Chapter 63 - Ella & Daryl

The first thing I woke up to was the sound of Ruby fussing. Not crying, not yet, just that fussy little squeak that meant I had about five minutes before she worked herself up into a storm.

I pried my eyes open, every bone in my body screaming with exhaustion. Judith's foot was in my ribs, Ian and Carl were starfished on Ian's bed.

"Alright, alright, baby girl," I whispered, scooping Ruby out of the crib before she could wake the others. Her warm little body curled against my chest, rooting instantly. "Shh, Mama's got you."

The floor creaked behind me, and I didn't even need to look. Daryl's arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder as I shifted Ruby to nurse.

"Want me to get the others movin'?" he rasped, his voice still rough with sleep.

I sighed, leaning back against him. "Please. Before Ian and Judith try to kill each other again."

He pressed a kiss to my temple before peeling away. Seconds later, his voice was gruff but gentle, waking the kids.

"C'mon, up. Teeth brushed. Move your asses."

"Daryl," I sighed. "Don't say 'asses' to the children."

He just smirked and continued getting the kids up.

Judith whined, burrowing deeper under the blanket. Ian flopped dramatically onto his stomach. Carl groaned like a grown man being asked to fight a war.

"You too, Carl," Daryl said, tugging the blanket right off him.

"Not fair," Carl grumbled, shoving his hair out of his face. "I'm practically an adult."

"You're practically still snorin'," Daryl shot back.

I smiled into Ruby's soft hair, shifting her to burp against my shoulder once she was done. Gracie started fussing too, so I got her up, juggling one baby on each hip. My body ached, my stomach roiled with that awful queasy wave of morning sickness, but I didn't have the heart to put either of them down.

Judith stumbled toward me, hair sticking up like a dandelion puff. "I'm hungry, Auntie Ellie."

"I know, sweetheart. Brush first, then food."

She pouted but took Ian's hand as he dragged her toward the corner where their little toothbrush cups sat. Carl trudged after them, muttering something about "free child labor."

By the time I managed to settle the babies in their crib again, Daryl had bread toasting on the skillet and beans heating in the pan. The smell turned my stomach, but the sight of all of them crowded around the little table made my chest ache in the best way.

Ian tried to sneak a spoonful before it was done, Judith whined about wanting more jam, Carl rolled his eye at both of them, and Daryl smacked Ian's hand away from the pan.

And me? I sat back down on the bed, head in my hands, smiling through the exhaustion. My family was loud, messy, impossible. And I wouldn't trade a second of it.

Breakfast in the trailer was... chaos, as usual.

Ian and Judith were smacking each other's spoons together like it was some kind of sword fight, beans splattering on the table. Carl sat slouched beside them, trying to act like he was too old for their games, but I caught the twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth when Judith got the upper hand and smacked beans right onto Ian's shirt.

"Judith Grimes!" I warned, pointing my spoon at her.

Her big blue eyes blinked up at me, the perfect picture of innocence. "It was an accident."

Ian, beans dripping down his shirt, scowled. "You did it on purpose!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

I dropped my head into my free hand. "Daryl, do something before they kill each other."

He didn't even look up from his plate, just reached out with his fork and speared the last piece of toast Ian had been eyeing. "Handled."

Ian gasped, affronted. "Dad! That was mine!"

"Shoulda been faster," Daryl grunted, chewing like he'd just won the damn lottery.

That set Judith off into a fit of giggles, which got Ruby squealing too, slapping her little palms on the table in delight. Gracie started wailing at the noise, so I shifted her onto my hip, bouncing and patting until she calmed.

It was loud, messy, beans everywhere, and somehow it was still perfect.

That's when the door creaked open, and Rick's voice cut through. "Judith? Carl?"

Judith squealed and bolted for him, launching herself straight into his arms. Carl followed slower, muttering about wanting to finish his breakfast, but I could see how his shoulders eased the second he spotted his dad.

"Daddy!" Judith crowed, smearing beans across Rick's shirt as she wrapped her little arms around his neck.

Rick chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "Lord, what am I gonna do with you?"

"Keep her away from the beans," Daryl muttered, pushing his chair back.

Rick shook his head with a smile, shifting Judith to his hip. "Come on, you two. Maggie's lookin' for us." He reached out to ruffle Carl's hair, earning an eye roll for his trouble.

Carl grabbed his hat and trailed after them, Judith chattering a mile a minute in Rick's arms about how she totally beat Ian at breakfast. Rick tossed me a look on his way out—something quiet, grateful—and then the door shut behind them.

Silence fell.

For all of five seconds.

Ian piped up, glaring at Daryl. "You still stole my toast."

Daryl smirked, wiping his hands on his jeans. "And I'd do it again."

I groaned, setting Gracie back in the crib. "Lord help me."

But I was smiling too.

The trailer felt too small for all the life inside it, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. After Rick whisked Carl and Judith away, it was just me, Daryl, and our little circus.

Gracie was fussing, rubbing her tiny fists against her eyes. I bounced her on my hip, shushing gently while Ruby crawled determinedly across the floor, making a beeline for Daryl's boots. She gnawed on the laces like they were the finest thing she'd ever tasted.

"I swear she's part puppy," I muttered, shifting Gracie higher against my shoulder.

"Runs in the family," Daryl shot back, crouching down to scoop Ruby into his arms. She squealed in delight, her chubby hands grabbing at his beard. He gave her a look that was equal parts annoyed and soft, like she was the only person in the world who could get away with yanking his face like that.

Ian darted past us with his bow, nearly clipping the wall. "Outside! I'm practicin'!"

"Not by yourself you're not," I called after him, slipping past Daryl to set Gracie down in the crib. "You stay where I can see you, Ian Samuel!"

He groaned loud enough for the whole Hilltop to hear but stomped outside anyway, bow in hand, little Dixon scowl firmly in place.

Daryl smirked, still holding Ruby. "That one's got your attitude."

"Don't pretend you don't see yourself in him," I shot back, smoothing Gracie's hair as she settled. "That stubborn streak is all you."

He grunted, no comeback this time. Just bent his head to blow a raspberry on Ruby's neck, making her squeal again.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of little chores and interruptions. I tried to hang laundry but Ruby crawled straight for the mud, so Daryl had to scoop her up again. Gracie wanted holding more than the crib, so I strapped her to my chest in the wrap. Ian decided his arrows weren't flying far enough and stomped back inside for "better feathers," muttering about how Carl would've let him practice alone.

Through it all, Daryl came and went like a steady heartbeat—slipping out to check in with Maggie, coming back to eat a bite of bread, crouching low to fix Ian's grip on his bow before disappearing again. Every time I caught his eye, just for a second, I felt anchored.

By afternoon the sun was warm on the Hilltop yard. I sat on the trailer steps, Ruby curled in my lap, Gracie snug against my chest. Ian ran circles around us, full of too much energy and not enough space to burn it. I caught sight of Daryl across the courtyard, head bent with Rosita and Tara as they pointed to something on a scrap of paper. His crossbow hung heavy at his side, his shoulders tense. He didn't see me, but I watched him anyway, a little ache blooming in my chest.

The world demanded so much of him. Of all of us. But for now, I had my babies in my arms, the sun on my face, and the steady reassurance that even if Daryl was pulled in ten different directions, he'd always come back to us.

Soon enough, our people were on the move, every last one of us coiled tight with the knowledge that this could be it—the end of the Saviors, one way or another. The camp at Hilltop had been buzzing all morning, whispers trading back and forth, weapons checked and re-checked. I could hear Maggie barking orders from the courtyard, her voice sharp and sure, but underneath it I could feel the tension crackling like lightning.

It wasn't long before the call came.

"Saviors inbound!" Ken's voice rang out from the wall, urgent and too damn close.

My blood iced over. I dropped whatever I had been holding and lunged for the go-bag, already packed, already waiting. "Ian, baby, grab your bow and arrows!" My voice came out sharper than I meant, fear slicing it thin.

Ian's eyes went wide, but he moved, scrambling across the trailer to snatch his bow from the corner. His little fingers shook as he fumbled with his quiver, but he got it slung over his shoulder. "Knife too!" I snapped, and his hand flew to his belt, securing the blade with a determined nod.

Enid swept in like a shadow, no hesitation. She lifted Gracie from her crib, wrapping her tight in a blanket, pressing the baby against her chest. "I've got her!" she said, eyes already scanning for the next step.

Ruby's cry rose from her pallet on the floor—high, thin, panicked. My hands moved faster than thought. I strapped her snug against my chest in the wrap, my fingers trembling only once before muscle memory took over. "Shh, baby, shh," I whispered, kissing her damp hair as my heart thundered in my ribs.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall. Carl stormed in, Judith riding his hip like she weighed nothing. His face was taut, hard, every inch his father's son. "C'mon! We gotta go!"

"We're good, let's move!" I barked, grabbing the bag, throwing it over my shoulder so hard it nearly knocked me sideways.

We spilled out into the yard, the chill in the air biting deep. The sounds of boots slamming the ground, voices raised in shouts, and the thud of weapons all blurred together. Tara's voice cut through the chaos, sharp commands as she organized the handful of Saviors who'd turned to our side. They looked uneasy, twitchy, but they didn't hesitate when she shoved rifles into their hands.

"They're buying us time!" Tara yelled, already pushing toward the gate. Her eyes flicked to me once, fierce and urgent. "Go! Get 'em out, now!"

I didn't argue. Couldn't. I tightened my grip on Ruby and Ian's hand all at once, hauling him forward as Enid stuck close at my flank. Carl led us, Judith's blond head tucked under his chin, his gun raised in his free hand. His gaze darted through the trees, one eye narrowed and sharp as a hawk's.

We moved fast, weaving into the woods, feet pounding against the earth. My lungs burned with every breath, the weight of Ruby pressing heavy against me, but I didn't slow down. Every shadow looked like death waiting. Every rustle had my heart slamming against my ribs.

"Keep moving!" Carl hissed, his voice low but fierce. He threw a quick glance back at me, at Ian clutching my hand so tight his knuckles were white. "We're almost there!"

Branches whipped against my arms, leaves snapping underfoot. The sounds of gunfire echoed behind us, muffled but steady, the Saviors clashing with the ones we'd left to cover our escape. It sounded too close, too much like the world about to cave in.

We broke through a thicket, the brush giving way to a small clearing. Carl raised his hand, signaling. "Here!" His voice cracked with command. "This is it—we wait here!"

I hauled in a breath, staggering to a stop as Enid fell in beside me. She adjusted Gracie against her chest, her face pale but steady. Ian slumped against my side, panting, sweat beading on his little forehead. Ruby whimpered, sensing the fear crackling through me, and I pressed a hand to her back, trying to soothe us both.

The woods pressed in close, silent for now, but it wouldn't last. My chest heaved as I looked at the others gathering in—our people, scared but alive.

Now we waited.

Waited for the rest of them to make it out.

Waited to see if the Saviors had already cut us off.

Waited to see if this was where it all ended.

~~~

Daryl's POV

We were fucking caught.

My head spun on a swivel, eyes darting, chest heaving as the woods closed in around us. The hillside had turned into a kill box—Saviors swarming the ridge, rifles glinting in the fading light, the heavy crack of boots and orders barked out in every direction. There was no way out.

And then his voice hit, that goddamn voice, sliding across the air like oil.

Negan.

The bullhorn distorted him, but the smugness still bled through every word as he taunted us, promising death. Threat after threat rang out, but I barely heard any of it. Couldn't. My brain was already someplace else.

This was it.

The end.

My chest rattled with each heartbeat, every thump slamming against my ribs like it was trying to tear free.

And all I could think about was home.

Ella's laugh—the way her eyes crinkled when I actually managed to drag it out of her, the way her curls bounced when she left her hair down, the way her lips always fit mine like they'd been carved for me and me alone. The swell of her belly—our children's safe place—every curve of it etched into my bones.

Then Ian—God, Ian. Those big brown eyes, the same as his mama's. The way he giggled when I tickled him, the stubborn little frown when he thought he knew better than me. He wasn't even six yet, and I hadn't had enough time. I hadn't taught him how to hunt proper, how to ride a bike, how to be a man. He still needed me.

Ruby's face slammed into my mind next—her hazel eyes, gummy little smile, the sweet babble of her voice just starting to form words. She was barely more than a baby. My baby. And I'd never get to see her grow, never see her become a wild little kid like her brother, never teach her how a man was supposed to treat her, to love her, to protect her.

And then the one I hadn't even met yet—our youngest. Still growing in Ella's belly, still just an idea, a flutter beneath her skin. I pictured them anyway. My eyes, her curls. A newborn smell, soft skin against my chest, that first cry. All the things I'd never get.

The weight of it crushed me harder than any noose, any bullet ever could.

"Congratulations, Rick!" Negan's voice cracked like thunder through the bullhorn, dragging me back.

My throat went tight. My voice broke out of me anyway, quiet, desperate. "Ella," I whispered. "I love you."

Around me, the others raised their guns. I lifted mine too, though my hands trembled.

"Three!" Negan's voice boomed.

Rosita was at my side, her jaw locked, her breath sharp. I turned to her, eyes burning, chest tearing apart.

"Two!" Negan bellowed again.

"Tell my family I love 'em," I rasped, the words ripping out like a prayer.

"One!" Negan roared—

And the world erupted in gunfire.

But then the guns backfired.

The cracks weren't just gunfire—it was explosions, metal ripping, screams tearing out of Savior throats as their own weapons turned on them. Smoke and fire lit up the ridge, and in that chaos we charged.

My heart didn't slow, not even for a second. I squeezed the trigger of my rifle until my shoulder ached, bullets ripping through the trees, through men who'd have slaughtered us without blinking. Every shot was just one more step closer to home, to Ella, to my kids. I had to survive. I had to make it back.

Negan bolted. I caught a glimpse of that leather jacket disappearing into the smoke, but I didn't follow. Couldn't. My world had narrowed down to pulling the trigger, to not dropping dead in the dirt.

When the dust finally cleared, when the smoke thinned out and the screaming dulled, we reached the top of the hill.

The impossible happened.

The Saviors surrendered. Dropped their weapons. Hands in the air. It was over.

Or so I thought.

Rick and Negan—two bulls locked in their final fight. Blood sprayed, and I watched, chest tight, as Rick's blade slashed across Negan's throat. The bastard fell, gasping like a stuck pig.

"Save him," Rick ordered, his voice like stone.

Everything stopped.

"NO!" Maggie's scream ripped through the field, higher, sharper than any bullet ever could. She lunged, her whole body fighting to get to him. Michonne caught her, arms banding tight, but Maggie bucked like a wild thing, her sobs shaking the earth.

"No! He can't—he killed Glenn!" Her voice broke on his name, shattered, jagged. Tears streamed down her face as she clawed at Michonne's grip. "This isn't over until he's dead! No!"

My own eyes burned, hot and stinging, but I couldn't look away. Couldn't breathe right, seeing her break like that.

"We have to," Rick rasped, not meeting her eyes, not meeting any of ours. His voice was final, sharp as steel.

"No!" Maggie's knees buckled, crashing to the dirt. One hand clutched her belly, the other fisting in the ground as Michonne held her upright. Her cries tore out of her, broken and raw. "We have to end it! Please, Rick! Please!"

Her sobs echoed in the silence, carried on the smoke and the blood.

"He killed Glenn!" she wailed, her voice ragged, her grief spilling into every corner of the hillside. "He killed Glenn!"

And there was nothing any of us could say.

Rick's voice cut through the after-smoke, sharp and steady enough to slice through whatever fog was left in my head. "The ones who have them up, put your hands down. We're all gonna go home now. Negan's alive. But his way of doing things is over. Anyone who can't live with that will pay the price, I promise you that."

Rick moved like he always did—slow, sure, boots chewing the dry grass with every step. He climbed the ridge and the rest of the world went quiet to hear him.

"And anyone who would live in peace and fairness..." he said, and the words landed heavy. He stopped, took another step, and the hillside held its breath. "Anyone who would find common ground... this world is yours, by right. We are life."

He turned and pointed, and even from where I stood the silhouette of that herd looked like a thing you could trip over at the horizon—an ocean of bodies rolling toward us, the sun catching on a thousand dull edges of teeth and bone. It felt like the sky leaned down a little.

"That is death," he shouted. "And it's coming for all of us! Unless we find a way to stand together! So go home, then the work begins. The new world begins. All of this—" he swept his arm, taking in the smoking trucks, the men with blood on their hands, the collapsed bodies— "this is just what was."

He climbed down and hung two panes of stained glass from the low branch of a tree—bright, ridiculous in the wasteland—colors catching the late light and throwing shards across the ground. It looked like a stupid, fragile altar. I nodded without thinking and let my gun drop. The weight in my hands eased for the first time in who knows how long.

There was a holler somewhere—people moving, checking, shouting names—and for a moment I let myself think about home. Ella's laugh; the way she pinched my arm when I did something stupid; Ian's stubborn face when he wanted his way; Ruby's gummy grin like she knew some private joke only I'd ever get. The baby, too—Ella's quiet hand over the small roundness at her middle. The thought of them tightened something cold in my chest into a steel rod I could lean on.

I walked back to my bike slow, fingers worrying the leather of my vest. The air still tasted of smoke and iron, and the ground was a carpet of crushed glass and ash. I cinched my crossbow into its place on the seat, strapped my rifle to my back so it wouldn't clang like a bell on the ride, thumbed the safety off and slid the key into the ignition. The bike grunted to life like it had a mind of its own. I could almost smell Ella—soap, the faint tang of milk, baby sweat—and it made my gut ache so bad I wanted to puke.

Before anyone else could follow, before anyone could call my name or ask me to wait, I gunned it. The engine ripped the air and I took off down the hillside, dirt spraying behind me in a dark, wide fan. Trees blurred by in a smear of green and brown and gray. Men and women blurred too—faces turned after me, shadows waving, someone shouting something I didn't catch. I didn't look back.

All I could think about was getting home.