Kiss Me First

There were so many emotions I should have been feeling.

Guilt, first and foremost - because Daryl and I were sending Briar and Sawyer away to safety while we stayed behind to fight, fully aware of what that could mean.

We were their parents. We were supposed to protect them, to keep them close, not hand them over to others, and hope the world didn't take them from us while we weren't looking.

Heartbreak should have followed right after - sharp, merciless, cutting deeper with every breath - because there was a very real chance that one or both of us wouldn't live to see them again if things went wrong.

Fear should have been there too, creeping in like a shadow I couldn't shake. Not just fear of the battle ahead but of what the world would look like for our children if we failed. What kind of future would be left for them, then? Would there even be a future at all?

And somewhere in that storm of feelings, there should have been something more complicated, harder to name - something between pride and sheer, stubborn determination. Because we weren't doing this for glory. We weren't doing it for ourselves. We were doing it for them. For Briar. For Sawyer. For DJ. For every child climbing into those carts. For a future that didn't involve masks and skin and endless waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Questions should be buzzing inside my head like angry hornets. Were we being selfish? Should we have relented, climbed into those carts and left with them? Should we have chosen the uncertain road, resolved to run and rebuild somewhere else - even if it meant spending the rest of our lives glancing over our shoulders, waiting for the next mask to appear from the trees? At least then we'd be with them. At least they wouldn't be leaving without us.

And me - was I being selfish, staying here, when I knew Daryl would rather I go? When I knew he wanted me out of the line of fire, even if it meant facing this fight without me?

If I'd been capable of feeling anything properly, maybe I would've realized I should also be grateful - overwhelmed with relief that my husband was still here by my side at all. That he was alive, bloodied and limping, but breathing. And maybe that should've made every other emotion easier to carry. Maybe knowing I still had him should've given me strength enough to face all of it.

But in reality?

There was just one thing I felt:

Numb.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the weight of everything that had just happened pressing so hard on my chest that my body simply couldn't take any more. I didn't know. All I knew was that so many emotions were swirling inside me that something in me had just... switched off. It was like my heart and my mind had made some kind of silent pact: not now, not yet. Survive first. Feel later.

And we weren't alone in that.

Other parents were making the same choice. Maggie and Glenn. Gabriel, Rosita. Aaron and Eric. Alden, Enid. Annie. Others whose names blurred together in my head but whose faces were all drawn with the same quiet agony.

Merle would have made this choice, too, if he were here. I knew it. Michonne as well, if she hadn't been out on some Oceanside boat for a mission none of us fully understood. They'd both have stood here with us, saying the same impossible goodbyes.

Because in that moment, none of us were just fighters.

We were parents. Parents placing our children into the arms of others, forcing ourselves to let go, to turn away, to trust that someone else could keep them safe.

And deep down, beneath all the chaos and noise, we all knew the same terrible truth:

There was no choice.

This wouldn't end unless we ended it.

They wouldn't stop unless we stopped them.

It had barely been fifteen minutes since the decision was made to evacuate the kids and those unable to fight, and already, the carts were lined up in the courtyard. Horses stamped nervously against the dirt, whinnying and snorting while their handlers tightened harnesses. The air smelled of hay, sweat, and panic.

We all moved through it on autopilot - hugging our children, kissing their faces, breathing them in - just in case.

Nobody was sugar-coating it. What was the point? They kids knew. Maybe not the scale of what was coming, but enough to feel it - the weight in the air, the urgency in our movements, the way every adult's voice trembled just slightly too much.

Briar clung to Daryl with everything she had, her tiny fingers digging so hard into his bloodstained shirt that her knuckles turned white. She'd just gotten him back after the torture of not knowing if I'd even bring him home alive - and now she was being told she had to let go again. I watched as he ignored the pain radiating from his leg to scoop both her and Sawyer into his arms, holding them like he could fuse them to him if he just pressed hard enough. He kissed them over and over in turn, whispering to them.

When he brought them to me, his eyes were glassy, and I could see him biting it all back. He couldn't break. Not in front of them.

I didn't cry either. I couldn't. There was nothing left in me to give. I'd already sobbed myself empty in those woods when I thought I'd lost him. Now I felt like I was moving through water, like my mind was wrapped in heavy cotton, muffling everything except the need to keep them safe.

I crouched, pulling Briar and Sawyer close, whispering fiercely against their hair, making sure they heard me, really heard me: how much I loved them, how much their daddy loved them, and that everything we were about to do - everything - was for them. So they could have a future. So they could have more than this endless fight.

Annie found us, clutching DJ like she could shield him from the world by sheer force of will. She held him close to her chest, her whole body trembling. The terror in her eyes wasn't just about the battle - it was about Merle. About facing all of this without him.

Daryl's instincts kicked in. He reached for DJ without a word, pulling our nephew into his arms as Annie wrapped her arms around Briar and Sawyer. He murmured something to DJ - knowing Daryl, probably a promise that we'd bring Merle back as soon as this was over - and DJ, blissfully unaware, just let out a happy little gurgle and yanked a fistful of Daryl's hair.

Daryl couldn't help but smile. It was faint, fleeting, but it was there. For half a second, the anguish cracked, replaced by something softer - like a single star breaking through a storm.

Then, I felt a small tug at my sleeve, and Sawyer leaned in, whispering into my ear:

"I want to wear Daddy's vest so I can keep Briar safe."

It hit me like a knife and a hug all at once. He shouldn't have had to think like that. Not at four years old. And yet, the idea that wearing his daddy's vest would make him feel brave enough to protect his sister - it was heart-breaking and beautiful in equal measure.

I slipped the vest off my shoulders, crouched down, and helped him slide into it. It swallowed him whole, hanging past his knees.

That was when I snorted. Unexpected and ill-timed, the sound surprising even me - because in all the chaos, I had forgotten I was still wearing nothing but a grimy old bra under that vest, my shirt was still tied around Daryl's leg. No one had noticed. Or maybe they had and just didn't care. Maybe I didn't care either.

So there I was - half-naked in the middle of Hilltop, strapping my son into a vest that was bigger than him, kissing his messy hair, telling him how proud I was while the world around us teetered on the edge of disaster.

More hugs for the three mini Dixons, more I-love-yous, and then the children were loaded into the carts - our whole world readying to disappear behind the gates. Enough fighters were going with them to defend them if something went wrong, but not enough to make it foolproof. Nothing in this world was ever foolproof.

Nothing in this world was ever truly safe.

But that route was hidden. It had to be safe. We wouldn't be risking it otherwise.

Daryl's arms wrapped around me from behind as the carts started to roll toward the gates. I rested back into him, then reached out blindly, grabbing Annie's hand, pulling her closer, trying to show her without words that even though Merle wasn't here, she wasn't alone. She was still ours. Still family.

Daryl noticed. He kept one arm tight around my waist and stretched the other to lay a steadying hand on Annie's shoulder, grounding her the same way he grounded me.

We watched in silence as the gates creaked shut, the numbness still enveloping me. Annie didn't linger - she broke away, already moving fast, heading toward whatever task would keep her hands busy and her heart from shattering. She needed to work, to move, to fight.

I turned in Daryl's arms, pressing my face into his chest as he pulled me tighter. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing left to say. We just held on... for too long - longer than we should have, considering what waited for us outside those walls, but I couldn't make myself let go. And neither could he.

Eventually, though, he shifted, kissed the top of my head, and murmured, "C'mon. Gotta get ready." His eyes flicked briefly downward. "Better get ya a shirt, too."

I let out a huff and took his hand. "Worried you'll get distracted in battle, Mr. Dixon?"

"Yup."

Not long after the gates had shut (and I'd donned one of Tara's shirts), they creaked open again, this time allowing Carol and Ezekiel to enter. I hadn't even noticed they weren't here in the chaos. I'd just assumed they were. Somewhere.

Daryl's whole body tensed even further as he laid eyes on Carol. He stared for a moment before turning his back on her, his jaw tight. She noticed, even from a distance. She noticed. Her eyes had searched for him, for us, as soon as she stepped inside - full of remorse and self-hatred.

I still didn't know the full details of what had happened down in those caves, but I knew she'd been responsible for the collapse - the one that meant Merle hadn't got out. Neither had Magna or Connie.

I couldn't meet her eyes, either. Not right now. Instead, I grasped Daryl's hand, and we moved through Hilltop's yard, weaving between people grabbing weapons, stacking crates, tying bundles of arrows, sharpening blades. There was no yelling, no chaos - just a low, heavy hum of controlled urgency. Everyone knew what to do, but no one wanted to be doing it.

That bullshit we'd told ourselves about making a decision after the kids had left for safety? Yeah, we all knew there was no more discussion to be had. Those still here were fighting. Remaining at Hilltop meant being ready to defend it. Those who weren't willing ot able to partake had left in those carts with the children.

Every face we passed looked like my own probably did - drawn, pale, set in that grim mask you wear when you've already imagined how you might die.

Glenn and Maggie barked quick instructions near the blacksmith's shed. Earl was handing out axes, his jaw fixed with determination. Enid looked uncharacteristically unsteady, like more than just sending Adam away, and the very real possibility of all of our deaths was on her mind.

I questioned if it was because it was the first time she'd had to make a decision like this. Her and Alden had taken in Adam, the baby the Whisperers had left on the ground during that first unnerving encounter, and they, without a doubt, loved him like their own. But I couldn't shake the feeling that there was still more to it...

Daryl was moving slower than usual, his limp worse now that he'd walked so far. But he didn't stop. Didn't complain. He just kept loading bolts, checking the tension on his crossbow string, glancing over his shoulder at me every few seconds like he needed to make sure I was still there.

I was. But my hands shook as I ran them over the blades I was checking. I was running on fumes. My body kept demanding sleep, food, water, and I kept ignoring it. The second I stopped moving, I knew the weight would crush me.

"Ya okay?" Daryl's voice broke through the grinding sounds of hammering and scraping.

I blinked and looked up. He was standing close now, crossbow slung over his shoulder, eyes sharp even through the pain he was clearly in.

I scoffed. "You're asking me that? When you're the one being thrown into battle right after your pretty face almost got made into a Whisperer mask?"

He didn't falter. "Yeah."

"I'm fine," I lied. "But your leg still needs looking at."

"S'fine" he muttered, like that was the end of the conversation.

"You're just saying that because we might die later anyway," I retorted sarcastically. "But if we don't, you're going to regret it when you've got gangrene in your thigh."

He gave me that stubborn look of his, but I wasn't letting him get out of it. I grabbed his hand, refusing to hear whatever protest was forming behind his teeth. "Come on."

For a second, I thought he might dig in his heels, but instead, he exhaled hard - resigned - and let me take him.

Hilltop's infirmary felt almost foreign as we stepped inside. Too quiet. Too still. The air carried that familiar antiseptic sting - rubbing alcohol, old linen, something faintly metallic beneath it - but the silence was heavier than that. It wasn't just quiet; it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath, bracing for what they already knew was coming. Before long, this room would likely be full of blood, screaming, and heartbreak.

The last time we'd both been in here together, we were staring at the screen of an ultrasound machine, watching Sawyer kicking his little legs and refusing to turn to face us despite Enid's careful encouragement with the probe. I remember staring at his little black and white form, teasing Daryl that this one was already as stubborn as their daddy.

I half-wanted to bring it up, but I didn't. Not when we'd just watched them disappear off to Oceanside without us. It didn't feel right.

"Sit," I ordered, pointing to a narrow cot against the wall.

Daryl hesitated, watching me like he was still about to argue. I didn't even give him the chance. I raised a brow. "Sit, Dixon."

His shoulders slumped the tiniest bit, and he obeyed. I watched him peel away the makeshift bandage - my belt and the shredded remains of my shirt.

I crouched, fingers finding the laces of his boot. I worked on autopilot, but even simple motions felt heavier than they should have. I could feel my exhaustion - my arms dragging, my legs unsteady - but I pushed it aside. I tugged off his boot then eased one leg out of his torn pants. I was careful, mindful of every flinch, every tiny sharp breath he didn't want me to notice.

The wound made my stomach knot. The flesh was raw, ragged. Blood crusted thick along every inch of his skin, dark and cracked like old paint.

If it were anybody else, I'd have told them there was no way they were in any state to join a fight... but this was Daryl... I knew my words would be wasted.

I grabbed what I needed: a bowl of water, a clean cloth, an almost-empty bottle of antibiotics. I knelt again, and my fingers moved automatically: dampen, press, wipe. The water turned pink almost instantly.

"Shouldn'ta come after me," he said quietly, breaking the silence like the words had been sitting in him, waiting. "Could'a gone bad."

I froze for just a second, then looked up at him. "Could you have not come after me?"

His mouth twitched. For a brief moment, I thought he might smirk, but instead, he just muttered, "Nah."

I gave him a look that said everything. "Exactly." I wrung out the cloth, started again. "No way in hell was I leaving you out there."

"Aaron was s'posed to tell ya not to come."

"I was already on my way before Aaron even got back," I said, glancing up at him. "That thing happened again."

His brow furrowed, then softened with recognition. "The feelin'?"

"Yeah. The feeling."

That strange, unexplainable thing that had always been there between us. A physical pull, a pain that didn't belong to our own bodies but to each other's. I'd felt it that day at the farm. He'd felt it the day I'd been buried in rubble years ago. It had saved us more than once. I didn't understand it, but I didn't question it anymore either.

He shifted, uncomfortable. "'N' ya let the kid come with?"

I scoffed. "No. She followed me."

"Why?"

"Because she cares about you. I think more than either of us realized."

He looked at me, confused, almost disbelieving. There was something softer behind it, though - something fragile.

"You're so loved, Daryl Dixon," I said quietly. "Just wish I'd told you that before you went."

His head dropped slightly. "M'sorry. Shouldn'ta left like that. Didn't wanna."

I finished cleaning his wound, reached for fresh gauze, and started wrapping it. "Nah. I'm the one who shouldn't have let you leave like that," I murmured. "I knew better."

"Just wanted ya safe. Away from it."

I tied the bandage off firmly, then leaned forward and pressed my lips to it, sealing it with more than just tape. "I know that. But Daryl - it's like you forget I need to keep you safe too."

He chewed on his lip, pulling his pants back up with a half-hearted nod.

"Maybe things would've gone the same way no matter what," I continued softly. "Maybe we both would've ended up bleeding out in that gas station. But maybe not. I could've been there. I could've kept you from being alone."

His eyes dropped again, guilt shadowing them. "Maybe we wouldn'ta still been out there while our kids were trapped in a fuckin' house with one of 'em."

"Stop." My voice was sharper than I meant, but I couldn't let him go there. "That's not on you. Neither of us could've known. And they weren't hurt. They could've been, but they weren't."

I pushed to my feet, but the room tilted. I blinked, trying to get a grip of myself. My knees felt unsteady, my head foggy. I braced a hand on the cot.

"Ath," Daryl said immediately, watching me. "Yur exhausted."

"Aren't we all?" I tried to joke, rubbing at my face. "I'm fine."

He kept looking at me, his gaze sharp.

"Ya get hurt out there?"

I didn't answer. That was enough.

"C'mere." He reached for my hand and tugged gently.

"We don't have time-"

"Ya need rest. Ain't gonna be no good to fight if ya can't goddamn see straight."

"You're the one who just cheated death..."

"Least I slept."

I sighed, rolled my eyes, but deep down I was aching for exactly what he was offering. I let him pull me onto the cot. His arms came around me instantly - strong, protective, grounding.

"What happened?" he murmured, his eyes flicking to the back of my head where dried blood still streaked my hair. Mine. Not like the rest of the claret on my body and clothes that had belonged to him.

"Fell," I mumbled, already drowsy, as his lips brushed that tender spot in a soft kiss.

"M'sorry," he whispered against my skin.

"Don't be," I murmured. "Wasn't your fault. Was a walker. And a rock that didn't like me."

He sighed heavily. "Jus' what ya need when yur already gettin' headaches, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

He pressed another delicate kiss to my head. "Hate that ya got hurt... Even more reason ya gotta rest, though, Ath."

"Fine," I muttered, giving in. "Twenty minutes."

His chin brushed the top of my head as one hand threaded gently through my hair, careful not to touch the cut. I felt myself slipping almost immediately, my body giving up the fight.

Just before sleep claimed me, I heard him whisper, low and rough, "Stay close to me. When they come."

"Always do," I mumbled, already half gone, his fingers still stroking my hair.

~

When I woke, the light in the room had shifted. The silence felt different - thinner. The world outside was moving closer to the edge, and I knew without even asking that I'd slept longer than twenty minutes.

I sat up quickly, Daryl's arms falling from around me. "You didn't wake me."

His voice was calm, steady. "Ya needed it."

But I could see it in his eyes - he'd needed it too. He'd needed to hold me. Maybe as much as I'd needed to be held. I couldn't even begin to imagine those hours he'd spent bleeding in that gas station, carving words into wood with hands that were shaking too hard to hold a knife straight, convinced he'd never see us again.

My chest tightened, but I pushed it down. We didn't have time for that pain right now.

"We better go," I said, sliding my legs off the cot. But before I could stand, his arms closed around me again.

"Kiss me first," he said quietly, almost shy.

I paused. Looked at him. And then I smiled - small, tired, but real.

Carefully, mindful of his injury, I climbed into his lap. I framed his face with both hands, taking a moment to just look at him - the bruises, the exhaustion, the stubborn set of his jaw, and the softness in his eyes that he'd never admit to anyone but me.

Then I kissed him.

Slow at first, gentle, like I was trying to learn him all over again. My lips brushed his once, then again, lingering longer each time until I felt him exhale against my mouth like the weight he'd been carrying loosened just a little. His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer with a kind of quiet desperation that made my chest ache.

The numbness I'd been carrying started to lift at his touch. The world started coming back, not all of it, not the fear and the guilt and the panic just yet - but the intense relief he'd made it, that we were still a family of four.

I kissed him deeper, letting him feel every word I didn't have time to say: I love you. I'm glad you're alive. I'm terrified. I'm here. Always here.

His fingers tangled in my hair, careful not to touch my wound, but firm enough to keep me suspended right there, in that kiss, in that moment that felt like the only safe place left in the world.

When I eventually pulled back, my nose rested against his. For a second, neither of us moved. We just breathed the same air, clinging to the last calm we'd have before everything outside those walls came crashing down.

But that calm was already over.

The infirmary door slammed open so hard it ricocheted against the wall with a hollow bang. Annie burst inside, hair wild, DJ babbling in her arms like he could feel her panic. Briar and Sawyer flanked her, their eyes wide and too bright, faces flushed from running.

Daryl's hands tightened on my waist instinctively, anchoring me as my heart shot straight into my throat.

What the fuck were they doing back here!?

I slid off his lap in an instant, boots hitting the floor hard. My pulse was roaring in my ears. Any trace of numbness still remaining inside me vanishing in an instant.

"Roads were all blocked." Annie's voice cracked. She sounded like she was trying not to cry but didn't have much fight left in her. "Even the one we thought was safe."

Sawyer's small fingers dug into my hand as he pressed himself against me. Briar was clinging to Daryl's waist now, her little fists gripping him like he was the only solid thing left.

I forced my voice steady. "Blocked how? Walkers? Trees?"

"Both," Annie choked out. "They knew we'd try to get them out. They cut us off." She hugged DJ tighter, her voice rising. "There's no way out."

Daryl muttered a curse under his breath. His eyes flicked to mine, sharp, already shifting into that mode I'd seen too many times before - the one that meant there was no space left for fear. Just action.

"If we can't get the kids out," I whispered, realization settling cold in my gut. "They're going to be here when it happens."

Annie nodded, biting hard on her lip like she might break if she didn't. "There's no escape route. They're going to be watching. It's a miracle the carts made it back as it is."

The walls felt smaller suddenly, like they were closing in. I bent, scooping Sawyer into one arm and reaching for Briar with the other. They both clung to me like they knew exactly what those words meant.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow from the corner without a second thought. "To the house. Now."

We ran hard toward Barrington House, my arms aching from holding Sawyer tight against me. His little body jolted with every stride, but I couldn't let go, couldn't even loosen my grip. Ahead of me, Daryl carried Briar, his bad leg dragging but his pace unrelenting. The sound of children crying, adults yelling, boots pounding - it all blurred into one frantic rush.

The entrance hall was already packed. Children huddled together on benches and the floor, clinging to toys, blankets, and each other. The smell of fear was sharp - sweat, dust, and tears. Maggie caught my eyes across the room, and for the first time in a long time, she looked as terrified as I felt.

They weren't supposed to be here.

They were supposed to be miles away by now, heading toward safety.

Fuck.

We'd been so sure that route was hidden, so sure it was safe. We'd trusted it enough to send our kids without us for God's sake.

I silently thanked whatever force existed in this world that they'd made it back alive. They could just as easily not have, but guilt still tore through my chest like claws. They'd already been in Alexandria without us when Beta attacked, and now, they'd been out there on the road, probably surrounded, exposed, and we weren't there. Again.

"This place have a basement?" Daryl's voice was hard, tight. I'd seen him furious, seen him heartbroken, but rarely like this - rarely so raw with panic.

"Yeah." Glenn nodded quickly. "It's in bad shape, but yeah."

Sawyer whimpered against me, still wearing Daryl's vest, the angel wings on the back battered from years of wear. One was shredded almost completely - barely a ghost of its former shape.

"It's gonna be dark in the basement," Sawyer cried suddenly, his voice breaking. "I don't wanna go."

Daryl was at my side instantly, taking Sawyer from me with a gentleness that didn't match the storm in his eyes. "Ya don't have to go yet, wildboy," he murmured, holding him close. "But when the grown-ups say so, yur jus' gonna have to. M'sorry, but we gotta keep ya all safe. Yur big sister'll be there to take care of ya."

Sawyer sniffled but didn't argue.

Daryl turned back to Glenn. "Let 'em stay up here for now. Send 'em down when we see 'em comin'."

Outside, Eugene and Rosita were already outside the gates when the rest of us joined them, recalibrating the electric fence that was positioned fifty or so meters out. We moved quickly, rigging traps, sharpening pikes, reinforcing the barricades. I forced myself to focus, to keep my hands busy even though my chest felt too tight to breathe.

When there was nothing left to do but wait, Daryl came up beside me. "Ya okay?" he asked, knowing I wasn't.

And just like that, the fragile dam inside me cracked. My hands dropped, my body shaking as the tears I'd been holding back spilled all at once. I pressed both palms to my face, but it was no use - I was already sobbing.

"They're not supposed to be here," I choked out. "Maybe if we'd left with them - maybe we could've found a way."

Daryl's arms were around me instantly, solid, strong, unyielding. I buried my face in his chest, trembling.

"Ath," he murmured into my hair. "Roads're blocked. Wouldn'ta made no difference."

"They could've been hurt," I sobbed. "Killed out there, and we weren't there with them. Again."

His body tensed like the thought had cut straight through him.

"What if we can't keep them out?" I whispered. "What if they get in, and they make it past us, and they make it to the basement?"

"Won't happen," he said quickly, almost too quickly.

"You don't know that."

He was quiet for a beat, and I felt the truth in that silence. It scared him, too.

"C'mon," he said finally, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. His hands framed my face, rough thumbs brushing my tears away. He pressed a quick, firm kiss to my forehead. "Can't do nothin' else yet. S'go spend some time with 'em."

Before I could answer, a rustle cut through the air. Then another. Dozens of rats shot out from the brush beyond the fence, scattering into the grass, fleeing as if the earth itself had turned hostile.

"They're coming," Yumiko called sharply, already reaching for her bow. "Everyone, get ready."

We still couldn't see them. But we knew. It wouldn't be long now.

Daryl stopped to speak to Ezekiel, who was tightening the straps on his armor, his expression grim, as we entered Barrington house. I made a beeline straight for the kids, heart pounding. I needed to see them.

They were sitting on a couch, Sawyer no longer in Daryl's vest, Briar fiddling nervously with her hands. Judith was there, trying to distract them by showing DJ how to bounce on her knee.

I moved toward them, but Annie caught my arm.

"After," she said, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I need you to take care of DJ. I need to go find Merle."

"No," I said immediately.

Her eyebrows shot up.

"Because we're coming with you," I told her firmly. "Daryl and me. We'll find him together. After."

She stared at me for a second, then nodded, relief flashing across her face.

Daryl had reached the kids now, but I hung back, watching, memorizing, desperately hoping this wasn't the last time I'd see him like this - with them.

"I wanna help," Judith said firmly. "I can fight." She bounced DJ gently as if proving her strength.

"Yeah!" Briar piped up, "I can too! I kicked that big guy that smelled really bad!"

Daryl crouched, meeting their eyes. "I know ya can."

"We're not scared," Judith insisted, but her eyes betrayed her.

"We're not!" Briar echoed, though her voice wavered.

"I know you're not..." Daryl said softly. Then he paused. "Maybe I am. A little bit."

That made them both stop. My heart ached.

"If I was scared," Judith admitted after a second, "maybe I'd be scared for RJ. Because he's so little."

"Yeah," Briar said. "Maybe I'd be worried about Sawyer."

Daryl nodded. "Yeah. I get that."

"Maybe I'd be worried about my mom," Judith continued. "Maybe I'd be scared that you'd get hurt and I'd lose you. And Aunt Athena too."

Sawyer's small voice cut in suddenly. "My daddy's strong and brave."

"So's our mom," Briar added before turning back to Daryl. "But I'm scared of you both getting hurt anyway."

"Ain't no shame in that," Daryl said quietly.

Briar reached behind the couch, her small hands lifting something carefully. "Daddy, we made you something. It's for luck."

She held up his vest, and I froze. They'd repaired the destroyed wing.

The new one wasn't white like the other. It was electric blue - made from a material I couldn't quite put my finger on - sewn with tiny, uneven hands. Next to the aged, dirty white wing, the blue one looked almost like a flame - new against the old. A symbol of everything we were fighting for.

Daryl just stared, his lips parted, like words didn't exist for him right then.

"No way!" he exclaimed finally, though his voice cracked. "I love it!"

He slipped the vest on, and I couldn't stop the swell of pride that hit me. He looked like a soldier and a father all at once.

"How do I look?" he asked, the most beautiful grin breaking through that lit up his whole face.

Judith and Briar giggled, and Briar nodded. "It looks good, Daddy."

It really did.

Daryl's expression softened, then grew serious. "There's one other thing," he said quietly. "If, during the fight, Mommy or me..." He glanced to Judith, "Ath or me - or Ezekiel - comes lookin' for you kids, you go with 'em. Whether you know where the other two grown ups are or not. Okay?"

No one answered.

"Hey." His tone was firm but gentle. "Ya gotta promise me."

Briar nodded reluctantly. "We promise, Daddy."

"Yeah," Judith added. "Promise."

I stepped forward finally, my voice steady even though my heart was breaking. "He looks so handsome in his new vest," I told them softly. "You did such a good job."

Judith straightened a little, pride shining through her fear.

"You ready?" I asked gently. "The other kids are already heading to the basement. RJ's down there waiting... Take care of each other, okay?"

We hugged them all. Four little bodies wrapped in our arms, their warmth imprinting on me like I could hold onto it forever. Daryl kissed each of them, his voice low but firm. "I love y'all. Don't forget it."

"We love you all so much," I said, and Judith's face softened like that meant more to her than I'd realized.

Annie had already said her goodbye to DJ, who now reached his arms toward Daryl, but Judith shifted him onto her hip with a competence far beyond her years - like she'd done it a hundred times before. I couldn't stop myself from bending down, pressing one more kiss to Briar's curls, then Sawyer's shaggy mane. I didn't want to let go, but I had to.

I reached for Daryl's hand instead, fingers lacing through his as we stood together, watching their small figures disappear with the others toward the basement door. Every step they took away from us felt like something tearing.

"Me, you, or Ezekiel?" I asked, my voice low, unsteady.

Daryl sighed. "Yeah. Arranged with 'im. Just in case. If any of us see the other two go down..." He paused, swallowing hard. "...the last one gets the kids and runs. Takes 'em through that hatch Sasha built. Heads for the cabin in the woods - one near the lake."

"They'll be watching."

"Only option we got."

My jaw tightened so hard it hurt, but I nodded anyway.

"Ath," he said, turning toward me fully now, his voice rough. "If Ezekiel's gone already, 'n I go down... ya have to go. Don't risk tryna save me. Jus' go. Please."

The sting in my eyes turned sharp. "I can't."

"Ya have to."

"I just got you back." My voice cracked.

"I know." He took my hand, his thumb running over my knuckles. "But they come first. We promised, remember?"

We had. So long ago, before Briar was even born. We'd sworn to each other - if the worst ever came, our children would always come first. No matter what.

I'd reminded him of that back at that cabin. The one where I'd pointed a fucking gun at him and begged him to leave me behind. He did. Even though he sobbed his heart out, looked like a man being torn in two doing it - he'd kept that promise.

I forced myself to nod even though it felt like ripping my own heart out. "Then you have to promise the same... If I go down..."

Daryl's jaw flexed, his eyes darkening. But finally, slowly, he gave one short nod.

As we exited Barrington House, Carol appeared, moving toward us with quick, tense steps. Her eyes were brimming, her face pale.

"Please don't hate me," she begged, her voice breaking.

Daryl stiffened beside me, his jaw working, his hands curling into fists.

"M'never gonna hate ya," he said flatly.

It wasn't warm. It wasn't forgiving. But it was something. For Daryl, that was trying - trying to offer comfort despite everything he was feeling toward her actions and their consequences.

He didn't hug her, didn't soften further, just turned away and reached for a weapon resting on the supply cart - a brutal morning star, a wooden haft with a heavy metal sphere spiked with deadly steel points. He tested the weight of it in his hand, then started moving forward, tugging me along.

I glanced back at Carol briefly and forced an awkward, wry smile that didn't reach my eyes. She'd screwed up, badly. But that didn't mean I didn't love her.

~

The entire community was gathered now, shoulder to shoulder, standing in tight, rigid ranks just beyond Hilltop's gates. Daryl limped forward, fierce and determined, until he reached the very front. I stayed right beside him, our hands locked so tightly together that my fingers throbbed. Neither of us loosened our grip. Neither of us could.

We stood there with everyone else, staring into the darkness that had fully swallowed the world beyond the treeline. Waiting.

My pulse thundered so violently I could feel it in my teeth. Barrington House held everything that mattered. Our children were in there. If the walls fell, if the line broke-

Kelly suddenly crouched low, pressing her palms flat to the dirt. She closed her eyes and tilted her head, listening like she could hear the ground itself breathing.

"They're close," she whispered. "Really close."

I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath until my chest burned, a sharp ache that made me gasp softly.

We didn't know how many walkers had survived the cave explosion, but we all knew the same truth: too many.

The first shapes materialized in the distant black, and my stomach dropped like a stone.

An ocean of pale, rotting faces. A relentless tide of bodies, all moving as one mass that seemed to swallow the horizon. The sound hit next - a low, ceaseless roar of moans and snapping jaws, an animal chorus of death.

I turned my head toward Daryl to find him already looking at me. His eyes were dark, wide, unguarded in a way that made my throat close. He didn't need to speak. I could see it - he was just as terrified as I was.

And then - without warning - he yanked me toward him. His hands clamped around my face with a roughness that bordered on desperate, and his mouth smashed against mine.

It wasn't a kiss. Not really. It was an impact. A collision of fear, love, and panic all at once.

His lips moved hard, urgent, almost frantic - like he was pouring every unsaid thing, every I-love-you, every please-don't-die into me. His breath was hot, uneven, and he kissed me like a man who believed there might not be another chance. His hand slid around the back of my neck, gripping tight, anchoring me as if letting me go would mean losing me forever. I clung to his vest, knuckles white, holding on just as fiercely, feeling his heart pounding through the layers of leather and fabric between us.

It wasn't gentle or careful. It was raw survival. A desperate tether in the chaos.

And neither of us could give less of a fuck that every single person behind us was watching.

I finally tore my mouth from his just long enough to suck in air, but he didn't let me pull back. His forehead pressed to mine, almost painfully hard, his breathing ragged against my lips. He didn't open his eyes. He just held me there, refusing to let the world back in for one more stolen second.

"Yur the love of ma life." He whispered.

"You're the love of mine." I breathed back.

"Don't leave me."

"Don't you dare leave me, either."

Aaron's voice cut through like a blade. "Formation!"

The spell shattered.

All around us, people moved instantly, shields snapping up, weapons raised.

The first wave of walkers hit the electric fence. The crackle of power lit up the night, followed by the sickening sound of bodies sizzling, splitting, and dropping in heaps. Smoke rolled across the field, thick and acrid, carrying the smell of burning flesh - so strong it turned my stomach. Even from here, it smelled like the world's most revolting barbecue.

But there were too many.

"It's not gonna hold!" I blurted, gripping my knife until my hand shook.

"Nah," Daryl replied, grim and tight-lipped. "It ain't."

The dead pressed forward, trampling over each other, piling so high their weight bowed the fence. With a sharp metallic shriek, the wire snapped, and the horde began pouring through.

Shit.

"On my command!" Maggie roared. "Splitting ranks! And, break!"

The shield wall surged forward, slamming into the tide. Behind them, we - the melee fighters - darted in and out, slashing, stabbing, killing anything that broke through.

I drove my knife into a skull, yanked it free, pivoted, dodged a grab, stabbed again. My arm burned, but I kept moving.

Daryl's morning star swung in brutal arcs, the spiked ball crunching bone, sending walkers collapsing in crumpled heaps. His crossbow stayed strapped to his back - bolts were too precious to waste this early.

Behind us, the archers unleashed volley after volley, arrows slicing through the air, punching holes into the endless wave.

The dead were beginning to pile up, slowing the horde behind them. If we could keep this up, maybe - just, maybe - this could work.

Then - thunk.

Something slammed against my chest, bursting in a spray. Cold liquid soaked me instantly. I spun, confused, just as another hit nearby, splattering over Daryl, the ground, and the fighters closest to us.

It stung my skin.

"Smells like a Christmas tree!" Jerry called.

If this had been any other situation, my knees would have gone weak watching my drop-dead-gorgeous husband wielding his weapon, dripping wet, the liquid splashing off him as he moved - he looked like something out of a fucking soft-core porn movie.

But instead, my gut twisted.

I knew that smell. Pine resin. Oil.

I turned to warn Daryl, but one look at his face told me he already knew.

"It's like gasoline!" Glenn called out, panicked.

The Whisperers weren't just targeting us - they were dousing the field. And the walls. And everything inside of Hilltop.

The first fire-arrow cut through the air.

Screams ripped the night as it hit a Hilltop fighter, flames swallowing him in seconds. Another arrow struck the fence, igniting the resin-soaked wood. Then another.

We couldn't win this. Not like this.

"Fall back!" Daryl commanded.

"Retreat!" Aaron echoed.

More voices were screaming, but I had no idea who they belonged to anymore!

"Come on! Come on!" "Go, go, go!" "Move! Just fucking move!"

We broke ranks and sprinted toward Hilltop, the heat from the burning fence licking at our skin. As we reached the gates, another volley of fire-arrows struck. More sap sacks slammed into the walls.

In seconds, Hilltop itself was on fire.

Flames climbed the wooden walls, devouring them faster than I thought possible.

My chest seized. The kids are inside there.

Our kids are inside there.

I couldn't breathe. My vision tunneled.

"They're inside!" I gasped, panic tearing my voice raw. "The kids are inside! We can't-"

Daryl grabbed my hand in a crushing grip. "Gotta find a way in!"

The dead were now ramming the gates from the outside, their sheer numbers forcing the wood to splinter. It finally gave way, collapsing inward. Walkers surged through, flooding the courtyard.

But the break also left a gap - our only shot.

Carol fired arrow after arrow, barely slowing the incoming tide. Alden and Earl launched stones from catapults, trying to thin the swarm. Whisperers were in the mix now, their blades flashing as they cut into anyone too focused on the walkers to see them coming.

I barely saw any of it.

All I saw was Barrington House. Burning. Consuming itself.

"My babies," I whispered, already running.

Daryl was at my heels, limping but pushing himself harder than I'd ever seen. The front doorway was a solid wall of fire.

We didn't even fight about one of us staying behind. There wasn't time.

We locked eyes - one last wordless promise - and then we ran.

Hand in hand, we hurled ourselves through the flames.

Heat slammed into me like a physical blow, blistering my skin even through my clothes. I couldn't inhale without searing pain tearing through my throat. The air itself was poison - smoke so thick it clawed at my lungs, made my eyes stream until I could barely see.

We stumbled through the entrance hall, coughing violently, flames crawling up the walls around us.

"Basement!" Daryl rasped, his voice strained. He grabbed my wrist and pulled hard.

We fought through the smoke, half-blind, and reached the basement door.

It was already open.

"They're gone!" I screamed as we stumbled down the stairs and found nothing but emptiness.

We turned and staggered back up, hacking, eyes burning

"Briar! Sawyer!" I screamed, my throat raw. "Judith!"

"They're not here!" Daryl choked. "Ezekiel must have 'em."

"They could've run to the attic!" I yelled back, already lurching toward the stairs.

It didn't make sense, and on some level I knew that. But I couldn't think straight. All I wanted to do was find them.

"Ath, they ain't-"

"I have to check!" I coughed, dragging myself up despite the fire closing in.

But halfway up, my body gave out. My knees buckled, my vision went black around the edges, and when I tried to breathe, I got nothing but smoke.

The world tilted.

I felt myself falling...

A/N: Thank you so much for your reads, votes and comments! ❤️❤️❤️