest as Harry averted his eyes and began bouncing his knee restlessly. He knew from Sirius that Harry had grown up with Muggle relatives who had been reluctant to take him in. Sirius said he knew Harry didn't have a good relationship with them and that he had tried to ask Harry more about them and how they treated their nephew, but he said Harry always dismissed him and changed the subject.

Frowning, Beth said, "They didn't want to include you? Why not?"

"It doesn't matter. Forget it."

"Of course it matters! You were their family! Didn't they love you?'

"I said forget it, all right?" Harry said with more of an edge to his voice.

There was an awkward silence before Beth spoke again. "What about you, Daryl? You've been in a church before, right?"

Daryl shook his head. "Not before the Walkers came around. Stopped in one here and there for shelter or looking for supplies."

"Wow…okay. Well I guess it's my turn again. Umm…oh! Okay, never have I ever been in the hospital. As a patient, I mean. I went when my cousin had her baby and a couple times Daddy hurt himself around the farm."

Harry sighed. "Loads of times. I think I—I think I've been in the hospital at Hogwarts every year so far."

Beth looked at Daryl expectantly. When he merely raised a brow, she said, "You're not drinking."

"I ain't playing," Daryl corrected.

"Oh, come on," Beth whined. "It's not like you've got anything better to do. You have to have been in the hospital before."

Daryl suddenly found himself tensing again, a trapped feeling creeping its way through him. There were definitely times he probably should have been admitted to a hospital, but he was never taken. "Why?"

"All the stuff you do outside! And I thought maybe from fights or…well, you know…" she leaned back into the chair and pulled her legs up into a tent in front of her, holding her glass close to herself and looking down at it, sliding her finger around the rim. "With how…I mean…I heard my dad mention how scarred up you are…after he treated you when you came back from looking for Sophia."

Daryl had been in the middle of raising his glass to his lips, but stopped in his tracks, his whole body going rigid. Even though his back was clothed and against a wall, he suddenly felt incredibly exposed. The trapped feeling was becoming more suffocating.

He narrowed his eyes at Beth. "The hell do you know about it?"

"Nothing! That's why I asked."

"You're real damn nosy, you know that?" Daryl snapped. He set his glass on the floor with a thud that made his moonshine slosh and stood, crossing over to the tiny kitchen space. He began rummaging loudly through the cupboards for something to do even though he wasn't really looking for anything. He also hoped the noise would deter Beth from trying to continue talking to him.

Nope.

"You don't have to be a dick about it!" she complained. "We're just playing a game!"

Daryl slammed the cupboard door and faced her. Before he knew it, he was yelling. "Everything's a goddamn game to you, isn't it? 'S like you think we're on some kind of fucking road trip!"

"No! That's not—"

"How's this for a game?" Daryl strode back over to the "living room" and pointed a finger at her. "My scars are from my dipshit dad beating on me! Harry's scar's from some psycho trying to murder him after killing his parents! What's your scar from, Beth? Huh?" Beth wrapped her arms around her knees and looked away. Daryl rounded on Harry, whose mouth was open like he wanted to speak but wasn't sure what to say. "She ever tell you how she got that scar on her wrist, Harry?"

Harry said, "It doesn't mat—"

"No, no, no. Beth gets to bring up all our personal shit like it's nothing. Only fair that we get to do the same! You want me to play your stupid game, Beth? All right! Never have I ever tried to kill myself! Go on and take your drink, girl! Go on!"

Daryl moved over to her chair, grabbed her forearm, and tried to push the hand holding her glass to her mouth.

"Daryl! Stop!" she shouted, pushing back against his grip and turning her head to the side like a child trying to refuse medicine.

Harry stood. "Cut it out!"

Daryl shoved Beth's arm away and let her go, the momentum splashing her a little with moonshine. "Nah, nah, that's Beth's job, cutting herself out. 'Cause if her world ain't anything but sunshine and giggles she can't face it! Then has the nerve to preach to us about goddamn positivity! Forget that things've always been shitty for you and I. Precious little Beth here with her nice home and her loving family and her lack of any real problems…now when things are actually hard she has to play pretend so she don't opt out instead!"

Beth jumped to her feet, eyes shining with tears but also defiance. "Are you seriously giving me shit because I'm trying to be optimistic? I watched my dad die and you can't let me have hope that Maggie or anyone else is still alive? You want me to be a jaded jerk like you?"

"I want you to grow up and stop playing make believe when everyone we know is dead! Maggie ain't alive! Glenn ain't alive, Rick, none of 'em! And now you got Harry believing Sirius is alive so it only hits him harder when he finds out he ain't! I want you to accept our reality and stop acting like things are okay!"

Harry stepped toward him. "SHUT UP!"

"Oh, now y'all want me to shut up." Daryl let out a derisive laugh. He turned away from both of them shaking his head.

Walker growls sounded from outside, presumably drawn by all of their yelling.

"We need to quiet down," Beth said in a hushed voice, looking toward the covered window.

The three of them stood there silently for a moment. Judging by the growls, there were about three or four Walkers outside and they were coming closer. Ready to release some of the anger radiating from him, Daryl swiped a bunch of junk off of an end table, picked up his crossbow, and strode to the door.

"Where are you going?"

Daryl didn't reply as he went outside and slammed the door behind him.

---

Harry and Beth both stood there for a moment, staring at the door. Then they both hurried over to the window and lifted the sheet Daryl had covered it with. It was dusk, so there was enough light to see. Two Walkers were already down and Daryl was in the middle of stabbing a third, with enough space between him and the fourth one to not be in danger.

Beth scoffed. "Even when he's wasted his aim's still perfect." She rolled her eyes and moved away from the window, returning to her chair and picking her glass back up but not drinking from it, just staring into it as she swilled it around.

Harry watched Daryl kill the last Walker and then proceed to stab it over and over again on the ground in a fit of rage. Pursing his lips, Harry let go of the sheet and turned away.

He stood and observed Beth for a moment, trying to sort his feelings through his own drunken haze. He was angry and annoyed, and he found that those emotions were directed not just at Daryl, but Beth as well. He hadn't liked Daryl's cruelty and the harsh way he'd been tearing into Beth. She didn't deserve that.

But part of him also sort of agreed with Daryl.

Harry had been getting irritated during Never Have I Ever at the way Beth had been trying to ask more about things that were obviously painful topics for him and Daryl. He knew her intentions weren't malicious, but they were almost…frivolous? Harry had felt as if there was an ignorance to Beth's approach on the subjects being brought up.

He knew Beth had her own traumas, of course, and he by no means took them lightly. The world had been as nasty to her as it had been to Carl after the Walkers took over, and perhaps that was where lie the problem.

Beth and Carl had both experienced great loss and horror at young ages, but they hadn't grown up with things being shitty from the get-go. They hadn't known what it was like to be alone, to feel unloved and unwanted, or to even be intentionally harmed by people who were supposed to be family. They had never been, as far as Harry could tell, in situations where they had faced the real possibility of death before the turn, in a world where facing one's own mortality wasn't a typical experience shared by others their own age. Over the last year, Harry had been plagued by a loneliness that came with having come very close to being not only killed, but murdered, and not being around people who understood, people who either tiptoed around him or dismissed what he'd been through or simply kept going about life with joy and an obliviousness to how good they had it. At least Beth and Carl had been surrounded by people who could understand them when they'd had their horrible experiences.

Harry's eyes moved down to Beth's wrist, trying to find the scar Daryl had mentioned. He couldn't see it until Beth lifted her glass for another drink. It wasn't large or prominent enough to have caught Harry's attention before, but now that he knew it was there, it was like it was staring him in the face.

Beth glanced up and realized he was looking. She moved her glass to her other hand and tucked the scarred wrist next to her leg, averting her eyes and muttering, "It was stupid."

"Yeah, it was," Harry said coldly before he could stop himself. In the back of his mind, he knew he had no right to be judging her, but he was pretty drunk and had been carrying a lot of pent-up frustration. Beth brought her eyes up from her drink to glower at him and he instantly felt chastised. "Sorry," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head and looking away awkwardly. "It's just…my parents both died to save me. And I've had so many times I've been close to being killed and it was…well, terrifying. I just can't imagine doing something like that on purpose, especially with people still around who actually give a damn. I mean…you still had Maggie and…and your dad."

Beth paled, her eyes blazing. She stood and stepped closer to Harry, her features burning with anger and hurt. Her voice was deadly quiet when she next spoke. "Well now I have neither of them and I'm not trying to off myself, am I?"

Harry swallowed, opening his mouth to speak but no words coming out. Beth didn't give him long to try coming up with something anyway, turning away and going out the door same as Daryl. Harry stood there for a moment before deciding to go after her, a pit in his stomach forming from guilt as he quickly found himself desperate to make things right with her.

"Wait, Beth—"

He shuffled toward the door, stumbling a little. Beth was storming away, into the woods, Daryl standing there watching her leave. Harry jogged past him and after her, his leg twinging without truly catching his attention in his drunken state.

"Guys—" Daryl called hoarsely.

Harry was vaguely aware of hearing Daryl's footsteps behind him, and both of them began taking turns calling after Beth. Eventually, she whirled around with a roar of frustration.

"Screw both of you!" she yelled, stalking back toward them. "You're both pissed and that's fine, but I'm not letting you take it all out on me! I'm sorry neither of you had the family I did growing up. That sucks. But it's not my fault and it doesn't make me weaker than you! I'm the one who just watched my dad get his head chopped off!" Beth's voice broke with a sob and Harry hung his head shamefully. "And instead of getting some sort of comfort, I've been having to deal with your pessimistic brooding—" she pointed at Daryl, "—and your injuries and lack of cooperation—" she pointed at Harry. "And both of your guys' condescending…bullshit!" She threw her hands up in the air, eyes wild.

Harry looked at her, one hand coming up to his face, half covering his mouth, while the other hand reached toward her desperately. "Beth, I—"

"No! I don't want to hear it from you! My dad might still be alive if you'd given yourself up or, better yet, never come to our world in the first place! And yet you're here giving me crap because of something I did before I even knew you, when I was scared and hopeless and I had just watched a bunch of people I knew—neighbors, friends, my mom—come out of a barn as Walkers. I watched all of them get gunned down before I had a real understanding of what happened to people when they turned. And now? Now that I'm stronger and more hopeful about the future despite how much more I've lost since then, you're both treating me like shit for it instead of being there for me? Screw you and you." She held up a middle finger at Daryl and then at Harry, who flinched.

Beth then began heaving with sobs and held her hands up over her eyes, taking a few slow steps backward, away from them. Harry stood there, dumbfounded and lost, feeling sick with guilt.

She was right. She was right about everything. While the Governor had already had his own feud with the prison community, the Death Eaters, at least, would never have been there if not for Harry. The Governor wouldn't have had them as backup and he might not have had the confidence to carry out his assault. Hershel might not have been kidnapped. Hershel might not have been executed.

And even though Harry might have helped bring this pain onto her, he'd been nothing but difficult to Beth since escaping the prison. All he wanted to do was apologize and beg for forgiveness. He'd been so caught up in his own worries that he had neglected Beth's fresh grief, allowing her to take care of him and take his mind off things instead of being the one to offer her some reassurance.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said desperately, taking a tentative step toward her.

"Beth…" Daryl stepped next to Harry, pain reverberating through his voice. Harry looked at him and was surprised to see tears in his eyes. "It ain't Harry's fault. 'S mine." Daryl then looked apologetically at Harry. "Sirius and I…when we first went back to that clearing y'all arrived in, we found prints. I tracked 'em. They went opposite the prison before disappearing. There were signs they might'a belonged to other wizards, but I didn't want to scare people when we didn't know for sure."

Harry blinked. Sirius had thought Death Eaters were in the world and didn't tell him?

As if reading his mind, Daryl pointed at himself and continued, "It was my call. Sirius said there wouldn't be much any of us could do against them if we ran into 'em anyway, and I didn't want people to panic when there were already plenty of other things to worry about. And I thought we'd be safer with the two of ya with us. And we were…but the Governor…" Daryl inhaled shakily in a way that indicated he was suppressing a sob. "I shouldn't have stopped looking for him. I should've been out there with Michonne, having her back. I should have done more to protect my family…"

Daryl turned away for a moment, covering his eyes with one hand, while Beth watched him sadly. Her glittering eyes then turned to Harry, who immediately looked at the ground, too ashamed of himself to make eye contact.

Then Beth wiped at her eyes and reached an arm out to Harry, pulling him toward her. Not understanding, Harry didn't fight her as she pulled him into a hug, resting her chin over his shoulder. The firm grip she held him with and the effects of the alcohol made him suddenly choke out a sob of his own, and he returned her tight embrace.

"Daryl…" Beth croaked, still holding onto Harry. She reached for his arm and pulled him toward her too, shifting between them so that she had one arm around each of them. The three of them stood there, crying on each other until it was dark.

Harry woke the next morning with a huge headache, possibly an even worse one than he'd had the first night of his concussion.

All three of them were awkward with each other, no one really speaking for a while or moving much. The last thing Harry remembered was leaving their little huddle to traipse back into the shack, stepping around the remains of the Walkers Daryl had slaughtered. After that, they'd each passed out pretty quickly, Harry and Beth each curled up on their armchairs while Daryl and positioned himself in front of the door, still determined to guard them even if he was intoxicated.

Harry couldn't help feeling embarrassed, both for acting like an ass to Beth and for being so pathetically emotional afterward. He knew Daryl and Beth had been emotional as well, but it did nothing to ease his own shame. He was determined to take that soap opera-worthy conversation between the three of them to his grave.

Eventually, they began eating some granola bars for breakfast and Beth broke the silence first. Fussing with her wrapper and looking at the floor they all sat on, she said, "I wasn't trying to be nosy or…or insensitive or anything when we were playing Never Have I Ever. I was just looking for…connection. I wanted to get to you guys better, on a deeper level. As much as I've been making myself believe Maggie, Glenn, and the others are still alive and we'll find them again, I'm still scared that we won't. And if it does end up staying just the three of us, well…I don't wanna just be three people surviving together. I wanna be close." She looked up, glancing between Harry and Daryl. "None of us knows how much time we'll have. I think it's important, especially if we're all each other's got."

"You're right," Daryl said earnestly, looking her in the eye. "Whatever time we got oughtta mean something. And I'm…sorry for not seeing it that way before." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't have brought us here. I can be a dick when I'm drunk, and this place brought up a lot of bad memories."

"I reckon none of us were at our best last night," Harry muttered, trying not to think of how Daryl's words reminded him of Sirius at Grimmauld Place.

"I think maybe it needed to happen," said Beth. "We blew off steam and got everything out. Almost everything, at least. I want to make clear that what happened at the prison…and to my dad…it was neither of your faults. Wasn't anyone's other than the Governor's and the Death Eaters'. And I'm sorry for suggesting otherwise. I was pissed and I didn't mean it."

At the last sentence, her eyes lingered on Harry, who held her gaze and nodded, smiling weakly at her.

"All right," Daryl said with a groan as he stretched his arms behind his back. "We ready to get the hell outta here?"

Beth started to stand, paused, and then sat back down. She gave a soft laugh. "Just as soon as the room stops spinning."

---

They sat around a fire the next morning, cooking a couple of rabbits and heating up some canned beef stew. Each of them ate one of Carl's chocolate bars while waiting for the rest of the food. Carl wasn't entirely thrilled to be sharing the chocolate with them when he'd originally only planned to be sharing them with his father at most, but he supposed he needed to get used to seeing these men as his comrades now, and that meant sharing resources.

Sometimes, at least.

Joe had explained that his group lived by a small set of rules, one of the big ones being that if any of them saw something and wanted it, they had to claim it aloud. Even if another member of the group had already picked something up with his own hands, if another person said, "claimed," then that person got to keep whatever it was. If the man who didn't verbally claim the item refused to hand it over, that man was punished by beating.

Carl chewed the last bite of his bar and crumpled up the wrapper, his eyes surveying the men. The candy bars and the food currently over the fire were being shared as a group agreement. Carl got to have some of the stew and rabbit if he shared the chocolate. The guys who had scavenged the stew got to have some rabbit and chocolate. The guy who hunted the rabbits got to have some chocolate and stew. Everyone got to have more food this morning by sharing their "claims."

Licking the chocolate off his fingers, Carl glanced at Joe and asked, "How do I know you guys aren't just using me?"

Without looking at Carl, Joe began taking the stew off the fire and portioning it out. "We are using you." He handed Carl his share in a mug he'd taken from one of the suburban houses. Carl gripped the mug to take it but Joe didn't let go, now holding his gaze with raised eyebrows. "You're using us too." Carl furrowed his brow in confusion as Joe looked at him. Then Joe let go of the mug and went back to the rest of the stew. "See…Carl, that's why we're all traveling together. We use each other to survive. We were watching ya take out all those dead ones out the window of that house we were staying in—"

"Thanks for the help with that, by the way," Carl said sarcastically.

Joe shrugged, unapologetic. "It's still survival of the fittest. Plan was to wait till you was killed and then come out and snatch your stuff. We didn't expect you to come outta that situation alive. You showed some real skill and cohones takin' those fuckers out the way you did. We realized you'd be good to have on our team. Realized you were useful. And since it looked like you were alone, we figured we could be of use to you as well."

Carl ate a spoonful of stew. "So…this isn't some kind of trick? You know, take in a kid because you think I'm young and naïve enough to do whatever you say?"

Joe chuckled as he dug into his own stew. "You wouldn't be alone and alive, killing and surviving the way you did if you were naïve enough for us to manipulate. And let's be honest, you really ain't no kid anymore, are ya?" Carl only looked down at his mug, making a show of stirring his stew around. He could feel Joe appraising him. "Nah…your age don't matter. You've earned your place with us, Carl. Starting today, you're a man."

Joe clapped him on the back and added more kindling to the fire while one of the other men rotated the rabbits. Carl kept his eyes averted as he took another bite of stew, trying to hide the way the corner of his mouth quirked upward so that Joe couldn't see he enjoyed hearing that.

They spent the rest of the day walking, mostly in comfortable silence, having a conversation here and there. Joe was the most talkative, which Carl figured made sense with him being the leader.

What Joe said about Carl being a kid not mattering seemed to be holding up, as the rest of the group seemed to accept him and treat him as an equal. Len was the only one who showed any hostility toward him so far, complaining over trivial matters like Carl humming softly while walking some six feet behind him and scowling at him when Carl was doing nothing different than anyone else in the group. Carl mostly tried to ignore him, though he occasionally answered Len's irritation with smartass remarks that made the other men laugh, flustering Len even more.

Dan was the only other person in the group Carl had real qualms about so far. Dan didn't really speak to him, but Carl kept catching him watching him with a strange expression that was almost…hungry? It made Carl uncomfortable so he did what he could do to keep his distance from Dan.

So far, Carl was becoming gradually at ease around the group in general. It beat being alone or with only his father for company. He didn't have to deal with being inundated with misplaced nagging and patronized by someone who had failed so spectacularly. Carl was able to relax knowing he was relatively safe with both strength and numbers on his side, and he was kind of enjoying just being, with no expectations beyond following the group's fairly straightforward rules and helping out with dispatching Walkers when needed.

Yet, after several hours of walking, Carl began to wonder if there was any sort of endgame. He moved to Joe's side and asked, "So where are we going?"

Joe shrugged. "Nowhere particular. We never stay in one place too long. Makes no sense staying somewhere once you've used up its resources. Besides, keeping on the go is more exciting. Ya get to see different things you might not have gotten to before the turn. We ain't got nothing but time…why not use it to explore our beautiful country, ya know?"

Carl nodded slowly. "I haven't been out of Georgia much. It'd be cool to go to other states."

"Exactly. See different scenery and landmarks without having to pay to go on some pedantic tour with a bunch of yuppies…sample different types of women…" Joe looked at him with curiosity. "You gotten your beak wet yet, Carl?"

"Umm…" Carl felt himself turning red, not one hundred percent sure what Joe was asking but pretty sure he understood.

Joe let out a soft chuckle. "Here, hold on." He reached into his jacket for a flask and took a sip before passing it to Carl. "That's White Lightning there. That'll put some hair on your chest."

Carl sipped and swallowed with a grimace, coughing a little at the taste of an alcohol stronger than the small sample of Jameson he'd had with Harry and the others at the prison. He began to feel a lightness in his head almost instantly and wanted to increase that sensation. He lifted the flask near his lips again before pausing to look at Joe, who nodded and said, "Go on, have some more."

He took another generous sip without coughing this time and then handed the flask back to Joe, who also took a hearty swig and then stuffed the flask back in his pocket.

"So anyway…" Joe continued. "We was talking about if you've ever been laid…"

Carl still felt embarrassed, but found he was buzzed enough not to care so much now. "No. I haven't really…you know…had the opportunity."

Joe nodded. "How old are you?"

"I turn fourteen next month."

"Gotcha. So you must've been…what, about eleven or twelve when all this shit went down?"

"Twelve, yeah."

"Right…well, we'll make that one of our missions then—finding you a pretty lady to take your V card."

"Oh…" Carl wasn't sure what to say to that, wasn't even sure if that was something he wanted yet.

"What kinda girls you into? Blondes? Burnetts? Curvy? Asians? Blacks? Me…I personally looove me some dark pussy. Now, their kind ain't for keeping around with ya—too mouthy—but man oh man…I'm telling ya, black chicks are wild in bed."

Joe laughed and shook his head as he seemed to drift off for a moment. Carl found himself deeply uncomfortable, not liking the way Joe was talking about women almost as if they were food rather than people, not to mention the racist suggestions. It wasn't as if Carl never had sexual urges or fantasies, but he had always pictured enjoying those things with a woman he knew and liked as a person.

He wondered, though, if his way of thinking was immature, was too boyish and just showed his lack of knowledge and experience. Maybe Joe's view of women was how most grown men saw them as well, was normal. He pushed down the thought that he had never heard his dad, Daryl, Glenn, Sirius, or anyone else at the prison talk that way.

Carl tried to change the subject before Joe could remember he'd asked him a question. "I've always thought it would be cool to see Mount Rushmore. Do you think we could make it that far?"

"It's possible, one day," Joe replied thoughtfully. "Would definitely take us a while, but like I said, we ain't got nothing but time now."

Walker growls reached Carl's ears and two of them approached from the opposite direction. He didn't even have to move, though, as a couple of the guys walking ahead of him took care of them. Harley dug through the clothes on one of the Walkers and yelled, "Claimed!" as he held up a pack of cigarettes, grinning. "Yo, Joe, you want one?"

"If you're offering, brother," Joe said, walking ahead to take a cigarette from Harley. Carl couldn't help being relieved, happy to hang back and enjoy being a little drunk without having to have awkward conversations.

It started to get cloudy near the end of the day, drizzling here and there with low rumbles of thunder that threatened a possibly heavier downpour soon. Joe pointed to what looked like a large car shed and the group quickly went in and cleared it. There were a few covered cars inside, and when Billy and Tony each immediately moved over to one and called, "Claimed," as they uncovered it, Carl realized he needed to do the same if he wanted a better spot to sleep than the floor.

He dashed over to the nearest car at the same time as Len and, using the lingering reflexes of a kid who had played countless playground games only a few years ago, yelled, "Claimed!" and smacked his hand on the car. He reached it not quite a full second before Len, who growled in frustration and glared at him.

Carl grinned and shrugged innocently. "I win."

Len bared his teeth. "You little shit!" He stepped toward Carl threateningly and Carl stood his ground, his hands coming up in preparation to defend himself. Len grabbed the front of Carl's shirt and Carl pressed a forearm against his chest.

"He beat you to it fair and square, Len," Joe called from across the room, setting his own stuff up in the back of a pickup truck.

Len stared Carl down another moment and Carl narrowed his eyes at him defiantly. Then Len let go with an angry huff and stalked off while Carl smirked with triumph.

He set his bag in the driver's seat of the convertible he'd selected, grabbed a chocolate bar, and then climbed into the roomy backseat to get comfortable, biting into the bar gleefully.

Carl looked around at the others and saw that Dan had claimed the car next to him. He was sitting on the hood, watching Carl again, and then, instead of averting his eyes the way he usually did when Carl caught him staring, Dan grinned and winked at him. Carl wasn't too sure what to make of it, but he was in a good mood and decided Dan was just giving him a wink of approval, as if to say, "Good for you," at Carl's quick adaptability to the group. Carl grinned back with a nod and held up his candy bar as if toasting him.

Sure enough, the rain did end up coming full force, beating loudly against the roof. The sound of that and the thunder helped lull Carl to sleep, aided by the tiredness of walking all day and having a relatively full stomach. He was even more comfortable here than he had been last night, when he'd slept on the floor of the house the group had been occupying when they'd found him. He had a dream about scavenging a building and finding a room with a table laden with a full Thanksgiving dinner, so something pleasant and nothing upsetting.

In the dream, Carl sat at the table and dug in, no one else sitting at the table with him. He vaguely wondered where the food had come from, but decided to just enjoy it rather than question it. He was happily heaping mashed potatoes and gravy onto his plate when something began pulling him away from the dream, to his chagrin.

Carl woke slowly at first, confused and disoriented from sleep. He was lying on his side, facing the back of the seat in the convertible. He was unusually warm and realized a large body was pressed against his back, spooning him on the edge of the seat. The body shifted, something hard pressing against the back of Carl's thigh. He froze and his pulse started pounding as he realized what was happening. The hand attached to the arm wrapped around him was sliding down from his middle to his waist and, to his horror, it began caressing his jeans between his legs.

Screaming internally, Carl yearned to move, to get away, but he couldn't get himself to do anything, feeling paralyzed. He felt himself start to shake.

"That's right, boy, you're mine now," a man's voice whispered just behind him. Carl felt hot breath on his neck.

The hand then moved upward and Carl felt the button of his jeans being undone.

That snapped Carl right out of it. He flung the arm off him and then jerked his elbow backward, feeling it collide with a nose and hearing a grunt of pain and a curse. He sat straight up and shoved at the man so that he was all the way off the seat and sprawled awkwardly on the floor of the car. He couldn't see very well in the dark but didn't really need to. Carl immediately dropped on top of the man, knowing there was little space for him to get free.

And then Carl started hammering his knuckles down on whatever he could find. First it landed on what felt like a chest, so Carl aimed his next punch higher. To his satisfaction, his fist landed on what was definitely a face. The body beneath him bucked in an attempt to throw him off, but Carl was able to wedge himself between the console and the backseat so that he couldn't be flung off. Arms tried reaching up to grab at him, snatching at his shirt and pushing at his chest, but he was able to keep his right arm free, which was all he needed.

And Carl swung and swung, pounded and pounded, full of an animalistic rage he couldn't remember ever experiencing as his knuckles continued colliding with bone and the man continued to cry out in pain. Carl barely registered the growing sting in his hand, the yell coming from his own mouth, or the voices of the other men in the group getting up and asking what the hell was going on. He kept swinging, each punch more satisfying than the last and yet still not enough.

The man's grunts and cries faded into vague moans of pain before he stopped making any noise entirely.

"Carl, is that you?" Joe's voice called behind him, somewhere just outside of the car. Carl paused as the body beneath him was still and silent, and he panted so quickly from exertion and adrenaline that he was nearly hyperventilating. A light shined behind him, just barely illuminating the face of the man Carl had just beaten in—Dan's face, bloodstained and eyes shut.

The back passenger's side door of the car opened, and after a pause, Joe's voice muttered, "Jesus…"

Carl looked at him over his shoulder, glaring through the light of a flashlight in a silent dare for Joe to make a move. Joe was staring at Dan for a moment before his eyes drifted back up to Carl.

"He try something?" Joe asked.

"What do you think?" Carl retorted with a vehement hiss.

"What happened?" someone behind Joe called.

Joe looked from Carl to Dan and back before looking over his shoulder and saying, "Dan got uh…a little too friendly with Carl and Carl taught him a lesson."

"What?!" a voice Carl recognized as Len's exclaimed in outrage. "Is Dan alive?"

Joe turned back to Carl, trying to shift sideways and shine the flashlight past Carl to get a clearer view of Dan's face. "Don't know. Carl, he alive?"

Carl stayed still for a moment before bringing his right hand, which was aching and shaking violently, to Dan's chest. He did still feel a pulse, and the rage that had just been beginning to subside as it was steadily replaced by shock reemerged.

He looked over his shoulder again at Joe and held out his hand. "Can I borrow that light?"

Joe appraised him briefly before passing him the flashlight, presumably on the assumption that Carl was going to use it to take a better look at Dan and the state he was in.

Flashlight in hand, Carl did shine it directly onto Dan's face to better assess the damage he'd done. The sight of the blood and bruises only incensed him further.

It wasn't enough.

With another roar of rage, Carl began bashing into Dan's head with the flashlight. He could feel his weapon breaking through more of Dan's flesh and bone and it still wasn't enough.

He pressed the flashlight against Dan's throat and leaned forward, putting all his weight down. Dan's body twitched and jerked, but Carl didn't relent until there was no more movement. He kept the flashlight where it was with one hand and used the other to feel for a heartbeat again.

Nothing.

Sitting up and breathing heavily, Carl glared down at what was left of Dan's body. Then, he eventually pushed himself up and onto the backseat, sliding across it toward the open door that Joe was standing by. Carl shined the light on him as he stood face to face with him and saw that Joe looked both shocked and…impressed?

"No, he's not," Carl said breathlessly in response to the earlier question. He handed back the flashlight.

"Are you just gonna let him get away with that?" Len yelled.

Joe looked down at the flashlight, sliding his fingers along it, apparently feeling the blood it was slicked with. Then he turned around to face Len, shining the light on him. "Dan tried to sneak up and grope Carl, a member of our own pack, in his sleep. That there's some coward shit. Carl punished him for it. Dan broke the rules, not Carl."

Len scoffed and paced away. "Whatever. I'm going back to bed."

Joe helped Carl pull Dan's body from the car and drag it out into the rain. Just before coming back inside, he held up a hand to stop Carl and said, "See? Like I said, you ain't no kid. You belong with us."

He patted Carl on the shoulder and went back inside, Carl following.

A couple of the men were still standing around and muttering to each other about what happened.

"All right, boys, show's over," Joe said. "Everyone back to bed."

And everyone did just that, quieting down and returning to sleep, their snores filling the car shed as if nothing had woken them. Carl stood in front of his car for several minutes, numb and not wanting to get back into it. He didn't want to stay out of the car, though, either, as that only left him more exposed, whether he managed to get back to sleep or not. He trusted none of these men.

Carl eventually got with it enough to figure out how to put the top up on the convertible in the dark. With no desire to return to the backseat, he got in the driver's seat and reclined it after pushing the locks down on each of the doors. He lay there curled up with his knees to his chest, using his left hand to cradle his throbbing right hand, staring blankly ahead of him. He didn't go back to sleep that night.

He missed his mom.

---

Author's Note: Next chapter is going to have some big stuff happening. I promise it won't take nearly as long for me to get posted!