Chapter 64 - Ella

Once the Saviors were taken care of, the smoke still hung thick over Hilltop, the stench of fire and gunpowder and blood turning my stomach. But we were alive.And we owed that to Aaron—and the women of Oceanside.

They'd shown up out of nowhere, fierce and silent, their faces streaked with dirt and war paint, Molotov cocktails clutched tight in their hands. They'd stood shoulder to shoulder with our people and, without hesitation, lit the bastards on fire. The bottles had arced through the air like comets, bursting against the Saviors' vehicles and scattering flames that roared bright and hungry. The screams that followed had been awful—bone-deep, haunting—but it had ended it. Finally.

Now, the fires outside the walls had died down to low, smoldering embers. Every time a breeze rolled in, I could smell ash. Could taste it.

We were safe... for now.

The kids had been ushered back inside, the gates locked behind us. The noise outside turned to murmurs as our people began tending to the wounded and gathering the bodies. I busied myself helping where I could—wiping soot off Carl's cheek, making sure Enid had bandages, checking Ruby's feverish little forehead—but my mind was anywhere but here.

Daryl wasn't home yet.

Every time the gate creaked, I looked up. Every distant rumble of an engine made my heart kick like a rabbit in a snare. I tried to keep my hands busy, but they just shook. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run out there and find him myself, drag him back if I had to.

Instead, I sat down at the small dining table in the middle of the trailer and pressed my forehead against my palms, trying to breathe. My body ached from exhaustion, my nerves so fried I couldn't tell if I was cold or burning up.

"Ellie?"

Carl's voice broke the silence. I blinked and looked up. He stood near the doorway, that soft half-smile of his trying to be brave for both of us. His hat was tipped back, his face smudged with dirt and sweat. He looked too damn old for his age.

"Yeah?" I rasped. My voice sounded strange in the stillness.

He stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking beneath his boots. "He'll come home. It's gonna be fine."

He said it so simply, so sure. Like it was a fact of life, not a prayer. Then he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. I didn't even realize I was crying until I felt the wetness on his sleeve.

"It's gonna be fine," he repeated, softer this time.

I nodded against his chest, my voice barely a whisper. "I know... I just keep thinking—what if he doesn't? What if he..."

The words jammed in my throat. I couldn't say it. Couldn't even let myself think it.

"Hey." Carl pulled back enough to look me in the eye. His face was all calm steel, the same stubborn strength Rick carried when the world came apart. "He's too damn stubborn to die."

That pulled a weak laugh out of me, broken but real. "He is pretty stubborn," I said, wiping my face with the heel of my hand.

Carl smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Yeah. It's like a family trait at this point."

That earned him another tearful laugh, and I hugged him tight again. The sound of it—his voice, his heartbeat—anchored me. For the first time in hours, I let myself believe it.

He was right.

Daryl Dixon was too damn stubborn to die.

And I'd be right here, waiting for him when he came home.

Two more hours passed.

The world outside the trailer had gone quiet — too quiet. The kind of silence that sinks into your bones and makes your stomach twist. I'd worn a track into the floorboards, pacing between the crib and the window, between hope and despair.

But then...

That sound.

Low and familiar, like thunder rolling through my chest — the rumble of Daryl's bike.

I froze. My breath hitched, hands instinctively flying to my belly. The babies stirred behind me in the crib, Ruby let out a tiny whine, and that was all it took. I bolted for the door, heart pounding so hard I could barely breathe.

By the time I reached the yard, I could see him — that battered leather vest, the crossbow slung across his back, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and grime. He looked like hell. But he was here. He was alive.

"Daryl!" I screamed his name, my voice cracking.

He didn't even slow down when the bike rolled through the gate. Didn't set the kickstand. Just cut the engine and ran. I met him halfway, the world blurring around us as he caught me up in his arms. My feet left the ground as he crushed me to his chest.

"Jesus, you're okay," I gasped against his shoulder, my fingers digging into the back of his vest, clutching him like he might vanish if I let go.

His breath hitched, rough and uneven. "Had to make it back to you, baby," he rasped, his voice breaking against my skin. "Had to come home."

He was shaking — really shaking. His arms locked around me, trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. I could feel his heartbeat hammering against my chest, wild and frantic. His face buried against my neck, breath hot and ragged.

"I just kept thinking the worst," I whispered, tears spilling down my cheeks. "God, Daryl, I thought you were—"

He pulled back just enough to frame my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that just kept coming. His own eyes were glassy, blue and raw and alive.

"You ain't ever gonna lose me," he said, voice hoarse and broken in that way that made my heart ache. "Ain't nothin' in this world strong enough to keep me from you."

My laugh came out choked, half-sob, half-relief. "You always say that."

"And I always mean it." He pressed his forehead to mine, breath mingling with mine. "Every damn time."

I kissed him then, desperate and messy, tasting salt and smoke and home. His hands slid into my hair, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself breathe.

When we finally pulled apart, the yard was alive again — Ian running full tilt across the grass, yelling, "Daddy!" at the top of his lungs.

Daryl dropped to one knee just in time to catch him, lifting the boy up into his arms like he weighed nothing.

"Hey, little man." His voice cracked again as Ian threw his arms around his neck. "Missed you somethin' fierce."

"I knew you'd come back!" Ian said proudly, burying his face in Daryl's shoulder.

"I told you he would," I said, wiping my face as Carl appeared in the doorway, holding Ruby on one hip and Judith's hand in the other. The two girls spotted Daryl and immediately started wriggling to get free.

Ruby let out a squeal, her tiny fists reaching for him.

"I got 'em," Carl said with a grin, handing Ruby over carefully.

Daryl took her, holding her so close his eyes went soft. "There's my girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You keepin' your mama on her toes, huh?"

Judith tugged at his pant leg. "Uncle Daryl! Up!"

He huffed out a watery laugh and scooped her into his free arm, balancing her against his side. "Ain't none of you lettin' me breathe, huh?"

"You love it," I teased, wiping away the last of my tears.

He met my gaze over their heads — his family in his arms, the world still spinning madly around us — and for a moment, everything was still. The fires, the fighting, the fear... it all faded into the background.

"I do," he said simply. "More than I ever thought I could."

I stepped closer, resting a hand over his heart, feeling it beating strong beneath my palm. "Welcome home," I whispered.

Daryl leaned forward, kissing me again — slower this time, softer. "Ain't nowhere else I'd rather be."

And for the first time in a long, long time... we were all together. Whole. Safe.

Home.

By the time the sun started to dip, the whole yard was slowing down. For once, Hilltop felt quiet—just the hum of conversation, the creak of the gates, and the smell of someone's cooking drifting through the air. Michonne and Rick came to collect their kids, Michonne smiled down at Judith as she clung to my leg.

"You sure you don't want her tonight?" Michonne asked, brushing a stray curl off Judith's forehead.

I smiled, though it was tired, the kind of smile that came from pure gratitude that we were all still standing. "You'll get more rest if she stays with you," I said softly. "Besides, she's got her daddy and big brother tonight."

Judith frowned, clinging to my leg. "But Uncle Daryl makes pancakes."

That earned a laugh from behind me. "You say that like I'm gonna stop." Daryl crouched down, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Promise I'll make you a stack soon as things calm down, alright?"

"Pinky swear?" she demanded, holding up her tiny finger.

He hooked his pinky with hers. "Pinky swear."

That seemed to satisfy her. She hugged me hard before Michonne scooped her up. Carl lingered behind, giving me one of those soft, shy smiles that always reminded me how young he still was, no matter how much the world had forced him to grow.

"He'll come home every time," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"

I reached out and brushed his cheek with my thumb, smiling faintly. "I do. But thank you for saying it anyway."

Carl's eyes softened, and he gave me a quick hug before heading off after Michonne and Rick.

Aaron came by a little later to collect Gracie. I had packed away some breast milk in bottles for him, a diaper bag full of Ruby's hand-me-downs and cloth diapers.

Aaron chuckled, but his smile was a little wet around the edges. "Thank you, for looking after her while I was at Oceanside."

"Oh, it was nothing." I pressed a kiss to Gracie's forehead before handing her over to Aaron. "You take her home. She needs her daddy tonight."

Aaron nodded, blinking fast. "You're a good one, you know that?"

"Don't tell Daryl," I said, managing a small laugh. "He still thinks I'm the mean one."

Aaron chuckled as he walked off, whispering, "Wouldn't dream of it."

And then... the trailer was quiet.

It was just us again—me, Daryl, Ian, and Ruby.

Ian sat cross-legged on his bed, running his fingers over one of his arrows, brow furrowed like he was contemplating something big. Ruby lay in her crib, babbling nonsense as she shoved her little hands in her mouth.

"Alright, wild things," I said, hands on my hips. "Time for bed."

Ian groaned. "But I'm not even tired!"

"Uh-huh," Daryl grunted, crossing his arms. "Then you can pretend to sleep until you actually do. Brush your teeth, little man."

Ian stomped toward the tiny sink, muttering under his breath, and I bit my lip to hide a laugh. Ruby giggled, her little hands clapping like she found her brother's attitude hilarious.

"You think that's funny?" I teased, scooping her up. "Just wait till you're five. I'll remember this."

It took us twenty minutes to wrangle them. Twenty minutes of missing pajamas, spilled water, Ian needing one more story, and Ruby deciding bedtime was a personal offense. But eventually, we got there—Ruby asleep, Ian curled under his blanket with one arm around his stuffed rabbit, face peaceful at last.

I tucked him in, brushing the hair from his forehead, and my heart twisted tight. No matter how much he grew, he still looked so small when he slept. So innocent.

Behind me, Daryl was standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching them both. His face softened in the low light, that tough exterior fading to something tender.

"They're somethin', huh?" I whispered.

"They're ours," he said simply.

I reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "We made it back, Daryl."

"Yeah," he murmured. "We did."

When we finally crawled into bed, the trailer felt still, peaceful in a way I didn't trust but needed anyway. I laid my head on his chest, his arm draped over me, his hand splayed across my belly.

"You're quiet," I murmured.

"Just thinkin'," he said softly. "Didn't think I'd get another night like this."

I smiled against his chest. "Well, you're stuck with me, so get used to it."

He huffed a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to my hair. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

For the first time in a long while, I let myself relax. I listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my ear, the faint rustle of the trees outside, the soft baby breaths from the other side of the room.

Home.

For one small, stolen night—it actually felt like peace.

~

The next morning, for the first time in what felt like forever, the air didn't taste like gunpowder or fear.

Sunlight poured through the trailer window, warm and golden, cutting across the rumpled sheets and dust motes dancing lazily in the beam. I woke to the sound of Ruby giggling in her crib and Ian whispering something to her, his little voice soft and secretive, like he was telling her the funniest thing in the world.

Daryl was still asleep beside me, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other draped over my waist. His chest rose and fell in that slow, heavy rhythm that meant he was finally resting — really resting — for the first time in days. I stayed there a moment, tracing small circles on his arm with my fingertips, just memorizing the weight and warmth of him.

We had survived.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and went to scoop Ruby up. She smiled at me, that gummy grin that always made my chest ache. "Good morning, sweetheart," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her soft hair. "You slept through the night — your mama might cry."

She squealed, grabbing at my face. Ian grinned from where he knelt beside the crib, his curls sticking up in every direction. "I made her laugh," he said proudly.

"Yeah, you did, baby." I kissed his head. "You hungry?"

His stomach growled in answer, loud enough that Ruby squealed again.

"Guess that's a yes."

I had breakfast going before Daryl finally shuffled out of bed, shirtless, hair wild. Ruby screeched in excitement when she saw him, kicking her little feet like she was ready to jump straight into his arms.

"Mornin', sunshine," he rasped, his voice rough with sleep as he bent to scoop her up. She squealed louder, patting at his scruffy cheeks.

"Daddy's up!" Ian announced like it was breaking news.

Daryl smirked at me over Ruby's head. "You hear that? I'm famous now."

"You've always been famous," I teased, flipping a pancake. "Mostly for snoring."

"Hey now," he said, mock-offended, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

Breakfast was loud, messy, perfect. Ruby smeared pancake batter across her tray. Ian told us long, winding stories about garden duty with Aunt Maggie that somehow involved a zombie, a chicken, and a wheelbarrow full of carrots. Daryl kept laughing, real, deep laughs that crinkled the corners of his eyes. I swear I could've lived in that sound forever.

When we finished eating, we stepped out into the sunlight. Hilltop was alive again — people rebuilding fences, laughing, hammering, planting. Dwight was talking quietly with Daryl near the gate, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"I'm gonna find her," I heard him say. "Sherry."

Daryl nodded, clasping his hand. "You find her. Don't look back."

Dwight gave him a tight nod, then walked off down the road, the morning sun catching the scar on his face. I watched him go, a pang of something like sympathy in my chest. We'd all lost so much. Maybe this was his way of finding peace.

Later, Morgan came by, staff in hand, that far-off look in his eyes. He told us he was leaving too — said he had to find someone. Jadis, the woman from the junkyard. I didn't fully understand it, but there was something broken in his voice that made me hug him tight.

"You take care of yourself," I said quietly.

He nodded, smiling just enough to reach his eyes. "You too, Ella."

When he left, the air around Hilltop shifted again — not heavy, not haunted. Just... quieter.

By afternoon, Daryl and I had the kids out in the garden. Ruby sat in the grass, chubby hands buried in the dirt, squealing every time she grabbed a clump of grass. Ian was beside her, helping her "plant" sticks he pretended were crops.

"She's got your green thumb," I said.

"She's eatin' mud," Daryl deadpanned.

"She gets that from you," I shot back, earning a snort.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist, tugging me gently until I was leaning against his chest. The smell of sunshine and earth clung to him, the scent that always made me feel safe.

"Feels weird, don't it?" he murmured into my hair.

"What does?"

"Quiet. Peace. Not lookin' over our shoulders every damn second."

I nodded, letting my hand rest over his. "It's a good weird though."

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "It's good."

We spent the rest of the day like that — just living. Ian helped Maggie water the crops, Ruby fell asleep on Daryl's chest under the shade of a tree, and I sat beside them, finally letting the tension drain from my body. For the first time in forever, I didn't feel like I had to be ready to run.

When evening came, the sky bled into soft orange and pink. I made dinner while Daryl wrangled the kids through a much-needed wash-up. Ian shrieked when Daryl splashed him with water, Ruby giggled like it was the best show she'd ever seen, and by the time they were both clean, all three of them were soaked.

"Hope you enjoyed your bath too," I teased as Daryl handed me a dripping toddler.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, but he was smiling.

Later, after bedtime stories and one last round of "just one more drink of water," the trailer finally went quiet. I tucked Ruby's blanket around her and turned to find Daryl leaning in the doorway, watching me.

"They sleepin'?" he whispered.

"Out cold."

He stepped closer, his hand sliding around my waist. "Good. Now it's our turn."

I laughed softly, resting my forehead against his. "Our turn for what?"

He smirked, brushing his lips against mine. "Just this."

The kiss was slow, unhurried, full of warmth instead of desperation. For once, we didn't have to rush. For once, we could just be.

Outside, the crickets sang, the stars blinked awake, and in that tiny trailer surrounded by the people we loved — we finally had peace.