Safe

Athena

The cold, stagnant air of the sewers clung to my skin, thick with rot and mildew. My hands were raw from gripping the rusted ladder rungs, my legs aching from hours of wading through knee-deep filth. The boots I'd swiped from the car Rick and Merle had arrived for me in were too big, and the water pooled inside of them. But I didn't care. None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting inside.

I pressed my hands against the damp bricks of the tunnel wall, searching for any sign of weakness. There had to be something - a way in, a loose grate, a crumbling section of foundation. Some goddamn way to reach him.

But there wasn't.

Merle was leaned against the tunnel wall behind me, arms crossed, watching as I ran my fingers over the cold stone for the hundredth time. He hadn't said anything in a while, just let me keep searching. But I could feel his stare, knew he was waiting for the right moment to say what I didn't want to hear.

I turned back to the metal grate we'd found earlier, gripping the bars, pulling hard. They didn't budge. I clenched my jaw and yanked again, harder this time, my frustration bleeding into the movement. Come on. Just break. Just give me something.

"It ain't happenin'," Merle finally spoke, his voice calm but firm.

I ignored him, kept yanking.

He sighed, stepping forward. "Athena."

I shook my head. "No. We just-we just have to keep trying." My voice was tight, the lump in my throat growing bigger with every failed attempt.

"We've been at it for hours," Merle said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Ain't nothin' down here but a whole lotta rat shit 'n' wasted time."

I yanked away from his touch. "I have to find a way in, Merle! He's right there!" My voice cracked, the weight of it all pressing down on my chest. "I can't give up. I won't."

Merle exhaled through his nose, glancing up at the ceiling like he was searching for patience. "Ain't sayin' we give up. But this?" He gestured to the crumbling sewer walls around us. "This ain't workin'. We keep goin' like this, and we're just gonna get ourselves caught."

I clenched my fists, breathing hard. "So what? Let them catch us."

"Hell no," Merle said, his voice sharp. "They'll damn shoot us on sight. No use to Daryl then."

I swallowed, staring at the grate, my nails digging into my palms. My chest ached, the weight of failure pressing down so hard I thought it might crush me.

I was supposed to be the one to save him. I had to be.

I felt Merle step closer, his voice softer now. "We'll keep tryin'," he promised. "Ain't over yet."

Tears pricked at my eyes as I shook my head. "There's nothing left to try."

Merle didn't argue. Didn't try to feed me some false hope. He just stood there, watching me, waiting for me to make the call.

I hated this. Hated feeling like I couldn't do anything.

But I wasn't helping him by staying down here.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing down the lump in my throat. "Fine," I muttered, eventually.

Merle didn't say anything, just gave me a short nod before turning toward the way we came.

I followed, my stomach twisting.

It felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind in that tunnel. We really were out of options.

The night air hit my damp skin like ice as we crawled out of the sewer tunnel, slipping into the thick shadows behind an old brick wall. I knew we'd been down there a long time - but I didn't realise it had been the whole day. I sucked in a breath, but the stench of sewage and moisture still clung to me, clogging my throat.

Merle put a hand on my arm, motioning for me to stay low as we listened. Voices carried from up ahead-Saviors on patrol. Their boots crunched against the gravel, their laughter sharp and cruel. We pressed ourselves against a wall, barely breathing as the patrol passed. I could hear my own heartbeat hammering in my ears.

I wanted to run back. I wanted to tear through their compound, find Daryl, do something. But I couldn't. There were too many of them, too many guns, and no way in.

When the guards were finally out of earshot, Merle tugged my sleeve. "C'mon," he muttered. "Let's go."

We moved fast, slipping through the woods until we arrived back at the warehouse.

As soon as we got inside, it hit me.

The failure. The exhaustion. The utter helplessness.

I staggered toward the nearest wall, gripping it to steady myself. My breath hitched, coming in short, sharp gasps. My legs felt weak. My whole body ached.

And then, I broke.

A choked sob tore from my throat, and before I could stop it, it was all coming out - everything.

I slid down to the cold concrete, pressing my hands over my face as the dam inside me burst. Sobs wracked my body, shaking me so hard I could barely breathe. I curled in on myself, gasping, shaking, unable to hold it in anymore.

I'm failing him.

I was failing Daryl.

I had promised myself I'd save him. I had sworn I wouldn't stop until I got him back. But I couldn't even get inside. I couldn't even get close.

And he was still in there. Alone. Hurt. Suffering.

Because of me.

Because he sacrificed himself for me. Because he felt he had no other option. Because he loved me.

I pressed my fists to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut, but it didn't stop the images flashing through my mind - Daryl, bloody and bruised. Daryl, locked in a dark cell. Daryl, thinking I'd abandoned him.

I cried harder, my whole chest aching with it.

I barely felt Merle sit down beside me. Barely registered when he pulled me against him, an arm slinging around my shoulders.

"Xena," he muttered, his voice gruff but gentle.

I shook my head, gasping through the tears. "I-I can't-"

"Shh," Merle murmured awkwardly, tightening his hold. "Ain't nothin' else we coulda done today."

"But-"

"Nah." His voice was firm. "I know what ya thinkin'. It ain't true."

I buried my face in my hands. "I'm supposed to protect him." I choked out. "I've let him down."

"Nah, ya haven't." His grip on me tightened. "Ain't over yet."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Feels like it."

He exhaled through his nose, and for a long moment, he didn't say anything. Just sat there, arm around me, letting me cry. Letting me fall apart.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "I bein' here before. Back when I thought I was never gonna see 'im again. After Atlanta." His hand moved, gripping my arm. "But we ain't there yet. He's still alive. 'N' we ain't done."

I tried to catch my breath, hiccuping past the sobs. "Then what do we do?" I whispered.

Merle sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "We wait. We plan. We find another way." He turned to look at me, his expression serious. "We ain't givin' up on 'im."

I clung to those words, repeating them in my head over and over.

We weren't giving up.

I wasn't giving up.

I nodded weakly against his shoulder. He patted my back awkwardly, the way someone did when they weren't used to comforting people but were trying anyway.

My tears were still drying when a low rumble cut through the night.

I jerked up from where I sat on the cold floor, my heart slamming against my ribs. The sound of tires crunching over gravel echoed through the warehouse. Merle was already moving, grabbing his rifle and ducking behind the broken wall near the entrance. I scrambled for a weapon, my pulse pounding in my ears.

They'd found us.

I wasn't ready. I wasn't strong enough. My body still trembled from my breakdown, my face hot and raw from crying. But none of that mattered now. We had moments before the Saviors stormed in, before we were gunned down.

The vehicle slowed. Stopped. And the door creaked open.

Merle tightened his grip on his rifle, finger hovering over the trigger. My own hands were slick with sweat as I raised the gun he'd given me, aiming toward the entrance. Footsteps echoed. Slow. Careful.

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

Then a voice - calm, steady. Familiar.

"You can put those down."

The tension in my body snapped as Jesus stepped into the dim light.

For a second, I just stared. My brain struggled to catch up, to process the fact that it was him standing there and not a Savior.

Merle let out a breath and lowered his rifle. "Shit, man. Coulda knocked. How'd ya find us?"

Jesus' sharp blue eyes locked onto mine, steady, unwavering. "Rick told me you'd be holed up somewhere close to The Sanctuary".

The Sanctuary? So that's what Negan called his hellhole.

Something in Jesus' expression made my stomach clench.

I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, he took a step closer.

"Daryl's out. He's at Hilltop."

The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

I sucked in a sharp breath, but my lungs froze. My body locked up. The gun slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a dull clatter.

Daryl. Out. At Hilltop.

I shook my head, not because I didn't believe him, but because the weight of those words was too much. My knees buckled, and I pressed a hand to my mouth as new sobs tore free. The relief was instantaneous and crushing all at once, like being dragged to the surface after drowning. I gasped, my whole body shuddering as fresh tears burned down my cheeks.

Jesus just watched me, patient. Unmoving.

I forced air into my lungs, trying to breathe. My lips trembled. "H-how?" I croaked, then shook my head violently. "Tell me on the way. I need to see him."

Jesus nodded once. "Let's go."

I barely remembered moving. Barely remembered shoving the gun back into my pants or following him and a beaming Merle outside. The cold air stung my wet face, but I didn't care. None of it mattered.

I was going to see Daryl.

We climbed into the vehicle Jesus came in - an old, beat-up car. The engine growled to life, and the moment we lurched forward, I turned to Jesus, my voice still shaky.

"Is he okay?"

Jesus didn't answer.

"Jesus. How is he?"

"He's alive."

"But is he okay? Tell me."

"He's tired." Jesus replied. But I knew there was more to it. Of course he wasn't okay. I didn't ask more. I couldn't bear to hear it. I was on my way to him, and I'd see for myself soon enough.

Merle leaned forward through the seats. "How the hell did he get out. You rescue 'im?"

Jesus exhaled, staring at the road. "He got himself out," he said.

My brows furrowed, but Jesus kept going.

"He escaped the building. Ran into a Savior. The guy surrendered, said he wasn't gonna fight, that'd he'd let him out of the gate, but..." Jesus hesitated. "Daryl didn't stop. He... beat him to death. With a pipe."

I didn't say anything. My mind whirred.

Jesus' voice remained even, but there was something behind it. Something unreadable. "I found him in the middle of it. He wasn't stopping. The guy was dead, but Daryl... he... I don't know..." He trailed off.

I tried to swallow. A sick feeling twisted in my stomach.

Jesus continued, "He grabbed the guy's gun and a bike - he had a key - and we got out."

"The fuck did you get in?" Merle asked, sounding kind of pissed that Jesus had managed to do what we couldn't. He wasn't angry at Jesus. He was annoyed at himself.

"Supply truck. It's a long story."

The silence hung heavy as we drove the couple of hour journey back to the Hilltop.

Daryl was free. I was going to be with him soon.

But the way Jesus spoke, the way he looked at me before answering - something wasn't right.

My hands trembled and I wasn't totally sure why. My heart raced at the thought of seeing him. But I was also worried about what state I'd find him in.

~

My legs moved before my mind caught up.

I didn't wait for Jesus to show me where to go. Didn't stop to listen. The second we pulled up to Hilltop, I was out of the truck, my boots hitting the dirt as I rushed forward, frantic, desperate. Daryl was here. That was all I needed to know. I didn't care how wrecked I felt, how the past few weeks had drained every ounce of strength I had. I just needed to see him.

Jesus caught up quickly, stepping in front of me before I could charge blindly into Barrington House - the mansion that served as Hilltop's main building.

"Athena... he might need a little time," he said carefully.

Merle scoffed, close behind. "Fuck's that supposed to mean?"

Jesus didn't answer. Just gave me this look before turning and leading us inside.

The narrow corridor seemed longer than it should've been, stretching out in front of me like some kind of tunnel. My stomach was tight. My hands were ice-cold.

I was going to see him.

After everything. After all the trying and failing and sleepless nights, I was finally going to see him.

We turned a corner and were met by a concerned-looking Rick - standing outside a door like he was waiting for us. He wasn't alone. Glenn and Aaron flanked him, their faces uneasy.

Rick straightened the second he saw me. He started toward me, blocking my way.

"Is he in there?" I asked, my voice sharp and demanding.

Rick hesitated. "Athe-"

"Is he in there!?"

His lips pressed together. "Yes. But just-"

"Move."

"Athena..." Glenn tried, stepping forward.

"Get out of the way. All of you. Let me see my husband."

I was angry now. The fear, the longing, the exhaustion - I didn't have the space to process it anymore. I needed to see Daryl. Needed to touch him, hold him.

Rick didn't move.

Instead, he looked at me - looked through me - and said, "Athena... In there... That's not your husband."

The breath left my lungs.

I heard Merle shift beside me. "Fuck ya talkin' about?"

Rick swallowed hard. "He's... not doin' great."

"No shit," Merle snapped. Impatient. Frustrated.

My throat was raw when I spoke. "Move. Now."

Rick exhaled through his nose. Slowly. Like he already knew nothing was going to stop me.

Then, finally, he stepped aside.

Glenn and Aaron followed, hesitant, avoiding my eyes as I reached for the door handle.

I looked to Merle, who gave me a nod. Agreeing silently that I would go in alone. At first.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The room was dark - the only light coming from the moon slipping through the windows, casting pale streaks across the wooden floor. It was thick with the kind of silence that crushes. The only sound was my breathing - too fast, unsteady. My pulse pounded in my ears.

I scanned the small room. There was a bed, a chair, a dresser... and then my eyes found him.

Daryl was sitting curled on the floor in the corner, his knees pulled up, his head down. His hair was filthy, blood matted in it, hanging over his face like a curtain. His arms were wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold himself together.

Like he was afraid he'd fall apart.

My throat tightened as I pushed the door shut behind me.

"Daryl..." My voice barely came out.

Nothing.

He didn't lift his head, didn't even acknowledge I was there.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat and took another step, my boots making almost no sound against the floor. I was close enough now that I could see the bruises on his arms - angry shades of yellow and purple.

I knelt down in front of him slowly, reaching out with a trembling hand, hesitating just before touching him.

"Daryl," I whispered, pleading.

Nothing. He didn't move.

My fingers lightly grazed his arm.

He flinched.

A sharp, painful inhale shuddered through me. I yanked my hand back like I'd burned him, and my heart slammed against my ribs.

It took everything in me not to cry.

I took a slow, shaky breath. "It's me," I whispered gently, trying hard to keep my voice steady. "Baby... it's me."

His head lifted just slightly, just enough that I could see his face.

My heart broke.

Bruises. Cuts. Dark circles under his eyes. His lips were cracked, his skin pale and filthy. But it wasn't even the injuries that made my stomach turn - it was his eyes. Those beautiful blues that captivated me from the instant I met him.

They looked empty. Hollow.

Tears welled up so fast it physically hurt, but I forced them down. I needed to be strong for him. He needed me to be strong.

I reach for his hand, desperate for something, anything.

He jerked away.

I couldn't stop a tear from slipping out.

His head lowered again, his arms tightening around himself. His voice was hoarse, broken when he finally spoke.

"Go."

It was nothing more than a whisper, but it cut me like a knife.

"What?" I choked out, swiping away tears. "Don't say that."

He didn't move. Didn't look at me.

"Shouldn't be here." He muttered, voice so quiet I almost didn't hear it.

I swallowed hard. "I should-"

"Ain't safe," he ground out, his whole body tense, his voice barely holding together. "Go."

The breath left my lungs all at once. My chest caved in, my stomach twisted, and I felt like I might collapse right here on the damn floor.

But I didn't. I wouldn't.

I leant forward, gripping his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me. He resisted at first, but I didn't let go.

"No." I whispered fiercely through my tears.

His breathing stuttered, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. He was looking straight past me. Like he was focused on somebody else.

I tightened my grip, my hands shaking. "They don't get to take you from me," I told him, voice shaky. "They don't win."

He shuddered, and I felt the way his body shook beneath my hands.

"Daryl." My voice cracked. "Please."

I watched the war in his eyes, the way his throat bobbed like he was trying to hold it back. He shook his head, his whole body tense, his hands clenched into fists though his arms stayed wrapped tight around his knees.

I moved closer. "I love you," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

He was still looking past me. His eyes weren't on me - they were locked on something else. Like there was someone else in the room. But there wasn't...

"Daryl." I tried again.

His face twisted like he was in pain, and a shiver ran through him.

His lips parted, barely moving. "No..." It was a whisper, almost inaudible "No, no."

My stomach dropped.

He wasn't talking to me.

I shifted back just slightly, enough to look at him, to really see him. His chest was rising and falling fast, his fingers twitching like they were gripping something invisible. His whole body was coiled tight, like he was bracing for a hit.

Like he was somewhere else.

I reached for him again, gently, carefully. "Please look at me."

His eyes flickered, but they weren't seeing me. They were glossy, wide, filled with something that made my heart splinter.

Fear.

Not the kind that comes and goes. Not panic. Not shock.

The kind that gets inside you. That latches on and won't let go.

He was stuck there - where they had kept him. Where they had broken him. My brave, strong, fearless husband.

I brushed my fingers against his cheek, desperate to pull him back. "It's me, it's Ath... I'm here - you're safe."

He flinched, his whole body recoiling. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, mumbling, "No, no, no..."

My hands dropped, my breath catching.

What the fuck did they do to him?

I tried to keep my voice steady, but my throat was closing and I couldn't stop the tears. "Daryl, please."

He shoved himself back harder against the wall, his whole body locked up.

"Don't-" His voice cracked. He was looking at me, but not at me. Like he was seeing something through me. His hands pressed against his head, his fingers pulling at his hair.

I could taste the tears on my lips.

I didn't know what to do.

I didn't know how to fix this.

I'd seen Daryl in pain before. I'd seen him angry, devastated, falling apart. But this was something else.

He was gone.

I forced a shaky breath, trying to stop my tears.

I wasn't going to let them take him from me.

I reached out again, slower this time, brushing my fingers over his wrist.

"You're here," I whispered. "You're not there anymore."

He jerked his wrist away from me, suddenly roaring. "Get the fuck offa me!"

It startled me. I flinched backwards.

He wasn't yelling at me. I knew that. He was yelling at himself, or maybe someone in his head. It didn't scare me - I could never be afraid of him - but the sound had caught me off guard, and I wasn't the only one that had heard it.

The door burst open. Rick, Glenn and Aaron, piling in. Merle following them, looking confused as hell.

I shimmied backwards, trying to give him space - even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. "Baby, it's okay. You're safe." I tried again.

Daryl's breath hitched, his eyes darting around like he was searching for something, someone. His whole body was trembling, his muscles coiled tight like he was ready to fight for his life.

Rick moved forward, his hands raised in an attempt to calm him, his voice steady. "Hey, hey, it's alright-" he tried to reassure Daryl as he reached out, resting a firm but careful hand on his shoulder.

Daryl flinched violently. His breath came in short, frantic bursts. His body tensed, and in an instant, he shoved Rick's hand off roughly, stumbling to his feet

Rick barely had time to react before Daryl swung.

His fist connected with Rick's jaw, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the room.

My stomach lurched. I tried to grab Daryl.

Aaron pulled me away, his voice urgent. "Athena, get back-"

"No," I snapped, shaking him off. "Get off me."

"Shit-" Glenn moved fast, reaching for Daryl now, but Daryl shoved him away with a force that sent him stumbling into the chair by the bed.

Merle surged forward next. "Jesus Christ, little brother, what the hell's gotten into ya?" His hand clamped down on Daryl's arm, trying to hold him still.

Daryl twisted violently, trying to break free, his breath ragged. His eyes weren't here - not in this room. He was somewhere else entirely.

Rick rubbed his jaw, eyes locked on Daryl. "You're at the Hilltop." He tried to remind him.

"The fuck's he doin'?" Merle bit out, barely holding Daryl back as he struggled.

Glenn straightened, his own breathing heavy. "What do we do-"

"Just stop!" I yelled, stepping closer.

Daryl's head jerked up at the sound of my voice, his chest rising and falling in frantic breaths. His wild eyes locked onto mine - wide, frantic, unfocused.

I took a careful step forwards. "It's me," I said softly, my hands raised. "It's just me."

His breathing hitched, his body trembling.

"You're safe," I whispered.

He blinked, his gaze flickering. His lips parted, like he was going to say something, but his whole body shuddered.

I moved closer, ignoring the way Merle tensed like he was ready to pull me back.

I reached out, slow, careful, brushing my fingers against his hand.

His flinch was less violent this time, but it still made my stomach twist.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "It's okay," I whispered. "Nobody's going to hurt you."

Daryl's breath stuttered. His whole body sagged just slightly, his muscles losing some of that fight.

His eyes darted past me again, and I knew - he was still seeing something the rest of us couldn't.

I squeezed his hand, desperate to keep him here. "Look at me."

His breath was shaky, uneven.

"Just me, Daryl. Just me." My voice cracked, my grip tightening, grounding him.

His gaze flickered again - back to me. It lingered this time. I saw it - the moment the world shifted a little more back into place for him.

His shoulders slumped, the tension leaving his body all at once. His knees buckled, and I caught him before he could fall.

He collapsed against me, his forehead pressing into my shoulder, his whole body trembling.

I held onto him with everything I had.

A/N: I know this chapter was heavy and probably not what most of you were expecting.

I always found it a little unrealistic that the characters in the show bounce back from things so quickly - I get that they're in survival mode, but they lost their entire families, they're constantly attacked and losing people they love. It must mess them up mentally.

The characters are badass - especially Daryl - and that's why we love them... but they're only human.

Daryl's experience at the Sanctuary was horrific, and I didn't want to disregard it. He's hard as hell but also just a person.

I used my own experience with PTSD to inform my writing. I often felt like I was back in the event - experiencing the sounds and sights as if they were happening all over again. Everybody's experiences with it are different - I hope i'm doing Daryl's justice.