The Weight We Carry

Athena

I wish I could say things had been carrying on as normal in Alexandria over the past few weeks - as normal as anything ever is around here, anyway.

But they haven't. Not even close.

Ever since Daryl and the others went out to meet Alpha at the border - stood eye to eye with that revolting excuse for a woman - things have felt... wrong. The air's heavier. People's jaws are tighter. It's like the whole world is holding its breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Only we're not just waiting.

We're preparing.

The training between Alexandria, Hilltop, and Oceanside has kicked into overdrive. Drills have turned into all-day obstacle courses from hell. Sparring sessions have evolved into full-blown battle simulations with strategy drills and injury scenarios. I spent one afternoon lying in a ditch pretending to be disemboweled while Carl tried to "triage" me with a leaf and a paperclip. Ten out of ten for effort, but no, thanks.

Kids are on tighter schedules. People carry weapons even on gardening duty. Supply runs have all the spontaneity of a military op. There's a whole rhythm now - wake, train, patrol, repeat - like we're living inside the tightening coil of a slingshot, and any second now... snap.

We don't want a war with the Whisperers - we've been trying to avoid it ever since we first crossed paths, but we have to be ready. If Alpha lets loose that undead tsunami of hers, we're not looking at a fair fight. We're looking at an extinction event.

And she knows that.

Hell, she thrives on it.

Carol's really not handling it well. Honestly, I don't know that anyone would be in her shoes. What happened to Henry and the others - it was more than just a loss. It was a mutilation of hope. A sick message, carved in death and displayed for all to see. Since the meeting, she's been on edge, all twitchy energy and bitterness, running purely on grief and the kind of vengeance that eats you from the inside.

She keeps ducking out at all hours without telling anybody. She says she's "keeping an eye out for the herd," but everyone knows the truth. She's looking for Alpha. Hunting her.

And we're all terrified she's gonna find her.

Daryl, of course, being the loyal, stubborn idiot I love, has taken it upon himself to keep her from getting herself killed. He stakes out the gate like a bloodhound, waits until she tries to slip away, then conveniently appears at her side.

Carol's not stupid. She knows what he's doing. She lets him tag along anyway. They've got that unspoken understanding, built in pain and shared ghosts. He won't let her go alone. And I don't protest, even if every cell in my body begs me to tie him to the damn bedposts and never let him leave now the Whisperers are back.

So I kiss him before he goes. I tell him to be safe, that I love him. And then I lie there in bed afterward, pretending I'm not terrified.

I'm not naive. I know how much my husband wants Alpha dead, too. If he got his opportunity? I know he'd take it - as would I. But the difference between us and Carol, though, is that we know we have to play this smart to avoid a massacre. Whereas Carol - she seems too far gone, reckless, like as long as she gets to put Alpha's head on a pike - nothing else matters.

The only small sliver of peace in all this madness is that Daryl finally confronted her about the pills. Sleeping meds. Uppers. Whatever she could get her hands on to numb the noise. She says she stopped. We want to believe her.

I've gone along on a few of their so-called "lookouts." One of them ended with Carol conveniently disappearing during a walker ambush, only to reappear, dragging a gagged Whisperer by the scruff of his neck like a feral cat dropping off a dead bird.

"Found him wandering," she said, like she hadn't stalked him with surgical precision.

We brought him back to Alexandria not because we wanted to - but because Carol hadn't left us much choice. We hoped we could interrogate him, try to get the location of the horde, maybe find a way to outmaneuver Alpha.

Daryl had just pulled out a knife and threatened to cut off his fingers, ears, and teeth when Siddiq and creepy Dante arrived, insisting they treat his wounds first. Their idea was to show him kindness. Nurse him, show him that not everyone outside of Whisperer-land was a monster, and hope it cracked his twisted worldview open just enough to let some truth fall out.

Yeah... that didn't happen. Instead, he died. Quick. Quiet. Suddenly.

Turned out there was a mix-up with the herbs. The hemlock got packed instead of the yarrow. Fatal mistake.

Dante was quick to point out - not unkindly (his words) - that Siddiq had packed the hemlock. And maybe he had. Maybe he hadn't. But that smug little smile Dante hides behind his doctor role makes me want to punch him in the throat most days.

Yes, he helped me walk again after my leg got fucked up. No, that does not make us friends. Something about him just oozes slime. Like he's one smirk away from twirling a mustache and asking if he can monologue about trust issues.

But in honesty, I might be almost as concerned about Siddiq as I am Carol. He seems like he's unraveling too.

Even before the mix-up, he wasn't quite himself. Alpha's return triggered something deep and ugly inside him. You can see it in his posture, his thousand-yard stares, the way he zones out in the middle of conversations and then snaps back like he doesn't know where he is.

I get it. I do.

We were both there. Along with Enid and Tara.

That barn. That night.

Ever since the first mask washed up on the shore at Oceanside, I've been waking in the middle of the night again, soaked in sweat, heart thundering like a drumbeat of doom. Those memories cling to me like burrs - Alpha's calm voice, the blood on the hay, the screams of people we cared about as they fell.

I try to stay quiet when it happens. I never want to wake Daryl. Rest feels sacred now. But it never takes more than a shaky breath before he's already stirring, half-asleep, reaching for me like his body knows I need him before my mind does.

His arms find me. Always. He pulls me close, my back against his chest or his hand wrapped around the back of my neck, grounding me with gentle pressure.

"S'alright," he whispers. "I've got ya."

And he does.

His fingers drift through my hair, slow and soothing, brushing away the nightmares. He presses soft kisses to top of my head, my temple, my shoulders. I breathe him in - pine and smoke and that stubborn leather smell that clings to his skin like armor - and I start to come back.

"Breathe with me," he whispers, like it's a ritual. A secret shared only between the two of us. And I do. I match him, inhale for inhale, until the tightness in my chest loosens and my hands stop trembling.

Eventually, sleep returns. And when it does, it's always with his arms around me.

I don't know what I'd do without him.

And I hope - God, I hope - that baby Coco will do the same for Siddiq. Give him something to anchor to. A reason to steady himself.

She was born just last week. Rosita named her Socorro. "Coco," for short. She's tiny. All wide eyes and a head full of fuzzy black hair that defies gravity no matter how many times Rosita tries to smooth it down. She's already stubborn, just like her mother. She fits right in.

The dynamic between Rosita, Siddiq, and Gabriel is... honestly, I don't even know. Some strange blend of co-parenting, love triangle, domestic sitcom. And weirdly? It's working. For now, anyway.

One thing that has settled, thankfully, is Lydia.

Now that she's staying with us, things have calmed for her around here. The stares have lessened. The whispers have faded. People know better than to mess with Daryl or me - and they know way better than to dare throw that fucking yellow paint anywhere near the house our kids live in.

She doesn't have a proper bed - our house is small and space is tight - but she doesn't seem to care. I hate that she's sleeping on a cramped couch, but she just seems grateful.

And the kids? They adore her.

Briar keeps showing off in front of her - trying to climb higher in the trees, lift heavier things, pronounce new words she hears from Eugene just to make her laugh. And Sawyer... well. Lydia can't sit down without him crawling into her lap and shoving a stuffed dinosaur in her face for storytime. Half the time I come home, Lydia's got two kids wrapped around her and a patience that I definitely didn't have at her age.

She fits right in with us. Like she was always supposed to be here. Maybe that's what's getting me through the long nights. The fear. The weight.

Not just Daryl and the kids - but the reminder that even in all this chaos, there's still room for love. For safety. For home.

~

The porch creaked beneath us as Lydia and I sat side by side, watching Briar and Sawyer engage in what I could only describe as an all-out, no-holds-barred, barefoot gladiator match with a wooden sword and a stick. Sawyer had wrapped a dish towel around his neck like a cape, and Briar was charging him with her battle cry, which sounded suspiciously like a goat in distress.

"Is he pretending to be a knight?" Lydia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Either that or he's trying to summon ancient spirits. Hard to tell with that one," I replied dryly. "She's definitely trying to impale him, though."

Lydia chuckled. Her shoulders looked more relaxed these days. The deep tension that used to hang from her like a wet coat had finally started to lift.

Still, I was on edge this morning. Daryl had been woken at the crack of dawn by Gabriel banging on the door. I was still half-asleep when he kissed my forehead and told me to get some more rest.

I'd been awake most of the night with a pounding in my head, only having fallen into proper sleep after the sun had already started to rise, and Daryl knew full well that I was going to be grouchy as hell if I didn't get at least a couple more hours.

He hadn't said what it was about, and I hadn't been coherent enough to ask.

He wouldn't have left Alexandria without a heads-up, which meant he was still here - somewhere.

But the amount of time he'd been gone, I knew whatever Gabriel needed him for must be serious. Not impending doom serious, but something taking up a lot of their time and my curiosity was starting to gnaw at me.

I glanced at Lydia. "That couch killing your back yet?"

She smiled. "No. It's actually comfortable."

"Good. We'll work something better out long-term - maybe we can find a camp-bed or something... If you want to stay with us, that is.'

"Yeah. I'd like that."

We fell into a comfortable silence, watching the kids roll around like puppies on too much sugar.

"How you feeling about being here now?" I asked.

She paused, thoughtful. "Better."

I smiled, reaching over to rub her arm. She gave me a soft look, then stood and headed inside.

Not five minutes later, I spotted Carol - bag packed with supplies, shoulders tense - headed in the direction of the gates like she thought no one would notice.

"Don't even think about it," I called out, half-joking, half not.

She stopped - busted, turned around with a sigh and dragged her feet toward the porch.

"Sorry, Mom," she said, dry and sarcastic as ever. "You and your husband gonna stop keeping tabs on me anytime soon?"

"Maybe. If you stop trying to get yourself killed."

"I'm looking for the-"

"Cut the crap, Carol."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, she just sighed heavily and sank onto the top step beside me.

"She doesn't deserve to live."

"No," I said softly. "She doesn't. But you do."

Carol scoffed, but there was no humor in it. "Do I?"

"Of course you do."

She looked away, eyes shimmering. "Sophia... Henry..." She stopped, swiping a tear from her cheek. "I was meant to protect them."

I looked at the kids tumbling over each other in the yard. Just the thought of losing one of them made my throat close up.

"You did protect them. So many times. What happened to them... neither was your fault. Alpha will die, Carol. I swear it. For Henry. For all of it."

She nodded slowly, brushing her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

"You really think Daryl's only out there with me to babysit?"

"No. I know better. He needs revenge, too."

"So why's everyone so bothered about me going after her?"

"Because you don't seem in the headspace to do it carefully... Even in his rage, Daryl knows starting a war with the Whisperers right now puts us all in the crossfire - including me and the kids."

Carol looked at me sideways. "And if he could get Alpha on her own? No witnesses?"

I bit my lip. "Yeah. He'd take that chance. Wouldn't we all?"

The porch fell quiet for a moment, then the front gate creaked.

Daryl.

I could tell by his posture he was bringing bad news.

The kids got to him first. Sawyer let out a yell and charged, throwing himself at his legs like a little missile. Briar wasn't far behind, her curls bouncing as she squealed and wrapped herself around his waist.

He knelt and scooped them both up with practised ease, pressing kisses into their hair. But even they sensed it. Sawyer's squint turned cautious, like he was trying to read his daddy's face, like he knew something was off.

When they finally scampered off to continue their battle, Daryl came toward me. I was already standing, every part of me alert.

"What's going on?" I asked.

He turned back for a second, scanning the yard. Making sure the kids were out of earshot.

Then he said it.

"Siddiq's dead."

The words hit me like a slap.

"What?" My voice cracked. Carol, now standing beside me, went stock-still.

"How?" she asked, already knowing she wouldn't like the answer.

Daryl moved beside me, took my hand in his rough but warm one. His eyes searched mine like he hated what he was about to say.

"Dante killed him."

The world stopped turning for a moment. I blinked at him, waiting for the punchline that never came.

"He was one of them, wasn't he?" I asked quietly, somehow already knowing the answer.

He nodded, pain and fury etched into every line of his face.

Carol's fists clenched.

"Alpha sent 'im," Daryl revealed. "Wanted 'im to get to know us, find our weaknesses... Siddiq figured it out."

I stared ahead blankly. "He's been here for months. Treating us. Our kids."

Daryl nodded again, jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone. "S'more... Aaron's been meetin' up with the small one. Her that came to the gates, calls herself Gamma. She told him where the horde is."

Carol's eyes lit with fire. She spun on her heel and stalked off in search of Aaron without another word. She needed more information, and she wanted it straight from the horse's mouth.

I stayed rooted. The pieces didn't fit, but I could feel the weight of them all the same.

Siddiq was dead. His baby daughter would never get a chance to know him.

Dante killed him.

Aaron had been meeting with a Whisperer.

She'd revealed the location of Alpha's horde.

Daryl pulled me into his chest and kissed my hair. I leaned into him for a second, needing the warmth, the reassurance.

"So what now?" I asked.

"We're gonna check it out," he said. "See if she's tellin' the truth."

I started to pull back. "Now? Okay. I'll tell Lydia she's on little Dixon duty-"

"Ath..."

The way he said it stopped me cold.

I understand his fear about me coming into to contact with the Whisperers - I did - but the way he'd been trying to wrap me up in cotton wool recently, the way he'd been watching me like a hawk every time we left Alexandria was starting to piss me off. It was protectiveness, love - I knew that, but it was grating on me all the same.

"Don't ask me not to come." I snapped. "Not again."

He let out a slow breath, eyes darkening. "We don't know how Dante was communicatin' with her. What he told her. How much she knows 'bout this place."

It hit me like a punch.

"So you don't want us both leaving Alexandria?"

He nodded, lips pressed into a hard line. "Can't both leave the kids. Not now.

My stomach twisted. "Then you stay. I'll go."

"Ath..."

"No," I said, voice rising. "All these years, we've been equals. You don't get to change that now - play the protective husband card just because Alpha's back."

"S'my job to protect ya," he said, eyes flashing.

"Don't give me that. It works both ways and you know it. Just like it always has."

"She tried to kill ya, Ath."

His voice cracked, and I saw it - what he hadn't said aloud. The way his hands shook. The guilt sitting heavy in his shoulders. My nightmares were loud, but his were wide awake.

But it wasn't enough to make me relent, though. I didn't want him anywhere near the Whisperers any more than he wanted me to come into contact with them, and I was sick of him not realizing that.

Before either of us could speak, Merle clomped up the path, kitted out.

"Ya ready?" he asked Daryl.

"I'll be ready in ten," I interjected.

"Nah," Merle said flatly. "Ya ain't comin'."

I scoffed, furious. "What, the Dixon brothers are ganging up on me now?"

"Ain't like that," Daryl said..

"Then what is it like?"

My voice was growing louder. Lydia returned to the porch, confusion written across her face as she took in the tension.

"He's keepin' ya safe," Merle muttered, already starting toward the gate.

"And maybe I want to keep him safe!" I snapped. "I'm not some damsel! If someone needs to stay behind, fine. But it doesn't have to be me!"

"Stop!" Daryl said louder. His voice, usually gravel and growl, came out strained, torn at the seams.

"You don't get to tell me what to do!"

"M'jus' tryna protect ya!"

We were spiraling, voices rising, fury mixing with fear. Pain between every syllable.

The kids were staring, open-mouthed - they weren't used to seeing us fight. Lydia stalked toward them, taking their hands and leading them off down the street, away from the yelling. Which was good, because I wasn't done.

"You're treating me like a goddamn doll!"

"I ain't!"

"You are!"

"Ath-"

"Whatever," I hissed. "Go play hero. I'll stay here and play housewife. Bake cookies. Fold fucking socks."

"Ya know it ain't like that!"

"Do I!?" My voice broke. "It's like you think I can't take care of myself anymore!"

He didn't back down. "Ain't how it is!"

"Then what's the fucking problem!?"

"M'goddamn terrified I'll lose ya!"

Silence.

Raw. Cracked open.

I saw it again - that haunted look. Like he already had. Like he'd never really recovered from me being gone.

A sharp whistle came from the gates.

We were out of time.

"Ath..." he said again, softer now.

But I stepped away. "This has to stop," I forced out, jaw clenched.

He took a step toward me, hand outstretched. But I turned on him like a blade, heading toward our front door. "Don't."

He stopped. And I felt his pain hit the air between us like a wave.

"I love ya," he said softly.

I slammed the door in his face. Didn't say it back for the first time ever.

Not because I didn't love him - of course not, if anything, my love for him had only intensified over the years - but because I was just so fucking frustrated by the whole situation. The way Alpha's return had shaken up all of our lives. The way it had us all on edge.

My chest was heaving, my hands trembling as I stood in our kitchen like a storm had passed through my body. I reached out and knocked a mug off the counter in frustration. It shattered. I cursed.

Then I bolted.

Threw the door open. My boots hit the porch hard as I ran.

Toward the gates. Toward Daryl.

I hadn't told him I loved him. I hadn't told him to be safe. We didn't do that - we never left each other without us both saying those words. We couldn't in a world like this.

But when I reached the gates, they were already closed.

They were gone.

And every cell in my body prayed that the one time we hadn't said goodbye, wouldn't be the last time I ever saw my husband.

A/N: I know my timeline is off with the birth of Coco/Siddiq's death, but I forgot to add in Rosita being pregnant early enough. 😅

Honestly? I feel like this chapter kind of sucks even though I've rewritten it a million times - but it's an important setup. Trust me 🙏❤️