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Chapter Text

The world fell apart, the dead started walking, and... honestly, Krystal couldn't find it in herself to care too much. Her life hadn't really changed. Her family was still with her, they still fended for themselves, and the world was still dangerous. Granted, different place and different dangers, but her point stood. At least now they didn't have to deal with bill collectors. 

She wasn't exactly close with anyone in the camp they were staying at, but that kind of made their end goal easier. If they still had an end goal, anyway, because they'd been with this group for a while and they hadn't nicked so much as a packet of apple sauce. In fact, her dad had gone into the city with the camp's first scavenging group. Usually they just sent the Asian guy, but apparently Shane got worried about that, so now it was everyone else's problem. 

She was just glad Daryl had let her hunt with him despite his general want for solitude, because hanging around alone with all those strangers wasn't appealing. 

The bolt that she just launched into a squirrel, on the other hand? Very appealing. Her uncle clapped her quietly on the shoulder in praise and she tried not to preen, handing the borrowed crossbow back to him. She still struggled to load the thing, and a learning moment wasn't really worth all the noise it would make. As he did that— effortlessly, Krystal was kind of jealous— she moved to retrieve her lunch and the bolt. 

A movement caught the corner of her eye as she did so, and she glanced over to see a doe calmly grazing, blissfully unaware of the fate that was sure to await it. Krystal froze, suddenly anxious she would scare it off, and looked over to Daryl. He saw it. He hurriedly snapped the bolt into place and took aim—

The brush rustled behind her, and she whipped around to see a corpse wandering right towards her. It was a little closer than she was expecting, and she let out a muted noise of panic as it lunged for her. With no time to reach for her knife, she instead plunged the bolt into the center of the thing's head, just as it's rotting hands wrapped around her shirt. The tip barely managed to pierce the skin, and she slammed her forearm against its throat to kept its snapping teeth away from her neck. Deer forgotten— and long gone, most likely— Daryl leapt over the fallen log they'd been crouched behind and grabbed the creature by the scruff of the neck. The skin just sloughed off in his fist. Krystal stabbed it with the bolt again, leading to similar results, and then all fell silent as a hunting knife disappeared into its brain stem. 

Daryl guided the creature's fall with the hilt and then ripped the blade out. 

"You good?" He asked, wiping the blood on his shirt. Krystal nodded, a bit paler than she was before— though it was barely noticeable through all the dirt— and handed him his bolt. "Squirrel good?"

After a quick once-over, "Yeah."

He motioned for her to pass it over, and she obeyed. As he added it to the band of squirrel corpses slung over his shoulder, he said, "Yer gonna getcha a lesson in tracking today. Damn thing's too good to lose, 'specially round this time 'a year."

Privately, Krystal was a little offended, because she was a perfectly fine tracker, but the only outward expression of this was a slight narrowing of her eyes that he didn't notice. 

Chapter Text

Krystal trailed silently behind Daryl as he called for Merle, arms crossed over her chest. She was still pissed about losing the deer. Her mood wasn't helped when they were stopped by Shane.

"Hey, hey, you two, slow up a bit. I need to talk to you."

Oh, that couldn't be good.

Daryl's face pinched slightly, "'Bout what?"

"About Merle. There was a..." Shane paused, clearly choosing his words, "There was a problem in Atlanta."

She swallowed harshly, a faint buzz sweeping through her body as she glanced over at her uncle. His jaw was tight as he asked the question that didn't quite want to leave her mouth, "He dead?"

"We're not sure."

"Fuck does that mean?" She snapped. If it was a shitty attempt to soften the blow she was going to get violent.

Another man— one who hadn't been around camp before, but still seemed achingly familiar— approached, his hand held out placatingly for a moment, "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll say it."

"Who're you?" Daryl asked. Krystal was still trying to place the new face. 

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick Grimes," he said it mockingly, with comical emphasis, "there somethin' you wanna tell me?"

Rick glanced between the two remaining Dixons, "Merle was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there." His eyes settled on Daryl as he said the last sentence, and Krystal's mouth fell open more with every word.

For a moment she had no clue what to say, how to put the wave of sheer rage into something coherent. Daryl did it for her.

"Lemme process this. You're saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof? And you left him there?"

"Yeah."

There was a quiet, tense moment, and then Daryl was shedding the sash of squirrels and lunging. Rick dodged, backpedaling, and somebody from the gathering crowd warned him about the knife as soon as it was drawn. Before any blood could be shed, however, Shane popped up behind Daryl. Krystal's shout was just a tad too late to be useful, and her uncle was pulled into a hold before he could react.

"Hey—!" She moved to assist, but a hand wrapped itself tightly around her elbow. When she spun around in surprise, T-Dog— and she remembered that simply because it was so unique— was looking at her with an almost apologetic grimace, shaking his head. 

"Don't get in the middle’a that."

She moved to slap his hand off, panic rising, but he caught her by the wrist, leaving her arms crossed. "Wh— let me go, asshole!"

He didn't. She looked over her shoulder at the scuffle to see Rick now crouched in front of a red-faced Daryl, voice condescendingly calm and low enough that she couldn't make out exactly what he was saying. 

"Fuckin' pigs—!" She barked, but it sounded more distressed than angry.

After some brief exchange, they seemed to come to a civil agreement, and Daryl was released. T-Dog followed suit, and Krystal staggered slightly before she rushed over to them.

"Your brother does not work or play well with others," Rick was saying as Krystal helped her uncle up. He leaned on her slightly as he caught his breath. 

"It's not Rick's fault," T-Dog chimed in, because of fucking course he was involved, "I had the key. I dropped it."

"You couldn't pick it up?" Daryl's voice cracked slightly with emotion, and it almost made Krystal flinch. It was unnerving. Her uncle got angry. He didn't get upset.

"I dropped it down a drain."

"If that's s'pposed to make me feel better, it don't."

"Well, maybe this will. Look, I chained the door to the roof, so the geeks couldn't get at him. With a padlock."

"It's gotta count for something." Rick cut in like a mediator, and he kind of reminded Krystal of her school councilor. She really hated that councilor. 

"Hell with all 'a y'all!" Daryl sounded on the verge of tears as he started to pace, "Just tell me where he is, so's I can go get him." 

"He'll show you," Lori chimed in from by the Rv. Her tone suggested she wasn't at all pleased with the fact, and what was the name she was always calling that little boy with? Was it actually Grimes? "Isn't that right?"

____

Shane followed Rick closely as the latter walked, "That's just great. Now you're gonna risk three men, huh?"

"Four," T-Dog said it just before Krystal could. 

Daryl scoffed, "My day just keeps gettin' better an' better, don't it?"

"You see anybody else here stepping up to save your brother's cracker ass?

"Why you?"

"You wouldn't even begin to understand. You don't speak my language."

Krystal didn't know what the hell he meant by that, but she was a little offended. There wasn't time to dwell, though, because Dale recapped with a, "That's four," and she quickly interjected before she could be spoken over. 

"Five. I'm comin' too."

"Hell nah," it was Daryl to object first, though she could see both Rick and Shane's mouths twitch to tell her off. 

"I ain't just gonna sit here while you go off with the same people who left Daddy behind."

"I said no, city's too dangerous."

"I can handle myself—!" 

"Hey, listen—" Rick broke in, stepping towards her, and she glared at him. "I'm sorry about what happened with your father. I am. I'll do everything in my power to bring him and your uncle back, alright? You have my word. But he's right. The city's crawling with those things, and if one thing goes wrong, people could get hurt. Okay? Your family could get hurt."

As soon as he turned on his lecture voice, it clicked. She knew where she recognized him from, and the realization— alongside his point, but she wasn't one to acknowledge the positive effects of authority— sucked all her bravado away. She exchanged a look with Daryl, who just shrugged in agreement. She huffed, said "Fine," and turned on her heel, retreating. 

Chapter Text

Last year

Krystal leaned against the wall, the texture of the bricks digging into the exposed skin of her back. Her wrists stung under the pressure of the cuffs she'd been fixed with, and the bouncer stood right beside her, glaring. She really should've just let him keep the fake ID, but she'd paid a lot for it, and he had such a punchable face. Better yet, she should've just not come at all. Now she was in some deep shit.

Getting picked up by the cops was one thing— that wasn't uncommon in her family, it wasn't even the first time it had happened to her. Getting picked up from a gay bar, though? That was bound to cause some issues. She wasn't even sure why she'd come here, it wasn't like she was going to pick anyone up, that wasn't right. She'd just been so curious... or maybe she'd just wanted to play normal for a night. Be a well-adjusted kid with a father who wouldn't absolutely beat her ass for this, and a mother who... well, a mother, period. 

The squad car pulled up, and her foot started to tap. A deputy climbed out— must've been a slow night— and the bouncer greeted him politely.

"That her?" The cop asked, motioning to Krystal.

"That's her."

"Alright, I'll take it from here, thank you."

The bouncer seemed unsure for a moment, but nodded, and moved to go... wherever the hell he was supposed to go, she wasn't really sure what they did if they weren't manning the door. 

"Fake ID, huh?" She nodded, chewing at the inside of her lip. "You got a real one?"

She shook her head. She didn't have her license yet. When she said as much, the cop sighed and let his hands rest on his belt. 

"What's your name?"

She hesitated for a moment. She considered lying, but they'd figure it out at the station anyway. Her prints were definitely on record. She wasn't entirely sure why he was asking in the first place, she should've already been in the car.

"Krystal."

"Alright, Krystal, why'd you come here tonight?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it matters. Y'know, I pick up a lotta kids around your age, lookin' for a good time, tryin' to get into bars, tryin' to buy from liquor stores, gas stations. Somethin' tells me that's not what you're doin' here."

"Why?" She had a feeling she knew why, and it shown in her voice. 

"'Cause you coulda gone anywhere for that, there's a hundred places in this town alone. Lot less secure places, kinds you coulda gotten in no problem. But, uh... when people come here, they're usually lookin' for somethin' else."

"Look, I— I ain't no fag," she tried, but it was overly defensive, yet still clinging on to an air of uncertainty. 

He raised his eyebrow slightly, and she looked at the ground. 

After a moment of silence, he said, "I'm not gonna take you to the station." Her head snapped up fast, and he continued, "I am gonna take you home, though. It’s not safe for a girl like you to be out on her own this late."

"O—" she cleared her throat as her voice cracked, in severe shock at her luck, and reached way back into her mind for any manners she might've still had— "Alright. Thank you, sir."

He motioned her forward, and she moved, allowing him to open the car door for her. 

As he was helping her in— she hadn't quite mastered the art of getting into a car in cuffs, and it seemed like he wasn't going to unlock those for the ride, not that she was offended— she said, "Please... um. If— If my daddy comes out please don' tell him I's here. I mean, at this place."

"Don't worry, I get what you mean."

____

Now

"Krystal? Hey, sweetie, you in there?" Lori asked, tapping on the outside of the tent. A part of Krystal just wanted to ignore her, let the woman think she was asleep, but for some reason she could never find it in herself to be cruel to Lori. There was something about her that just struck the deep, primal desire for maternal love in Krystal's soul, or something. So, hoping the tear tracks on her dirty face weren't too noticeable, she unzipped the tent and fixed the woman with a questioning gaze. 

"Hey. We're cooking up some fish for dinner tonight, do you wanna join? You don't gotta stay long, just long enough to eat."

Krystal paused to consider for a moment. Fish sounded really damn good, and she had already eaten her share of the squirrels. Didn't help that the sun was starting to set. Still... something didn't sound quite right about breaking bread with the people who'd left her dad to die. She could make it a night without dinner.

"No thanks."

She could've sworn the woman looked disappointed. "Alright. Well, if you change your mind, you just come on down. We'll be by the Rv."

Krystal nodded, and then Lori was gone. 

By the time the sun sank below the horizon, she was regretting declining the offer. Her stomach was rumbling something fierce, the knowledge of available food just making it worse, and it was too dark to go looking for anything else. Not that she would get anything in the daylight, given that all she had was a knife. 

On top of that, now that it was just her, every sound made her heart race. Every shadow was a corpse, every owl's hoot was an omen. It got to the point where she was sitting on top of her sleeping bag with her knife clutched in her hands, just waiting for something to approach. 

After what felt like an hour of this, she decided to make her way down to the Rv. She found herself jogging through the woods, glancing over her shoulder and nearly tripping over at least a thousand roots until she reached the clearing.

When she approached the fire, she was expecting friction. A negative acknowledgement of her existence before everyone scrambled to correct themselves, at the least. She had that effect. It was quite the opposite, though. Everyone was laughing and smiling, and they just sort of... accepted that she was there.  

"Well hello young lady. Please, grab a plate, sit down, we've got plenty," Dale greeted. 

"Um. Thanks," Hesitantly— and with a sudden, overwhelming feeling of awkwardness— she obeyed, sitting tailor style on the dirt.

She listened in as a short conversation about Dale's watch unfolded, not contributing in the slightest but feeling like a participant nonetheless. It was... nice, almost. 

That was, until Amy's screaming split the air, and Krystal looked up to see corpses chewing on her. Immediately the teen jumped to her feet, white-knuckling her knife. Everyone else was up in seconds, either running away or ducking as Shane drew his shotgun. He started to make his way towards the Rv, Lori, Carol, and their kids traveling close behind him, but as Krystal tried to follow, one of the creatures cut her off, forcing her to spring back. As it stumbled towards her, she drove her knife through its mandible. It was significantly taller than her, and it's blood rained down over the lower half of her face before it fell.

Shane ushered everyone after him as she stabbed a second corpse through the ear, which did fuck all. It's teeth gnashed at her, and she couldn't suppress the desperate scream that left her when, for a moment, her knife didn't budge. With a second tug it was out, though, and she plunged it into the thing's eye. After it was down she rushed forward, ducking under one's outstretched arms and rushing towards the Rv. Shane's gun turned briefly towards her, but he moved on as soon as she stilled.

A cacophony of shots sounded, more than the entirety of the camp had, which could only mean the rescue team was back. 

Lori grabbed her by the arm and dragged her closer into the huddle, meeting no resistance. Krystal faced the woods, standing in one of Shane's blind spots, and stayed ready— as ready as possible, anyway, with how badly her hands were shaking. 

Nothing came, though, and as the groaning of the dead stopped, Rick could be heard screaming for his wife. She and Carl rushed to him, and Krystal searched the crowd for Merle or Daryl. She found the latter, who found her just as fast, and the two met in the middle.

He gripped her by the shoulder and looked her over, wide-eyed, "You okay? No bites, no nothin'?"

When she didn't respond, he shook her. 

"Hey, answer me!"

After a few hard blinks, "Y— yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He let out a relieved sigh— just a huff of air, really, pulling her in for a hug with the arm not wielding a gun, and with still-trembling hands she grabbed fistfuls of the back of his shirt. 

Chapter Text

The wind whipped at Krystal's hair as she and Daryl rode down the road. She had the passenger's side of the pickup to herself, now— used to, she'd have to squish in the middle, but considering Merle was gone, there wasn't any point. She watched the passing trees and wondered where he was. 

He couldn't be alive. If he was still alive, he would've come back for her. If there was one thing Merle Dixon never shut up about— other than immigrants ruining America, she supposed— it was the importance of kin. How you could never leave them behind, never give up on them. He'd used that point to talk shit about her mother her entire life, he wouldn't turn on it. 

So either he was dead, or... someone had him, she guessed. Either way, the odds of finding him, especially now that they were leaving the quarry, were slim to none, and the idea of never seeing him again sat heavy in her chest like a stone. 

"The hell?" Daryl pulled her out of her thoughts as he slowed the truck down. When she looked up, she saw a line of break lights ahead of them. 

She was about to open her mouth to speak when Dale's voice crackled over the radio, "The, uh— the Rv's down."

"Dammit."

____

When they took off again, Krystal stared at Jim in the side mirror. She watched until he was nothing, not even a pin-prick, and a strange emotion ate away at her mind. Not necessarily sadness, or grief, because she didn't know him well enough for that, but almost... hopelessness. Or ire, maybe, at the unfairness of the situation. Perhaps a mix of both. She just wanted this to be over.

____

The smell of death hit Krystal like a ton of bricks as they pulled up to the CDC. The sun was setting into a haze, but even still she could see the bodies. Dozens of them, piled all around the front of the building. It didn't exactly fill her with confidence. 

After exchanging a glance with her uncle, she could tell he was feeling much the same. Still, swallowing their apprehension, they climbed out, meeting up with the rest of their group. Flies buzzed around Krystal's head as they advanced to the front doors, and her assessment of 'dozens' began to seem more like hundreds. More and more were revealed as they wove around long-abandoned military vehicles, the smell growing so strong she had to pull her shirt over her nose.

When they finally reached the building, there were just closed shutters where an entrance should've been. She took a step back, closer to Daryl, as Shane started to pound on them.

"There's no-one here," T-Dog said, and he had to be right.

"Then why are these shutters down?" Rick sounded desperate. No-one got to answer him, though, because their smell began to attract the dead. 

"Walkers!" Daryl was the first to announce, drawing his bow, and then panic began to ripple through the crowd. He fired at one, but there was no use, so many of those hundreds were starting to awaken. Whirling around to Rick, he barked, "You led us into a graveyard!" 

"He made a call."

Daryl turned his anger towards Dale, "It was the wrong damn call!"

Shane pushed him back, hurrying to silence him, before he spun back around to his partner, "Rick, this is a dead end."

Krystal's eyes floated back to the approaching corpses as everyone began to argue. 

"Fort Benning, Rick, still an option," Shane said, for what had to be the millionth time this week, and Krystal was starting to wish they'd listened because now—

"On what? No food, no fuel, that's 100 miles."

"125, I checked the map."

Andrea and Glenn were right, they were screwed. 

"Forget Fort Benning, we need answers tonight, now," Lori looked only to her husband as she said it, but he had nothing.

"They can't open doors, right?" Krystal stuttered out, "I— I mean, can't we all cram into the Rv, wait for 'em to pass?"

"That thing's older than you, I doubt the door would hold," Dale dismissed.

"We'll think of something!" Rick was trying to placate, but the dead were just getting closer, bringing the promise of agony with them.

Evidently Shane realized this, too, because he began to order them back to the cars. That all went to hell when Rick shouted, "The camera! It moved."

"You imagined it," Dale tried, but Rick began to stalk up to the shutters, a newfound confidence in his stride. 

"It moved."

Carol started to cry, hugging her child close.

"Rick, it's dead, man, it's an automated device, man, It's... it's gears, okay? They're just windin' down, now come on."

The two began to argue as Shane tried to guide him away, and Krystal looked to her uncle for guidance. Or comfort, maybe? She wasn't entirely sure. As Rick started to bang furiously on the shutter, drawing more of the dead, she certainly needed it.

Shane gave up, eventually, and returned to ushering them back to the cars. Rick started to scream at the shutter, though, and it stopped everyone in in their tracks. Lori ran back for him, leaving Carl to stand, sniffling, on his own, and Krystal took a step forward to grab the boy's hand, to tug him closer to her and Daryl. Shane started to haul Rick away, and Lori returned. In the chaos of the moment she just took Carl's other hand, and then—

A bright white light enveloped them. The shutters had opened.

Chapter Text

Slowly, cautiously, they made their way inside. Krystal let go of Carl's hand almost as soon as the doors opened, allowing Lori to bring him and herself directly behind Rick.

"Hello?" He called, and then immediately drew his gun at the sound of the person he was calling out to. Everyone did— everyone that had one, anyway, Krystal just kind of brandished her knife. 

The man that had apparently opened the door for them was matching their energy at the top of the stairs, though he had to know his chances were nothing if it really came down to it. "Anybody infected?"

"One of our group was," Rick said, and Krystal didn't really think that was what the guy was asking but whatever, "He didn't make it."

The stranger began to advance, still clearly hesitant, "Why are you here, what do you want?"

"A chance."

"That's askin' an awful lot these days."

"I know. 

The man took a moment to observe their group, to take in the children and the women and the elder, and then said, "You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission."

"We can do that," Rick quickly agreed.

Finally, the stranger lowered his gun. "You got stuff to bring in you do it now, once this door closes it stays closed."

____

Krystal started to sweat as soon as she sat down in front of Jenner. Considering everything she'd been through in the last few months, she'd hoped her stupid, irrational fears might've dimmed, but they were as strong as ever. 

"You alright?" The doctor asked, and Jesus with her sudden pallor he probably thought she was showing signs of infection. She nodded, swallowing harshly and trying not to look at the syringe in his hands. "Ah. Don't like needles?"

She hummed in the negative, fighting the urge to leap across the room as she offered her arm. Someone's hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she looked over to see her uncle, who gave her a small squeeze. He'd gone before her, hadn't even flinched. She'd tried to go in with the same bravado and immediately failed.

"I'll be quick," Jenner promised. Now thoroughly embarrassed, she squeezed her eyes shut as he brought the needle to her arm. It didn't hurt at all, which just made her feel like even more of a fool, and the whole ordeal was over in a matter of seconds. 

"Alright, good to go. Next?"

Daryl helped her up as Carol and Sophia approached. She tried to wave him off— she wasn't a child, she didn't need the princess treatment— but a sudden wave of lightheadedness overcame her, and she found herself leaning on him for a moment as the two made their way to a row of chairs. Once seated, they watched as the rest of their people cycled through in relative silence.

Then Daryl spoke, his voice low but not exactly a whisper, "Y'know, I's always kinda glad you had that needle thing. Means you won't get into half the shit me an' yer dad did at yer age." 

She huffed a laugh as she ran a thumb over a small, swelling droplet of blood on her arm, "Look at you, lookin' at the bright side." 

"Yeah, I'm a goddamn optimist."

The two of them chuckled.

____

People were laughing on the other side of Krystal's closed eyes. There was a pleasant, warm thrum in her chest from the drinks she'd had— not without some back and forth with Rick, who was still very much a cop, though he'd agreed to look the other way considering the circumstances— and her stomach was full of food. It was more than she'd had in a while.

She was aware that she was drifting in and out of sleep, only roused when someone clapped the table too hard or moved it as they stood, but she didn't really mind. For the first time since the fish fry, she felt safe, and she was relishing in it. 

Eventually, she was gently shaken awake, and she blinked up at her pink-cheeked uncle. 

"C'mon," he grunted at her, and Krystal sluggishly obeyed. She had no idea where they were sleeping, but he clearly did, as he led them into one of the staff rooms with confidence. Maybe he'd talked about it with Jenner. "Y'can take the couch."

No issue on her part. She had to ball up to fit, and it was hard as a rock, but it felt absolutely amazing after three months of a sleeping bag. Her uncle was already snoring on the... the floor, she thought? It was dark, hard to tell. Either way, the sound wasn't as annoying as she used to find it, because for a moment, Krystal could pretend she was a kid again. He and Merle were both passed out in the den, and she'd snuck out of her room because she was scared of some monster in her closet. Something like that, anyway. Man, she never thought she'd miss that ratty old trailer.

____

Her brain hurt. Her brain, her back, and her hip from where the hilt of her knife had dug into it all night. All that absolutely paled in comparison to the state Glenn was in, though— mostly thanks to Daryl encouraging him, if she remembered anything right.

"Eggs!" T-Dog announced in a sort of sing-songy tone, "Powdered but— but I do 'em good." 

Krystal had literally never wanted anything more in her life. Glenn just sort of moaned in response, because of the noise or maybe just the general cheer, and Jacquie rubbed at his shoulders sympathetically. Eggs were dumped onto Krystal's plate as T-Dog said something about the benefits of the protein, and she couldn't quite suppress the hum of delight that left her. In that moment, she didn't care about the racist propaganda she'd been fed her whole life, or the fact that the man's mistakes had resulted in the disappearance of her father. She cared only about egg. 

"You are... so awesome," she said, seconds before she began to shovel the food into her mouth with her fingers. T-Dog chuckled as he continued to distribute the absolute liquid gold in that pan of his.

____

As soon as Vi said the word 'explosive' all the air left Krystal's lungs. The AI went on to describe how deadly this particular kind of explosive was, how it ranked below nothing aside from nukes, and she very nearly covered her ears.

She was going to die. Tears began to silently stream down her face as everyone scrambled around, throwing things, or, in Daryl's case, trying to break open the door Jenner had shut. That same man began to lecture them on how this was better, more humane, just getting ahead of the inevitable; clearly confident in his decision.

"All of you, you know what's out there. A short, brutal life, an agonizing death..."

"Just 'cause you're a cowardly piece 'a shit doesn't mean we are!" She yelled, and it came out shriek-ish, her voice peaking on practically every vowel.

He hesitated for a moment, looking for words, before he settled on a resigned-looking Andrea, "Your sister, what was her name?"

"Amy," the response was amicable, as if this guy didn't deserve to have his face clawed off.

"Amy. You know what this does, you've seen it," he turned his attention to Rick, "Is that really what you want for your wife and son?"

"I don't want this," the man hissed back. 

Daryl finally gave up on trying to chop their way to freedom, "Can't make a dent."

"Those doors are designed to withstand rocket launchers."

Krystal thought Jenner might’ve been underestimating her uncle a fair bit, and almost as soon as the words entered her brain said uncle launched himself at the scientist, axe raised. Everyone swarmed around him, holding him back because if Jenner died then they really were stuck in there, and logically she understood that but she also really wanted to see this guy's guts. Jenner, unfazed, brought up a conversation he and Rick had had last night, and apparently their fearless leader was a little more pessimistic than he let on. Jenner just used that to spill more of his suicidal drivel, though; how there was no hope, how they would die anyway. She couldn't listen to him anymore. 

She turned away from the center of chaos as Shane shot at some computers, finally losing any composure she'd been holding on to. She didn't want to die. Certainly not for nothing, locked up underground like a rat. She couldn't breathe, and she didn't even know if it was the panic or if the system was giving up on ventilation. 

"Come here, baby," a voice came from beside her, and she glanced over just in time to see Jacquie take her into an embrace. Krystal just sobbed into the woman’s chest as Jenner waffled on about his dead wife. Daryl had started to chop at the door again, the repeated bang reverberating in Krystal's skull, almost mocking her, reminding her that she was in her tomb.

And then it opened. 

Krystal sucked in a gasp, parting from Jacquie as Daryl prompted everyone to move. The two exchanged a glance, and then Krystal sprinted towards him, only skidding to a halt because he wasn't moving. Whirling around showed her Jacquie, her shimmering eyes fixed on T-Dog.

"No— no, I'm stayin', sweetie. I'm stayin'."

"But that's insane—!"

"No, it's completely sane! For the first time in a long time. I'm not endin' up like Jim and Amy. There's no time to argue. And no point, not if you wanna get out. Just get out," she shoved lightly at T's chest, "Get out."

They listened. Started to, anyway, until Andrea piped up with, "I'm staying, too."

Again, they waited until they were ushered to go— this time by Dale— and go they did. Cramming into the stairwell, and then rushing into the main entrance, only to be met with more shutters and glass as thick as a mattress.

Daryl and Shane went at the windows with axes, for a moment, and then T-Dog tried with a chair, but both tools barely managed to scratch the surface. Shane drew his shotgun, and the buckshot did nothing besides cast a pattern.

"The glass won't break?" The fear in Sophia's voice brought tears back to Krystal's eyes. God, that little girl didn't deserve to be there. Krystal was half tempted to run right back down those steps and strangle that doctor, just to take away the quick and painless death he wanted.

Then, in a turn of events she would've never predicted in a million years, Carol pulled a fucking grenade out of her purse. There was no time to ponder the absurdity of it, because Rick pulled the pin, and then there was just barely enough to get the hell down. 

It went off, and one of the panes shattered. Glass and fragments of the bomb went flying, and then Daryl hauled his niece off the ground by the back of the shirt, damn near throwing her out into the parking lot. She hit her knees on the grass, but quickly scrambled upright, and then she was sprinting for the truck. A small group of walkers began to shamble towards them, but the things were so slow all she had to do was dodge a little to the left.

She very nearly tore the door off the pickup in her haste to climb in. As soon as she was seated, she looked up at the building and saw two figures making their way out. Daryl stilled from where he was jamming the keys into the ignition, watching as Andrea and Dale ran.

"Come on..." he muttered, mostly to himself.

There was some shouting from the Rv, and then the pair ducked behind some makeshift cover. 

"Shit. Shit, get down, now—!"

Krystal didn't argue, wouldn't have been able to anyway because he shoved her against the seat, and then an ear-splitting boom racked the pickup. Orange light filled her closed eyes, and there was a sound like a rock slide—

All too abruptly, the world fell silent.

Slowly, hesitantly, she and Daryl both sat up, and the CDC was nothing but flaming rubble. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded perhaps a bit too rapidly, breathing hard from... from the sprint, from the stress, from the panic attack she was edging on, who knew.

The moment of shock didn't last as long as she felt it should've. The vehicles in front of them were driving off, and soon so were they. To Fort Benning, she guessed, but they still didn't have enough supplies to make the trip, or even half the trip. They weren't any better off than when they'd arrived, aside from being fed and rested. 

It was better than being dead, though.

Chapter Text

Krystal stared out the windshield of the truck, a sort of vacant look in her eyes. It had been a day since the CDC fell, and the events were plaguing her. Jacquie was still buried under all that rubble. The same woman who'd held her in what they thought were their final moments was now nothing more than a vague memory, a pile of goo in a caved-in tunnel. Her decision boggled Krystal's mind. 

And Jenner? How he'd been so willing to kill them all in some sort of sick act of mercy? What if they'd never pestered him about the virus that morning? If they'd just taken the time to recover, never noticed the countdown? They'd be dead, and the thought made her ill.

Daryl must've noticed her mood, because her attention was caught by the first few notes of Garth Brooks's 'Friends in Low Places,' and she looked over at the radio to see him turning up the volume. He met her eyes almost playfully for a moment before returning them to the road, and then began to obnoxiously sing along.

"And ruined your black tie affair— c'mon, girl, I know you know it—"

A smile tugged at her lips as he continued, and finally, as the chorus began, she joined in. Quietly at first, but between the wind and her uncle she couldn't even hear herself, so it didn't take long to work up to his level. 

'Cause I've got friends in low places

Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away

And I'll be okay

Yeah, I'm not big on social graces

Think I'll slip on down to the oasis

Oh, I've got friends in low places

As the last verse began, the disc started to skip, and they tapered off, but a sense of warmth lingered in Krystal's chest. Not even necessarily because the moment was fun— though it hadn't hurt— but because Daryl had gone out of his way to make her smile. 

He threw the booklet of CDs into her lap, "Here, pick somethin' else."

____

She began to nod off on the back of her dad's motorcycle. The truck had run out of gas, which meant it was no longer useful, and rather than ride with someone else she'd decided to hop on the bike with Daryl. Problem was, she kept starting to slip off, only jumping awake when she felt herself go over.

After she did this for the third time, her uncle signaled for their small convoy to pull over. She couldn't help but cringe slightly when they came to a stop.

"Alright, hop off."

"I—"

Rick rolled down his window, "What's up?" 

"She keeps fallin' out, can't be on the back 'a this thing," Daryl said, leaning forward so she could climb off. She stood awkwardly by the bike for a moment, feeling something between nervous and embarrassed. It was entirely her fault they'd made this stop. 

Daryl took in her expression, slight confusion coming over his face, "W— I ain't mad. It just ain't safe. Go on, see if Dale'll let you ride in the Rv."

With a nod, she obeyed, and— after walking around the vehicle's rear end— found T-Dog's head sticking out of the door.

"Everything alright?" 

"Yeah, I's just fallin' asleep. Can I ride with y'all?"

"Oh, yeah, c'mon," he took a step back to allow her inside, and after shutting the door behind her she gave him a tight-lipped smile. 

Shane scoffed from the table, "That's it? Thought y'all were empty or somethin'."

Okay, that was more the reaction she was expecting. Still didn't mean it felt good, but at least it was familiar. Before she could open her mouth to explain, or maybe defend herself, she wasn't sure, Dale spoke from the driver's seat.

"Don't listen to him, Krystal, you just make yourself at home. And feel free to make use of the bed."

"Uh. Thanks," She would not in a million years be doing that, but the offer was nice. When they took off again, Andrea and Shane were occupying the table, Glenn the passenger's seat, and T-Dog somewhere in the bedroom, so Krystal just sort of sat down on the floor against the door and the counter.

____

She jumped awake at the sound of the engine whining. There was a crowd gathering at the head of the vehicle, and she sluggishly joined, wiping the dew from her eyes.

"Radiator hose?"

"Yep," for the first time possibly ever, she heard real frustration in Dale's voice. Everyone piled out of the Rv, meeting up with the rest of their group, "I said it, didn't I say it? A thousand times, dead in the water."

"Problem Dale?"

Krystal stepped away from Shane as he said it, migrating closer to her uncle.

Said uncle began to root through the back of a car as Dale lamented their situation, before quickly realizing that they were in the middle of a congested highway. Not the worst place to break down.

"If we can't find a radiator hose here..." Shane trailed off, and the way he said it was almost like he was trying to rub it in.

Daryl turned over something brightly packaged in his hand, "There's a buncha stuff we can find."

"We can siphon more fuel from these cars for a start," T-Dog added, and just as everyone started to seem comfortable with the idea, with the prospect of food and water now in front of them, Lori spoke.

"This is a graveyard." Everyone turned to look at her. "I— I don't know how I feel about this."

Overall, her feelings didn't change their situation, and they got to work. 

Krystal and Daryl didn't find much aside from a few granola bars and a coloring book that she didn't really register as useful, but that Daryl plopped immediately in her arms. Logically she knew why she was their pack mule, he was the only one between them with a real weapon, but it was still kind of annoying.

That annoyance died out as soon as the groans of the dead reached them. By the sound of it, there were too many to fight off.

"Shit—" she breathed, ducking down as she and her uncle quickly snuck around an old Nissan. The crowd was uncomfortably close, but if they broke out into a sprint they would surely be spotted. 

They stumbled across T-Dog, sitting against a car with blood pouring from his arm. He looked up at them with wide, fearful eyes, almost reminiscent of a particularly sad dog. The dead were rapidly approaching, and with nowhere safer to go, Daryl just dragged him onto the ground and threw one of the many available corpses over him. Krystal caught on, and quickly lay on the hot asphalt, dropping their findings and burrowing under a prone body. It was a big guy, probably old based on his clothes, and his maggot-filled jaw rested in the crook of her neck. The smell of rot was almost enough to make her gag with every inhale, but there was no time to shift positions or plug her nose, walkers were upon them. They shambled along at painfully low speeds, unaware of the easily accessible food at their feet. Krystal's heart beat a pattern into her ribs.

It felt like an eternity before they were gone, when Daryl finally threw his corpse shield off of himself and broadcasted safety. As soon as she was upright, she took in a deep breath, expecting clean air as she furiously brushed the bugs off of her shoulders and chest. The scent of death stuck to her clothes, though, and it was so overwhelming it made her heave. Nothing much came up, of course, given their food situation, and she wiped quickly at her mouth before gathering their small haul again. That whole experience was going into the deepest caverns of her mind, never to be touched again... once her skin stopped crawling, at least.

She followed behind Daryl, who now had T's good arm around his shoulders and was half-dragging him, until they arrived at the Rv. Everyone— save for Rick and Sophia— was gathered around the side of the highway, and Carol was crying.

Krystal's stomach sank. 

____

The sun had set, and still no Sophia. Rick and Daryl had called off the search for the night, so there wasn't anything else that could be done, but no-one could sleep. Krystal sat on the hood of an abandoned car as the group milled about, eating one of those granola bars as slowly as she possibly could. 

Footsteps caught her attention, and she looked over her shoulder to see her uncle approaching. 

"Here," he said when he reached her, holding something out in offering. She was expecting water, but when her eyes reached his hand she saw a Glock 17. They widened slightly, and she looked up at him in surprise. "Go on, take it. I already talked to Rick, he said he wouldn’t take it from you. Can't have you walkin' around with nothin' but that knife."

She obeyed, setting her half-eaten dinner in her lap. A quick check showed the safety on, and removing the magazine told her it was missing two out of seventeen bullets, though pulling the slide back revealed one in the chamber.

"Thank you."

He grunted dismissively and leaned against the car. Andrea, who was standing a few feet away, seemed frustrated by this exchange for some reason, but she didn't approach the two of them.

____

Rick and Krystal both stood outside the church's doors, unable to listen to Carol's pleas to God. Ever since he’d returned from the woods without Sophia, Rick had been shrouded in guilt. It wasn't fair. He'd done what he could, more than anyone else had. A question was stuck in Krystal's throat, and she swallowed harshly.

"Rick," she started, feeling suddenly nervous, and he looked over to her. "Do you remember me?"

His expression softened ever-so-slightly, and he scratched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. I, uh… I remember you."

She nodded. After a moment of silence, she continued, "Well, you did right by me. I mean, y’know my daddy now, y’know how that woulda gone, and… look, I’m tryin’a say you’re a good man. And I know that’s why you’re beatin’ yourself up right now, but I know you did what you could for Sophia. When we find her it’s gonna be ‘cause of you.”

Rick clearly didn’t know what to say to that, so she saved them both the awkwardness and entered the church.

Chapter Text

Lori hopped on a stranger's horse with no hesitation at the mention of her husband and son. Said stranger told the rest of them where to go— an address Krystal had already forgotten, but she remembered the family name: Greene— and then rode off as quickly as she'd come. The whole ordeal only lasted a minute, if that, and the remaining group was left in a state of shock. 

A walker that Andrea had been grappling with before the stranger's appearance sat up, growling like they tended to do, and Daryl— already annoyed by Lori running off— raised his crossbow. 

"Shut up." 

The thing collapsed, the impact of the bolt startling Carol, and Daryl started to walk off. Krystal made sure to pull that bolt from the corpse's skull before she followed, because they'd definitely miss it later. 

____

"I'll hold here tonight, stay with the Rv," Daryl offered, much to Carol's visible relief. It solved their immediate issue; if Sophia showed up, she wouldn't be alone, and others could still regroup with the Grimeses. 

"If the Rv is staying, I am too," Dale said. That was three— it was unspoken but universally acknowledged that Krystal would be wherever her uncle was. 

"Thank you. Thank you both," Carol said, her eyes misty. 

Andrea tapped in, too, but when Glenn tried, Dale stopped him.

"Not you, Glenn, you're going. Take Carol's Cherokee."

"Me? Why is it always me?"

Dale went on to explain that T-Dog's wound was infected, and that they needed to see if the farm had any antibiotics... as soon as that word left his mouth Daryl turned towards the bike. Krystal had a feeling she knew why, and was proven correct when he pulled a ziplock bag filled with pill bottles from one of the saddle bags.

"Keep your oily rags off my brother's motorcycle," he said, throwing said rag at Dale before he plopped the drugs down on top of the Jeep's hood. "Why'd you wait 'till now to say somethin'? I got my brother's stash."

He began to rummage through it, "Crystal, X, don't need that..."

"They say yer parents name you after what they love most," Krystal joked. No-one thought it was funny, apparently. They were too busy looking at Daryl like he'd just sprouted wings and started multiplying their fish, or... whatever it was that happened in the Bible. She didn't know, no-one had ever made her read it. He tossed some painkillers to Glenn before he found exactly what he was looking for; doxycycline.

"Not the generic stuff, neither. It's first class. Merle got the clap on occasion."

As he moved to return the stash, Krystal grimaced. That was going to keep her awake at night. 

“I didn't need to know that."

____

Krystal watched from beside the Rv's door as Daryl and Andrea walked off. He was looking for Sophia, couldn't stand to listen to Carol cry any more, but she had a feeling Andrea was out there for something different. Once they were a decent ways out, Krystal sighed and walked to the back of the vehicle. If he wouldn't let her come with, she was at least going to wait for him.

Dale hurried to stuff a box of cigarettes in his pocket as she climbed the ladder, but she would've recognized the packaging from a mile away. 

"Better not let my uncle see those," she said, climbing to her feet, "Hadda quit cold turkey after all this started, I think he'd shed blood."

Dale chuckled. He offered her the single lawn chair, but she declined, sitting beside it instead. She felt unsteady enough this high up. 

After a moment passed, she asked, "You mind if I have one?"

One of Dale's eyebrows reached his hairline. "How old are you?" He said it in a way that implied he knew exactly how old she was.

"I'll... be eighteen in a couple months." More like nine, but eh, details.

He hummed disapprovingly, "Well, you can ask me then."

"Worth a try."

They sat quietly for a while. Dale seemed anxious, scanning the edge of the woods with his binoculars. Carol joined them after a while, taking the unoccupied chair, and all three of them waited for their loved ones to emerge from the woods. 

"You don't need to worry, she's with Daryl," Carol said eventually, and Krystal was kind of floored by how... nice that was. "If something happens he can protect her. You hear what I'm sayin'?" 

Dale didn't seem too moved. "Sorry, all I heard was 'if something happens.'" He sighed, and then pulled the rifle from his shoulder, offering it to Carol, "Do you mind keeping watch?"

"I don't know how to use that."

"I do," Krystal said, outstretching her hands to take the gun. Dale obliged. "You sure you don't want it with you, though?"

"I won't go far," he assured, and then started down the ladder.

He hadn't lied; he wandered between cars for a bit, but Krystal never lost sight of him, and he returned pretty fast. Carol got to her feet when he reached the roof, panting from his walk, and he gladly accepted the available chair.

More time passed. Krystal was just starting to worry when flashlights came into their field of view. As soon as Carol saw that the search party hadn't come back any larger, she poorly stifled a sob and climbed down. By the time Krystal reached the ground— just behind Dale— the woman was inside. 

Chapter Text

A blonde girl approached Krystal as she strung up the group's wet laundry. There was nothing else for her to do on the farm— which wasn't a bad thing, really, she'd almost forgotten what getting bored felt like, but it was still boredom. 

"Hey," the blonde greeted, almost timidly. Krystal nodded in acknowledgement, pinning up one of T-Dog's shirts. She could tell because it was still faintly stained with blood from the arm wound. "Uh— do you want some help with that?"

"Sure."

The girl began to do just that. They stood beside each other, almost uncomfortably close. It wasn't until she offered her name— Beth— that Krystal realized she wanted to talk. It made sense, they were the only teenage girls there, she was probably kind of lonely. Krystal offered hers back, but her conversational talents were lacking.

"Yeah, I heard your dad callin' you earlier."

"Uh, no, he's my uncle. My dad..." she sighed, ire sneaking into her tone, "Well, he ain't here." 

"Oh. Sorry."

"Nah, 's fine. 'S his own fault."

Silence stretched as Krystal processed what she'd just said. Her mind jumped to correct itself— Rick was the one who cuffed him, T was the one who dropped the key, hell, if she really wanted to stretch it Shane was the one that sent in more people than normal. All of that was true, but really, at the end of the day... Merle was responsible for his own actions. If he hadn't started shit, nothing would've happened to him. 

"So how did your group meet? Y'all don't seem related," the blonde said eventually, unaware of the moment Krystal was having.

"Uh. No, nah, we're not. Most of us, anyway. We ended up in the same place after shit hit the fan in Atlanta."

"What do you mean?" Noticing Krystal's confusion at the question, Beth added, "We've been in the dark since they stopped broadcastin'."

"Huh. Yeah, they— the military, I mean, they bombed the shit out of it. Whole place is nothin' but walkers now."

Beth seemed kind of horrified, and Krystal found herself wanting to redirect into something more positive— maybe she'd been a little lonely, too. She'd gotten so blasé about the macabre she'd forgotten what small talk used to be like.

"Uh, so, uh— who— who's that boy you were hangin' around? I caught everyone else's name, not his." 

"That's Jimmy."

"And he's... your brother?" He definitely wasn't her brother, they looked nothing alike. Krystal wasn't really sure why she'd asked it like that.

"No, Jimmy an' I were datin' when all this started. Didn't work out, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go, so..." the blonde shrugged.

____

"I'm gon' borrow a horse, head up this ridge right here, get a birds-eye view of the whole grid. If she's up there I'll spot her," Daryl said, motioning at the map on the hood of Carol's Jeep. 

T-Dog praised the idea, and then said, "Maybe you'll see your Chupacabra up there, too."

Krystal nearly doubled over laughing. Oh, she'd almost forgotten that he'd told that story at the quarry. Rick questioned this, on account of not being there at the time, and Dale's explanation made him and Jimmy huff a laugh.

"What're'ya brayin' at, jackass?" It was said with all the hostility Krystal was expecting, this was quite a sore subject for her uncle.

"So you believe in a blood-sucking dog?" 

"You believe in dead people walkin' around?"

Rick just chuckled. Good on him, Krystal had argued until she was blue in the face when she was younger. Jimmy reached for one of the guns laid out on the hood, and Rick promptly confiscated it, all traces of humor fading away.

"Hey, hey. You ever fire one before?"

"Well, if I'm going out I want one."

"And people in hell want slurpees." Daryl then walked off, and Krystal trailed behind. It wasn't until they reached the stables that he seemed to realize her intentions. 

"Uh-uh, no, you're not comin' with."

She stood in the entryway as he walked to the tack room, stilled by surprise.

"Are you serious?"

"Yep," he said, emerging with a saddle and bridle.

"Jimmy can't even carry a gun, and I'm the one stuck here?"

He didn't even glance up at her as he entered one of the stalls, it's occupant whinnying in protest. "I ain't responsible for Jimmy."

"Is this 'cause I laughed at the Chupacabra thing?"

That made him look at her over the stall door, his eyebrows knitted together, "What? No."

"Then what?"

"Krys, it ain't a punishment. 'S not safe out there, it is here, and if I'm busy worryin' 'bout you I might miss somethin'."

That was reasonable, she supposed. He didn't need to, but she knew he would, and she wasn't big-headed enough to hinder the search just for pride's sake. 

"Okay. Can you take someone, at least?"

"I'll be faster on my own. 'Sides, everyone's busy."

She threw her hands up in exasperation and walked out, back towards the camp. Realistically, she knew he'd be fine, but there was an awful feeling that plagued her.

____

Turned out that feeling was intuition. There was a gunshot, and then Rick was screaming, and Krystal was hauling ass out of her tent so fast she left a dust cloud. They weren't allowed to carry on the property, and she certainly wasn't stopping to grab her gun from the Rv, so her hand rested on the hilt of her knife as she caught up with Andrea and Dale.

Shane and Rick were carrying Daryl between them. He was bloody, covered in dirt, unmoving, and for a moment Krystal assumed the worst, a strange sort of strangled sound leaving her.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, is he okay?" Andrea sounded near tears as they joined the small group trudging back to camp.

"Unconscious," Rick said, "You just grazed him."

Krystal barely had time to be relieved before she was turning towards the older woman at breakneck speeds. "You shot him?" 

"I thought he was a walker!"

Krystal ran a hand over her sweat-slick hair, swallowing harshly.

"So did we. What the hell happened to him? I— he's wearing ears!" Glenn sounded about as panicked as Andrea, but he was right. Daryl was, in fact, wearing ears— bloated and rotting, threaded on a string around his neck— which Rick quickly snatched off. 

"Let's keep that to ourselves."

"Guys! Isn't this Sophia's?" T-Dog called from behind, making everyone stop in their tracks and turn to look at the plush doll in his hand. Solid proof of the little girl's journey. If Krystal hadn't felt nauseous with anxiety, she might've smiled.

____

The Dixons sat alone in an unoccupied bedroom, eating a proper hot meal that Carol had brought them. The silence bordered on awkward, nothing but silverware scraping bowl and the tapping of Krystal's foot from where she sat at her uncle's bedside. Her eyes kept drifting back to the gash on the side of Daryl's head. 

He looked over to her, a demand to quit staring on his tongue, he could feel it, only to falter upon actually seeing her. Her eyes were red and shining in the low light, and her pressed-together lips were trembling.

"I'm fine," he said simply. It didn't do much, even if it was true. He got what he had originally wanted, Krystal looked down at her dinner, hair falling in front of her face.

"You could'a died." her voice was quiet and full of emotion, the sentence followed by a sniffle. She swiped hurriedly at her cheeks as welling tears began to fall. 

It sort of hit her all at once, everything that Jenner had said back at the CDC; the terror of it, the reality of it. Life as previously known was over forever. Her father, her hometown, hell, her favorite t-shirt, everything, it was all gone. Daryl was the only thing she had left, and she came so, so close to losing him, too...

She failed to stifle a sob. And another. By the third, she just buried her face in her suddenly trembling hands, gasping for breath between each one. Everything felt fuzzy, distant, like her head was full of static. Daryl said something that she didn't quite process, and then the weight of her bowl left her lap. Having dragged himself into a sitting position at the edge of the bed, he wrapped his arms around the girl, pulling her as close as her chair would allow. She could hear his heartbeat from where her head was placed, elevated— no doubt because of her outburst, he never was very good at handling emotions— but steady, and feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

He not-quite-whispered generic words of comfort, 'it'll be alright's and 'you're okay's, in a soft sort tone that she hadn't heard since she was in pigtails. It almost made her cry harder. They stayed like that until she calmed into small hiccups, and she gently pulled away, embarrassed by her poor coping skills. 

"'M sorry," she said, wiping at her sore eyes. 

Daryl, in all of his poetic wisdom, simply replied with, "Nah."

A moment of silence passed. 

Then, "I won't go out alone anymore, alright?"

She nodded.

____

There was a knock at the door that startled Krystal awake. With no working clocks in the room, it was impossible to tell the time, but the morning sky was pale orange. 

Damn farmers. 

The sound didn’t appeared to have woken her uncle, so she did her best to stand from the bed quietly. When she opened the door, she was greeted by Beth. The blonde was wearing a smile far too chipper for the hour.

“‘S up?” Krystal asked, barely swallowing down a yawn. 

“I brought y’all some breakfast,” she offered a plate wrapped in aluminum foil as she said it. “Leftovers from last night. Figured y’all’d be hungry.”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, thanks.” Krystal accepted the plate, caught off guard by the simple act of kindness. She was under the impression that the Greenes weren’t happy with them, considering the whole horse theft thing. 

Beth glanced over the other girl’s shoulder to see Daryl, still out, and then focused back on her. “I’ll leave you be now. Tell him I said get well soon.”

“Sure.” Krystal couldn’t help but watch her as she walked away, something warm in her own chest. 

Chapter Text

Somehow, by some miracle, Hershel had let his youngest daughter come to target practice. She wasn't as bad as Krystal would've expected, either, she'd hit a few of the various items set up along the top of the fence. Her face would scrunch up every time she fired, and her sleeves must have been shifting over her wrists because she kept stretching her arm up, lifting the hem of her shirt in the process and showing off a sliver of her stomach— oh Krystal was spending way too much time staring at this girl. She hadn't fired a shot at her own target in at least minute. 

Unfortunately, as soon as Krystal noticed this, so did Beth. 

"Am I doin' somethin' wrong?"

"Huh?" Krystal's brain was just a few steps behind her mouth. "Uh. No, sorry, I— I spaced out."

The blonde nodded, a small, almost humorous smile on her face, before she returned to the task at hand. Krystal could feel herself turning previously undiscovered shades of red. It could be blamed on the heat, right?

____

As soon as Krystal turned the corner, an absolutely bewildered, "What the fuck?" left her mouth. Her sudden appearance startled Beth, who nearly dropped the bucket of feed in her hands.

"What, what is it?"

"There's—" Krystal had to do a quick spin as an outlet for her stress. "There are walkers in your barn. Did you know 'bout this?"

Beth cringed slightly, "Yeah. Daddy told us not to tell y'all, though."

"No shit!" There was an aneurism seconds away from rupturing in Krystal's brain, she was sure of it. "How could y'all let us sleep out there with— with that right beside us?"

"I don't see the big deal. I know what y'all think of 'em, but... they ain't hurtin' anyone in there."

"And what if they got out!? Most of us're sleeping in tents, and your dad won't even let us carry, we'd be dead!"

"That won't happen, he's got it under control."

"Anything could happen! The— the doors could give, a tree could fall, a—"

"My mama's in there!" She snapped suddenly. Krystal's mouth clicked shut. "And my brother. And just about everyone I've ever known, so I'm sorry that they make you uncomfortable, but we're not just gonna... give up on 'em!"

The older of the two sighed, some of the fire leaving her. "Beth..."

She turned her back on Krystal, stalking across the pen. 

"Beth, I didn't—!" The girl was already gone. What was Krystal gonna say, anyway? 'Sorry, I didn't know it was your family that might eat me in my sleep, that makes everything okay?' It didn't. 

____

Krystal stood frozen in shock as Sophia hit the ground, joining the pile of dead walkers from the barn. There was no question about it, everything down to the rainbow on her shirt was exactly the same as the day she'd disappeared— aside from the bite wound in her shoulder, of course.

Carol ran off, and Krystal couldn't bear to look at her. All the time they'd spent looking for this little girl— Daryl had almost died— and she'd been here the whole time? How had that happened, how did none of the Greenes know? 

Beth walked past her, sobbing, her shoulders curved inward, and Krystal reached for her, "Wait—" 

The blonde shrugged her off, searching the pile of corpses for a moment. Once she found what she was looking for, she pushed a dead man off of a nicely dressed woman. 

"Ma..." Beth turned her mother onto her back, revealing a fresh, oozing gunshot wound on the late woman's cheek. Krystal barely had time to register what that meant before it jumped to life, grabbing onto Beth's wrists.

"No!" Krystal, along with anyone else close enough, surged forward, grabbing onto Beth or her mother and trying to part them. 

As soon as the girl was free, Krystal was the only one to keep hands on her, grabbing her wrists and pulling them forward with more force than probably necessary as the girl’s family swarmed, "Let me see your arms, let me see—"

There were no marks on Beth's skin, from tooth or nail, and as soon as she realized this Krystal yanked her into a hug. She almost let go as soon as she realized what she'd done, they weren't really close enough for that, were they—? But Beth hugged her back just as tightly, hiding her face in Krystal's shoulder as Andrea stabbed her mother in the head. 

"She's okay?" Maggie asked, unfiltered terror in her voice, and Krystal nodded.

"She's fine."

Chapter Text

Everything went really fast after the crowd dissipated. Somehow Krystal ended up sitting at the Greenes's kitchen table as Beth washed dishes, her gaze fixed on the back of the girl's head. She hadn't said a word since the barn, and Krystal was starting to worry. Turned out that was valid, because one second Beth was setting a plate in the drying rack, and next the whole thing, as well as her, was on the ground.

Krystal scrambled off of her chair, scooting the last few inches on her knees in order to feel for a pulse as Glenn and Maggie ran into the room. 

"What happened?" The latter asked, crouching beside her.

"I don't know. She was fine a second ago, I—" 

Beth's eyes were open, staring vacantly, and she looked so horrifically dead that the only indication otherwise was a steady beat beneath Krystal's fingers.

____

She stood beside Beth's bed as Maggie led a search of Hershel's room, chewing anxiously on her thumbnail. The blonde was still unmoving, only laid out on something comfortable now, and Krystal felt like she was at a wake. Arguing came from the hall— Shane, Rick, and Lori from the sound of it— and one particular line caught her ear: "This is not the time to head off, not today."

Krystal poked her head out of the bedroom door, making all three of them pause. "You're goin' after him?"

"Yeah," Rick said after a moment, "Me and Glenn."

"I'm in, too."

"You wanna run that by Daryl first?" Shane said, his eyebrows raised in a condescending sort of expression. She fixed him with a flat look; the answer was absolutely, unequivocally no. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"You just... stay with her, we've got this handled," Rick's tone was much more placating, and after a glance between he and Shane, Krystal just sighed, reluctantly retreating.

Some time passed, and then Maggie entered, sitting on the bed beside her sister. Krystal figured that was her cue to leave, she was just kind of intruding now, and began to slink away.

"Thank you," Maggie said, and the younger stilled in surprise. 

"What?" 

"For sittin' with her. And for earlier, with Annette." 

Krystal didn't recognize the name, but based on context she was assuming it was the walker that had grabbed Beth at the barn. The concept of receiving thanks for those actions— ones that had felt like breathing they were so natural— was foreign, and she ducked her head with a shrug. 

"I mean it. She hasn't had a friend outside 'a Jimmy since this all started, you've been good for her," Maggie's nose began to redden as she said it, and she looked back at her sister. 

Krystal itched idly at the back of her head, and after a moment of hesitation said, "She's... been good for me, too."

More silence. 

"Uh. I— I should go, now. I haven't seen my uncle since... well, everything. Um, lemme know if anything changes?"

"Alright," Maggie agreed. Her lips stretched into a smile, but it was clearly sad. Krystal gave an awkward little salute before she finally left.

The walk felt excruciatingly long, each step doubling her gnawing anxiety. They definitely hadn't been this far away from the camp before.

"Hey," she said as she finally approached the Dixon tent, which had most certainly moved, Daryl sitting outside.

"The hell've you been?”

She swallowed down a snarky comment about trying to find their damn camp, considering he’d relocated without her. Something told her it wouldn’t go down well right now. "Somethin's wrong with Beth, so I's sittin' with her. Maggie's there now, though, so..."

He didn't seem interested— positively, anyway, or at least outside of his own reasons— giving nothing but a grunt in response. What a pleasant day this was going to be.

____

When Krystal finally found Lori, about ten minutes after the woman had finished arguing with Daryl, she was already in the driver's seat of Maggie's car. She stilled like a deer in headlights as she spotted Krystal, who didn't so much as hesitate, passing around the front of the vehicle and climbing into the passenger's side.

"What are you doin'?" Lori asked, no real heat in her tone.

"Was'it look like?"

"Honey, you can't come with me."

"Do you even have a gun?" Krystal asked, and the woman removed one from her jacket.

“Matter of fact, I do.”

Fair play. She’d been planning on revealing her Glock, which she still had from the barn, to make herself more useful. This change of events didn’t entirely dash her hopes, though. 

“Alright. You’ve only been shootin’ a week, how confident are you?” And that was a different story entirely. “Yeah. Either I come or I tell Shane, you don't need to be out there alone.”

When the teen didn't crumble under her severe stare— externally, at least, she was sweating mental bullets— Lori huffed and put the car in reverse. 

"Put your seatbelt on," she ordered, and Krystal obeyed. It was the least she could do. 

____

“Hapman's, right?” Krystal said, scanning their map and growing more frustrated by the minute. 

“Yes, Hapman’s.”

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s not on here, the only bar I see is The Carriage.”

Lori leaned over to look herself, one hand ghosting over the map and the other on the corner of the wheel. She clearly didn’t see it, either. When she glanced up at the windshield, she let out a gasp, both hands flying back to ten and two. Before Krystal could even look at whatever had startled her they slammed into it hard, its blood smearing the cracked glass, and Lori overcorrected their course, veering straight off the road. For a moment, Krystal was completely airborne, and then the seatbelt caught her, forcing the air from her lungs as they slammed into the ground.

Chapter Text

Krystal blinked awake to near complete darkness, her entire body aching. Her left hand swung uselessly down near Lori's head, about the only thing that she could bring herself to move. When she attempted to wet her dry mouth, she was overwhelmed with the taste of copper— her nose was bleeding bad. On top of that, there was a pressure on her lungs making her breaths labored, and it took her looking down at her chest to realize why. She was upside down, pelvis held in place by the seatbelt and her numb right hand pinned to her stomach. Her feet were still in the footwell, so her legs were still somewhat level, but her head was spinning. She had to have slipped into this position recently, or she wouldn't have woken up. 

Worse? There was a walker trying to force its way through the windshield.

"L... Lo..." she croaked, her voice raspy and low. Her fingers brushed Lori's jawline, but it wasn't until the thing's growling reached the cab that she actually started to stir. 

Instinctively, she shoved Krystal's hand away, before she actually turned to look towards the girl. 

"Oh my god..."

"G— get... g..." her mouth refused to cooperate further, stopped up with bloody phlegm, and she motioned furiously towards the Glock sitting on Lori's window, almost under her cheek. The woman got the gist quick, snatching it up and— after a brief fight with the safety— planting a bullet in that walker's skull. Krystal's ears rang at the sound.

Lori pushed herself onto her knees, brushing away bits of broken glass, and then just stared at Krystal for a moment, unsure what to do.

"Help." It left her as nothing more than a garbled whine.

"It's gonna be okay, sweetie, you just... hang on." She struggled to her feet, standing as tall as she could manage, bracing Krystal's top end with one arm and then reaching the other around Krystal's waist. "I'm gonna unbuckle you." 

She did. Krystal dropped like a led ballon. It mostly worked out, Lori catching her back and then belatedly her neck, the footwell catching her legs, but God did it hurt. After a bit of awkward maneuvering, she made it onto her feet, pooled blood spilling from her nose immediately. Chances were it was broken, because it continued to twinge as the two made their way out through the trunk, Krystal leaning heavily on Lori. The chill of the night air hit her like a tidal wave.

And then hands grabbed onto her shoulders, wrenching her away from Lori as Krystal shrieked. She threw herself forward, away from the jaws she could hear snapping by her ear, but the walker held her firmly. She tried to pry it off, and as soon as she bent her right hand, her wrist exploded in pain, with two of her fingers outright refusing to move. That wasn't good. Another gunshot, and heat sang by her ear before the creature hit the ground, nearly dragging her with it. She stumbled until she hit the roof of the car, pressing her back into it.

"Are you okay?" Lori asked, panting. The teen nodded, and then quickly stopped, the movement doing nothing to help her disorientation. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice was still clogged. She coughed, clearing it as well as she could, and what she spit out was disturbingly red. Lori looked horrified.

"'S just from the nosebleed," she hurried to say, voice absolutely shredded, before she gulped in a large, finally unobstructed breath. "Get th— get the revolver. Outta the car."

She held out her left hand for her pistol, her right held close to her chest, and Lori hesitantly handed it over. Krystal's eyes were glued to the trees as the older woman searched. At least she seemed mostly unharmed. 

When she emerged, gun in hand, Krystal started to move down the road, using the car as leverage. They had a job to do, she could figure out how to walk properly in a few feet.

"Krystal— Krystal, stop." 

She tried to look over her shoulder, but had to settle on turning fully around when that proved itself painful. Her head had been hanging at an awkward angle for too long. 

"Are you okay?" 

Lori looked at her incredulously. "I'm fine. Honey, you need to get back to the farm, you're in no condition. God, I never shoulda brought you with me..."

"Fuck that, we got people out there. I can see, I can walk, I can shoot, I'm good." And she continued on, finally taking a few steps on her own. That was, of course, when her vision swam, and her ears began to ring, and her legs decided it was really time for a bit of a lie-down.

Everything was fuzzy for a while. 

Lori talking, touching her face. Gunfire. Her gun? She couldn't feel it in her hand anymore. Men talking, arguing. Stars. Ascending into the air and gripping onto the nearest shirt in terror. Her uncle smoothing back her hair. He wasn't there, though, so maybe she was dreaming. Weren't dreams supposed to be nice? She hurt all over. Light. Laying on something plush, soft talking, something warm under her head and shoulders. Darkness again, no stars this time. A shame, they were so pretty now that there was no light pollution.

Eventually, when her mind cleared, she realized she was in the back of a car, half of her propped up on someone's— on Daryl's lap. He'd come looking for her, then. Oh, he was probably so pissed. She turned her head a bit and saw Shane in the driver's seat, which meant Lori was probably in the passenger's. 

"You with me?" Daryl said. 

"I... think so."

"What's yer birthday?"

"Um. J— uh, June second, ninety-three."

This seemed to appease him. The rest of the drive was uneventful, just small talk meant to keep her awake. She was kind of surprised he wasn't using her inability to escape as an opportunity to tear her a new one. Not that she was complaining, of course, she really didn't have the energy.

Once they arrived at the farm, Daryl helped her out of the car. He sort of moved like he was going to carry her, initially, but she waved him off, and he settled for hovering. A few members of their group ran up to them, concern rippling through the crowd as Lori explained. Halfway through insisting she was fine, Krystal puked dangerously close to her uncle's shoes— man, she must've had a hell of a concussion. 

Apparently Shane had told Lori her husband was back safe, because when she realized that wasn't the case she was mad as fire. Krystal didn't much care for their argument— until Shane mentioned a baby.

A chill went through her, then, and she looked over at Daryl, "I n— I never woulda let her go if I'd known."

He didn't really have a response for that. Fair. Clearly the news was a surprise for him, too.

After a moment of awkward silence, Dale ushered Krystal and Lori inside, and they went.

____

According to Patricia, the wrist was sprained, the fingers were dislocated, and the nose was indeed broken. She'd done what she could for all of that, popping the fingers back in place, fitting Krystal with a wrist brace that just so happened to be lying around, packing the girl's nose with gauze— plus cleaning up some scrapes from where she'd hit the asphalt. Hershel could have done better, she'd said, but Krystal couldn't complain.

Now that everything had settled down, she was laid up on the couch with an ice pack for her head, and her uncle sat on a sleeping bag where the coffee table had once been.

"What the hell were you thinkin', runnin' off like that?"

She was so, so tired, all she could muster was, "I'm sorry." It wasn’t like he’d care for her reasoning anyway.

"That ain't an answer."

A sudden wave of annoyance overcame her. 

"Alright, fine, I was thinkin' that Beth needs Hershel. I was thinkin' that two 'a our people have been out on a milk run for a day. And I was thinkin' that Lori was the only one who wanted to do anythin' about it, because you sure as hell didn't. And I—" She cut herself off, suddenly emotional. She'd blame it on the head injury later. "I'm tired 'a losing people."

A moment of silence passed. Krystal really wanted to turn her head to look at her uncle, but she didn't want to disturb the ice pack.

"If I'd'a known how much it meant to you, I woulda gone."

She couldn't help but scoff at that. "You'd just gotten done chewin' Lori out for askin', and I was supposed to do a follow up?"

"You ain't Lori." More silence. Then, "Listen, if they still ain't back tomorrow, I'll go out lookin' with Shane. Alright?" 

"Thank you. I... I really am sorry. I shouldn't'a left without tellin' you, ‘specially not after everything at the barn. I won't do it again."

"Good."

He chuckled, then, and she furrowed her brows, "What?"

"Here I thought the days 'a teenagers sneakin' out and crashing cars were over."

"W— I mean, I didn't crash the car."

____

Everything was better the next day. Hershel and his rescue team returned, alongside a hostage, but she'd find it in herself to worry about that later. Currently, she was entering Beth's room, flashing the girl a somewhat painful smile. 

"Hey. How're you feelin'?"

"What happened to you?" Beth completely ignored the question. She still seemed a little out of it.

"Lost a fight with the tarmac," Krystal tried to keep it humorous, but the blonde gave her a flat look, and she leaned on a hefty wardrobe. "I... might'a snuck off with Lori to go find yer dad. Didn't go well. Don’t matter, though, I'm fine, 's all superficial. I'm just glad yer awake, you scared the shit outta me."

"Sorry. Why— where was my daddy?"

"Uh. You— uh, might should talk to yer sister 'bout that. He's fine though!" She hurried to add as distress ate up more and more of Beth's face. "Completely fine. It's just a family matter, 's all." 

"Oh. Okay."

"You didn't answer me, earlier."

"Huh?" 

"How're you feelin'?"

Beth shrugged. "I'm alive."

Krystal nodded. "'S a good thing. Kinda had me wonderin' for a second there." It got awkward fast. Clearing her throat, she began to excuse herself, "I'll leave you be, now, I just wanted to check up on you.“

“Wait—“ Krystal stopped in her tracks. “You don’t… have’ta go.”

Oh. 

Obediently, palms sweating, she sat on the end of Beth’s bed. 

Chapter Text

"You here to yell at me, too?" Beth asked, her eyes red and watery. She looked so... small, curled in on herself like she was, and the fire Krystal had entered with died immediately. 

"No," she said, sitting on the foot of the bed so that she and Beth were facing. "Just here to give yer sister a break." 

"I don't need to be babysat. Just let me be."

"Ain't no way in hell."

"Why? You've known me a month, what do you care if I kill myself?"

"'Cause I'm selfish." That response was clearly not what Beth had been expecting. Krystal went on, "You make the end 'a the world bearable."

____

Andrea and Maggie were arguing on the front porch. 

"She wants to live. She made her decision."

"She tried to kill herself."

"No, she didn't—"

"My father is stitchin' her wrist right now!"

"She'll live." It was paired with an incredibly condescending expression, and then Andrea moved as if to enter the house.

Suddenly overwhelmed by rage, Krystal shoved her backwards as hard as she could with her uninjured hand. Andrea had the gall to seem surprised.

"Stay the fuck away from her." It wasn't exactly a yell, but it was as close as one could toe the line. 

Andrea looked to Lori and Maggie for help, but neither were exactly ready to jump to her defense. Expression now sour, she took the hint, turning and walking off. With any luck she'd get taken out by a walker, unable to attempt to kill any more people Krystal cared about. 

____

Daryl walked back up to their small campsite, crossbow over his shoulder, knuckles covered in blood. Krystal didn't question it. She wasn't an idiot, she knew they hadn't sent him in there with Randall for a friendly conversation. He recounted everything he'd learned: group of 30, violent, heavily armed. Bad news, basically. 

Carol seemed more worried about his means of gathering this information, but Daryl brushed her off, leaving the rest of the group to decide what to do with it. His part was done, apparently, and so Krystal's was, too. The walk was still egregiously long; he refused to move their tent closer to the others, even at the cost of practicality, and it annoyed her to no end.

She followed him inside, fishing a rag and a canteen from their bag. Once the rag was damp enough, she tossed it to him, and he muttered a small thanks before cleaning his hands. The skin along his knuckles was barely marred, meaning all that blood had most definitely been Randall's. That was good; the less open wounds begging for infection, the better. 

"What d'you think we should do with 'em?" She asked after a moment. She wished they'd just left the guy to die, then they wouldn't be in this mess. Better yet, she wished Hershel had never left in the first place.

"'F they're smart, they'll put him down."

"Why do you keep doin' that?"

His eyebrows pulled together, and he looked up at her, "Huh?"

"Sayin' 'them' an' stuff? I know it ain't the best, but we're a part'a this." 

"We ain't a part'a this. They'll leave us behind first chance they get." 

"That you talkin', or Daddy?"

He shot her a warning glare. Spot on, then. She held her hands up in mock surrender.

____

"Krystal?" Hershel of all people caught her attention as everyone filed into the house, and she paused. "Why don't you wait upstairs with Carl? I'm sure Jimmy and Beth could use some help.”

She glanced over at the stairs, then back at him, "I think they got it handled." 

He gave her a sort of look, like he knew the babysitting thing was a thin facade, and he was asking her to keep it up. It was sweet, in a way; if she went into this meeting, she would be helping determine wether a kid barely older than her lived or died, and he wanted to keep her from it. 

Still, "Sir, I gotta be a part'a this. My life might depend on it."

"She's right," Daryl butted in, and Hershel reluctantly backed off, sitting beside his eldest daughter on the couch. 

Krystal stood by her uncle as everyone settled, too antsy to sit. 

It went about how she'd expected, considering the little visit Dale had paid earlier. Surprisingly, in the end, it was Andrea who took his side. It didn't turn the tide, though, aside from the two of them it was unanimous: Randall needed to die. It was the only way to ensure their safety, no matter how horrible or ugly it was. 

Dale stormed out, tears in his eyes, and Krystal tried not to regret throwing away the out Hershel had offered. This was life now, and she needed to get used to it.

____

Someone screamed. Gut-wrenching, bloodcurdling, like they were dying. Glenn ran off immediately to find the source of the noise, while Krystal retreated quickly into the house to grab her gun from the kitchen table. She'd been cleaning it just to do something with her hands— thank God she'd put it back together already. 

"What's goin' on?" Beth asked from the top of the stairs, just as Krystal zipped past.

"I don't know. Stay up there, don't come down!"

She and Maggie both rushed through the fields at the sound of more screaming, this time Daryl yelling for help, and then Rick for Hershel. 

Krystal froze in her tracks when she got close enough to see Dale. He was on his back, his stomach torn open, viscera spilling out, his face contorted in pain. She couldn't do anything but gape as Hershel broke the news: there was no saving him. 

"He's suffering," Andrea cried from the man's side. "Do something!"

After a moment of hesitation, Rick pointed his gun at Dale's head, his hands shaking. 

"Don't watch," Maggie managed to croak out, audibly on the edge of tears as she half-heartedly turned Krystal away from the scene. The teen didn't fight her.

Too much time passed. Then, Daryl bid a quiet, "Sorry, brother," and a gunshot rang out. 

____

When Krystal stumbled into Beth's room that night, the blonde was still up, peeking through the window. She turned to look at Krystal with a thousand questions on her tongue, but the state of the girl stopped her. Her eyes were wide, wet and filled with horror, and she was pale as a ghost.

"Are you alright?" Beth asked, as gently as she could. 

Krystal nodded hurriedly, though her breath hitched and she struggled to speak, "Mm-hmm. But Dale— Dale's…”

It was all she could get out, apparently. That was fine, it was all it took for Beth to understand. She took a few rapid steps forward, pulling Krystal into a hug, and the girl almost immediately devolved into quiet sobs. The image of him laying in that field, moaning in pain felt branded into her eyelids. 

Chapter Text

Krystal woke so exhausted she didn’t even want to open her eyes. She hadn’t slept well, considering the night’s events, but a light weight around her midriff kept her from trying to get any more. Reluctantly, she managed a peek, and she found Beth’s arm slung around her.

Right. She’d spent the night in Beth’s room. 

She was too tired to care. It was kind of nice, and warm in the face of the dawning winter’s chill. She’d let herself feel awkward when she was vertical— hopefully at a much later hour.

____

She struggled with a plastic storage bin, trying to leverage one side on her hip as she used her good hand to lift the other from the truck bed. The bin didn’t belong to her, but all of her stuff had fit into one duffel bag that Daryl had already taken into the house, and she felt bad letting everyone else do all the work. 

“Here, lemme help you with that,” Beth walked up to her. 

“Thanks.”

Between the two of them, they had two uninjured arms, so they each picked a side to carry. After they braved the porch steps, Krystal backed through the propped open doorway, and then began to set their load behind the couch. She wasn’t entirely sure who it belonged to, so best to keep it in a neutral space.

She was about to turn back to the truck to see if anything was left, but Beth stopped her.

“I, uh… I was wonderin’ if you wanted to stay in my room, with me? Bed’s big enough, an’ I know it’s gonna be crowded enough as it is down here.”

Krystal was struck with hazy memories of that morning, half-conscious cuddling and all, and her face warmed. Underneath the sudden awkwardness she felt, though, there was a far more uncomfortable yearning. She wanted more of those mornings so bad it hurt. Slow, quiet, just the two of them. It kind of made her want to reject the offer immediately, those were thoughts she didn’t need to indulge, especially when Beth was just being nice. She couldn’t force her lips to form the word ‘no,’ though. 

“Alright. Thank you,” she said, after far too long a pause. Beth grinned— for the first time since the barn, it seemed— and any apprehension Krystal still had faded away.

____

Daryl appeared in the living room as Krystal rooted through their bag, shoving her clothes and a few various other things into a reusable grocery bag that Maggie had given her.

“Hey, Rick an’ I are gon’ head out soon, you mind if I borrow your piece? Can’t find mine.”

That was kind of concerning information, but she had no qualms with the request. She motioned over to the end table her gun was sitting on— she’d planned on carrying it up in the bag, but oh well. 

“Thanks.” 

“‘S your’s to start with”.

He paused for a moment after he took it, watching as she packed up the few belongings she had. “You really bunkin’ with that girl?”

She shot him a look, more playful than frustrated, “You know ‘er name.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“And yeah. She offered, an’ I ain’t too keen on gettin’ cozy with half the population ‘a Georgia down here, so…” With the most innocent smile she could conjure, she added, “Good luck with that, by the way.”

He huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“See ya,” she called after him as he exited the house.

____

It was dark. So dark that it took Krystal a moment to place what the writhing mass rapidly approaching the house was from her place on the porch, though her stomach sank when she did. Walkers. Hundreds, maybe thousands, headed straight for them. She was acutely aware of the fact her uncle still had her gun.

The situation was made worse when Lori appeared, revealing Carl was nowhere to be found. Carol ushered her back inside to look again as Andrea appeared with the bag of guns. Krystal could’ve kissed her.

Everyone took one, with Hershel insisting on protecting his farm, and Krystal found herself with a Colt Official Police— Dale’s revolver. She flipped the cylinder out to check, and it was full, but that was only six bullets, plus the five more she managed to pull out of the bottom of the bag. It was better than just her knife, though.

Everyone still outside rushed off to the vehicles, and when Krystal followed Daryl towards Merle’s bike, he instead ushered her into the Rv with Jimmy. 

“But—“

“Ain’t no time for buts, girl, go, get in.”

Reluctantly, she did so, settling in the passenger’s seat. When they drove out to the barn, where the infected seemed most congested, they found it on fire. 

“What the fuck?” She murmured. Jimmy didn’t know.

He drove them around, allowing her to shoot sporadically out the window until she had to reload, when he parked and took over. 

Daryl pulled up on his side, “Yo! Must’a been Rick or Shane that started that fire, maybe they’re tryin’a get out back. Why don’t you circle around?”

“Got it!”

“Go!”

She’d barely managed to load the fifth bullet into the cylinder when they took off, pulling straight ahead towards the side of the barn. It was a good damn guess— they’d barely started moving before Rick was screaming at them, both he and Carl standing at the edge of the open hayloft. God knew what they would’ve done without help. Jimmy came to a stop as close as he could.

The squeak-squeak-clank of two people on the roof sounded, both running for the ladder at the back. Jimmy couldn’t drive with them still up there, but the dead were starting to leak out of the barn, banging at the side and the hood. Jimmy stood to do… something, she didn’t get a chance to ask because almost as soon as he did, the door popped open. 

They dragged him into their waiting teeth in seconds, before Krystal could even jump out of her chair. His screaming was just drawing more, and she shot the two chowing down on his legs before she realized she was just wasting ammo, the boy was dead either way. 

Thinking fast, she turned around to look at the windshield, firing at it once and then throwing the gun into her lame right hand to smash the rest with her knife. After a few good smacks, a hole big enough for her to climb through of was created, and she scurried out, scraping her left arm on jagged glass. 

Once on the hood, crouched to keep from falling off, she was confronted with more of the undead, unable to reach her but too dense to get through. She didn’t know what to do. The ones at the door would get bored of Jimmy soon enough, and she only had two bullets left. Then, movement too swift to be a corpse’s caught her eye.

“Rick!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, stopping the man and his son in their tracks. Her feet were starting to slip forward, and she shuffled back. 

For a moment he hesitated, looking away from her at the perfectly clear path he’d been on, and Daryl’s words echoed in her mind: ‘They'll leave us behind first chance they get.’

Had he been right?

No. Because Rick then said something to Carl— probably along the lines of ‘stay back’— and took a few steps towards her, drawing his gun.

“Hey!” He yelled, firing once into the air, “Hey, come on! Hey!”

It worked. Most lost interest in her, heading straight for the new, easy meal, and only then did he start to take them out. Probably hadn’t wanted to hit her. She used her last bullets on two stragglers and then leaped down, running for the Grimeses despite the burning pain in her ankles. As soon as Rick saw this, he turned around and began to run himself, Carl just a few feet ahead of him. 

They kept on until they found Hershel, who Rick had to basically drag into his own Chevy Suburban, and the old man’s eyes never left his home as they sped away.

“Thank you,” Krystal directed towards Rick, struggling to catch her breath in the backseat. She thought he gave a small nod in return, but she couldn’t be sure.

____

Krystal grabbed one of the water bottles they’d left out for Sophia as Carl demanded they go back for his mother, microplastics from sun exposure be damned. It had been a solid eight hours since she’d had any. After dumping a little over the cut on her arm, she started to guzzle it.

“Rick,” Hershel began after Carl stormed off towards the car, “You’ve got to get your boy to safety. I’ll wait here for my girls, and the others.”

“Me too,” Krystal chimed in, then quickly wiped the water from around her mouth. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere without my uncle.”

There was some back and forth between the two men, after that, but she had nothing to add, so she hovered by Carl instead. Just in case. 

Turned out not to be a bad decision, because a familiar moaning started to grow closer. She dragged Carl behind the car, drawing her knife. Rick and Hershel joined them, unable to do anything more than hope it went away. Who knew what would happened if either fired a shot, after what they’d just been through? 

Hershel was just starting to urge them to leave when the roar of a motorcycle caught their attention, and Daryl road up with Carol on the back. Two more cars were behind him, no doubt full of their people, and Krystal could’ve cried with relief.

“Daryl!” As soon as he was parked, she rushed over to him, nearly knocking him off his feet as she tackled him in a hug. He only stumbled slightly, tucking her head under his chin at the earliest opportunity, a sort of emotional laugh leaving him. She’d never heard him make such a sound.

They parted, and he clapped her on the shoulder, an infectious smile stretched across his face, “Scared the shit outta me, kid.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Where’d you find everyone?” Rick asked, and Daryl turned to look at him, shoulder-to-shoulder with his niece. She glanced around until her eyes found Beth, safe and sound in her dad’s arms, and for the first time all day she started to really relax.

“These guys’ tail lights zigzaggin’ all over the road— figured he had to be Asian, drivin’ like that.” Glenn didn’t seem particularly pleased by the comment, but considering what they’d just survived, he couldn’t get too upset. “Where’s the rest of us?” 

‘Us.’ She couldn’t help but smile. It didn’t last long, though, because they quickly began to recount their losses.

Shane, Andrea, Patricia—

“What about Jimmy, did you see Jimmy?”

“The— the Rv got overrun,” Krystal explained, the joy of the reunion sapping from her like oil in water. “I barely got out. Wouldn’t’a, if Rick hadn’t saved my ass.”

Beth tucked herself further into her father, crying, and Krystal looked down at her feet. The boy’s screaming still echoed in her mind. How long it had gone on for, the exact moment it had stopped. 

“You definitely saw Andrea?” Carol asked, looking to Lori and T-Dog. 

The former answered, “There were walkers everywhere.”

“Did you see her?” Carol reiterated, and no-one could confirm.

Daryl immediately moved towards his bike, offering to look for her, but much to Krystal’s— possibly selfish— relief, Rick stopped him. Daryl looked up at him, confused, “We can’t just leave her.”

“We don’t even know if she’s there,” Lori said, and her husband shook his head.

“She isn’t there, she isn’t. She’s somewhere else… or she’s dead, there’s no way to find her.” 

There was a bit of protest, but ultimately, they didn’t have a choice. They agreed to head east, and then loaded up, taking off down the highway. 

It was damn cold on the back of the bike, especially where her jacket was torn from the glass, but she didn’t much care. She wouldn’t be separating from her uncle for a while, come hell or frigid air. 

____

They were set up in some sort of crumbled stone structure for the night. It wasn’t terrible; there was a fire, and T-Dog was standing guard, but it was the first time Krystal had felt exposed in a while. The Glock sitting on top of her crumpled-up coat made her feel a little better— Daryl had returned it after realizing the revolver she had was empty— but it wasn’t exactly fully loaded. 

The coat was crumpled because Daryl had insisted on covering up the cut on her arm now that they were settled, and she’d let him. An infection would be really bad in their current situation. He was still situating the rag when Carol started to whisper.

“We’re not safe with him. Keepin’ somethin’ like that from us?” 

She was referring to the bombshell Rick had dropped on them earlier, that they were all technically infected with whatever the walkers were. Krystal didn’t see why it was such a big deal, aside from maybe posing some potential safety issues. She couldn’t say she was thrilled to know.

“Rick’s the reason I’m alive right now,” she said, making sure to keep her voice low. The last thing they needed was drama, on top of everything else. 

Daryl grunted in agreement. “He’s done alright by us.”

They went back and forth a little before Maggie suggested they should just leave, though Hershel brought her back to earth. No fuel, no food, no water, and hardly any ammo, what exactly was her plan?

A rustling in the woods caught their attention, and everyone got to their feet, arming themselves if they had the means. As if they weren’t all scared and unreasonable enough. There was talk of going after the source of the noise— which wasn’t the brightest, considering it was the woods, unexplained sounds didn’t have to mean a walker— but Rick quickly shut that down.

“Last thing we need is for everyone to be runnin’ off in the dark. We don’t have the vehicles. No-one’s travelin’ on foot.” It was not a request. There was something about his tone that was beginning to make Krystal anxious, deep in her animal brain.

Maggie brought up leaving again, but there were still several reasons why that was a terrible idea. Carol, for all the smack she’d been talking earlier, had no qualms demanding Rick do something.

“I am doin’ something! I’m keepin’ this group together, alive!” It was the most intense whisper-yelling Krystal had ever bore witness to. She found herself watching his gun. “I’ve been doin’ that all along, no matter what. I didn’t ask for this! I killed my best friend for you people, for Christ sake!”

The world seemed to stop for a moment. Krystal glanced over at her uncle to try to gage his reaction, and even he looked disturbed. Rick went on to describe why he’d done what he’d done, and Carl began to cry, but it didn’t give the man pause.

“Maybe you people are better off without me. Go ahead. I say there’s a place for us, but maybe— maybe that’s just another pipe dream. May— maybe I’m foolin’ myself again.” He motioned at them with his pistol, muzzle facing them in a quick move she really couldn’t tell the intentions of. It made her grip her own tighter. “Why don’t you go find out yourself? Send me a postcard! Go on, there’s the door. You can do better? Let’s see how far you get.”

A horrifically tense, awkward silence hung in the air, and no-one moved. 

“No takers?” Rick continued, “Fine. But get one thing straight. You’re stayin’? This isn’t a democracy anymore.”

Krystal looked to Daryl for their next move. He didn’t so much as twitch to leave, but his gaze was almost unblinking he was watching Rick so hard. After a moment, the man stalked off to God knows where, and everyone slowly settled back down. They had no choice.

Chapter Text

November

It didn't take long to establish a routine. They packed up, they drove, they found a new place, they cleared it, they looted, they slept, repeat. Privacy was a long-forgotten luxury, and Krystal was really feeling that now, laying on the floor of some run down Mom-and-Pop shop, begging sleep to come. It wouldn't, because both Hershel and Daryl were snoring like freighter trucks, Lori's restless legs syndrome was acting up, Carol was muttering nonsense, and Glenn would not stop coughing. Not hacking, like an illness, just like he had an itchy throat, which pushed it away from concerning and right into annoying. 

All that on top of a stomach that wouldn't quit rumbling, and enough was enough, Krystal wasn't going to conk out anytime soon no matter how exhausted she was. She stood, careful not to disturb the four people within arms reach, and dodged a bunch of stray limbs as she made her way over to T-Dog. He was on watch, sitting on the front porch, Dale’s rifle resting in hand.

"I'll take over," she offered, crossing her arms over her chest. It was cold as hell outdoors, without all the collective body heat. 

"Nah, I got it."

"I'm not gettin' any sleep anyway, I might as well." He still seemed hesitant, and she raised her eyebrow, "What, you don't trust me to watch yer back?"

He gave her a flat look, "Man, you know that ain't it."

"Relax, I'm just teasin'. Seriously, though, no use in us both bein' tired tomorrow."

She motioned for him to hand over the gun, and after some more contemplation he obliged, standing.

"If Rick gets on my ass about this, I expect you to speak up."

"Scouts honor," she pledged, and with that he retreated into the house. She could hear him make his way to his sleeping bag, his heavy footsteps making the floorboards creak. 

It was more peaceful outside. They were at the end of a cul-de-sac, so she didn't have to worry about scrutinizing every blob in the distance. She would notice before anything got too close. 

Snow started to fall as she sat, just little, barely visible flakes. It might've made her smile, Before, but now it filled her with dread. They would need to raid another thrift store for some warmer clothes, the stuff they had was either too thin, full of holes, or both. 

By the time Krystal woke Maggie for a shift change, the ground was powdery white.

____

Getting the brace off of her wrist was a religious experience. Hershel warned her to still be careful with it, just in case, but she was ready to throw it in a skimpy dress and send it to the club. Or... whatever the wrist equivalent of that was. Lifting weights? Not that they had any. Or that Krystal would be able to expend energy on working out— okay, this metaphor was getting away from her. She was just excited to have her hand back. And she did, her fingers were pretty much all healed up, too. 

She stretched with this newfound freedom, arms above her head as she leaned back against the Chevy's hood, and a small groan left her when her lower back popped. Sleeping on what was basically the floor every night wasn't doing her spine any wonders. 

When she straightened, she caught Beth looking at her, though the girl was hardly bashful. 

"What? Somethin' in my teeth?" Krystal tried to play it off, and Beth chuckled a bit.

"Nope, just admirin' the view."

Krystal could have dropped dead on the spot. She stuttered for a moment, completely caught off guard by the boldness of the statement and also doing some rapid reconstructing of their relationship. That was flirting, right? She wasn’t insane?

Eventually, after way, way too long, she settled on, "Uh. Thanks."

____

She was on watch again, this time just outside a boutique's front door. She'd managed to find a nice, fluffy jacket in there, so at least she wasn't as cold as before. It was early enough in the night that people were still settling, and Daryl decided to join her.

"Hey," he said, and for some reason he sounded kind of awkward. 

"Hey," she said back.

"You, uh— you good out here?"

She nodded.

"Good."

Silence. He didn't leave, and she couldn't help but look at him funny, "You alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I, uh..." he scratched at his nose a bit. Then, "What's goin' on with you and uh... Beth?" 

He asked it very casually, motioning inside the Boutique as he said the blonde's name. Krystal wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

"Nothin'," she answered— snapped, really, way too defensive. And she honestly didn’t know if she was lying. Could Beth— good, wholesome Christian girl Beth— really be interested in… well, in women, for one, but specifically in Krystal? Maybe she could buy one, but both? She had to be reading something wrong. Either way, it was certainly nothing her uncle needed to know about.

He nodded. Clearly he was also uncomfortable, but he pushed on. "'Kay. Just, uh— y'know, if.. if it weren't nothin', that... would be alright. So you know."

That was not what she'd been expecting in the slightest. She looked over at him again, searching his face for any signs of... well, she didn't really know, he wouldn't lie to her. His expression was nothing but earnest. Suddenly emotional, she turned back to scanning the street corner.

"Yeah." Her voice cracked. 

He clapped her on the back for good measure, and then went back inside the store, leaving his niece to process all of... that. 

____

December

Krystal watched the pot of recently collected rainwater boil over their fire. It was her job to monitor it while everyone else set up for the night, in the road, between their two parked cars. It wasn't the best spot, but it could be worse. 

Against her will, without her even realizing, her eyes started to droop closed, and... 

They snapped open as agony spilled down her chin. A yelp tore its way from her throat and she scrambled backwards, steam rising from her shirt as the group began to swarm her. Her jacket was tugged off, and the shirt was quickly sliced away, though she was in far too much pain to care about her modesty. Everyone was talking, practically yelling, and she didn't understand any of it, unable to focus on anything but her scalding flesh.  

Unbeknownst to her, it was all her uncle could focus on, as well.

Krystal was near tears in anguish, her hands moving to claw at her injuries, and Daryl had to grab them to keep her from disturbing the raw wounds further. The right side of her face had definitely gotten it the worst, but her neck and chest weren't anything to sneeze at, either. 

Maggie returned from the Hyundai with their last two gallons of water, as well as a towels. She crouched beside her father, and he took one of the gallons, his aged hands struggling as he began to rinse Krystal’s wounds. It clearly wasn’t pleasant, judging by the girl’s whimpering— and the way she began to squeeze at Daryl’s hands, hard enough to bruise. 

“Just hang on, honey,” Maggie tried to soothe, though it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

They were in for a long night.

____

Krystal allowed Beth to guide her as they walked into the freshly cleared house, on account of her barely being able to move her head without hurting. She was in with the invalids who had to wait outside, now, alongside Hershel and Lori— the latter of whom was starting to show. Beth, Carol, and Carl were there, too, but that was just because Rick didn’t deem them fit for combat. 

According to Hershel, the burns were second degree, and the thick, liquid-filled blisters all over her were perfectly normal— helpful, even. If she popped them, her chances of infection would be way greater. She hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to look in a mirror, but she felt like a swamp monster, so she was willing to bet she looked the part.

Another issue was that it hurt to speak. Even if it hadn’t, the way she was bandaged would’ve made it difficult, she could barely eat or drink through them. Could barely drink, period, considering how much water she’d wasted, both by scalding herself and by needing it washed out. Whatever. She was mute, essentially, until she healed, which meant that she didn’t get to apologize a billion times. 

She had tried anyway. Had tapped Rick on the shoulder and written ‘sorry about water’ with her finger in the frost on a car window, but he’d just told her not to worry about it. It was hard to be mad at a burn victim, she guessed.

The feelings of inferiority weren’t helped once everyone was indoors for the night, and instead of taking a shift on watch, she had to mash up her portion of canned beans so that she could fit them in her mouth. Daryl offered to do it about eight times, but she waved him off. She had to hold on to some semblance of independence.

____

She wasn’t the only one to have a water related incident that month. A small group had broken off to go collect some more from a nearby pond, and when they returned, Carl was soaked and shivering, with both his mother and Carol hurrying him along. Glenn and Beth were close behind, walking up as the boy was ushered into the back of the Chevy.

Rick tossed Lori the keys and with some urgency said, “Get the heat on.”

The woman climbed into the driver’s seat without further comment. It was a shame to burn the gas idling, but they needed to bring his temperature up quick, or he might be in some serious danger.

____

About a week after that, a common cold made its rounds. Not the worst thing, but Hershel still seemed worried about Krystal when she caught it. It would slow the healing process, apparently. That wasn’t ideal, of course, but he didn’t say anything about it being life-threatening, so she didn’t panic too much. Besides, at this point, the blisters that hadn’t popped were decreasing in size, and she was able to turn her head without bursting into tears. She could handle this for a little longer.

____

January

It was New Years Day. They were decently sure, at least. How they managed to remember that and not Christmas was a mystery to her, but it wasn’t like they had any gifts to exchange anyway, so maybe that was for the best. Krystal wouldn’t want to explain Santa’s absence to her son, certainly— though Carl might’ve been a little old for that. 

“Best get ready,” she started, drawing the group’s attention from their places around the fire. The words were a little slurred, but it was better than her unwilling vow of silence. “They say the world’ll end next year.”

It drew a few laughs.

“Man, I forgot about that. Gotta hand it to ‘em, though, they got close,” T-Dog said. 

Krystal felt a weight on her good shoulder— there were some minor burns on the right one, because that arm really couldn’t catch a break— and when she looked over saw Beth resting her head.

“This okay?” She asked, and Krystal couldn’t tell if she meant pain wise or if she was just asking general consent, but either way the teen said yes. 

____

February

Krystal would be lying if she were to say she wasn’t stewing a bit, still stuck outside with everyone unfit for clearing out houses. The bandages were off, now, and besides some angry red scarring and occasional discomfort, there was no trace of her injury. Carl had gone in this time. Carl. He was twelve.

So, when the low groans of a walker reached her ears, and a rotting figure emerged from the trees, Krystal drew her knife. 

“I got it,” she whispered, and then sneaked forward, dipping to the side and clicking her tongue to gets the thing’s attention. 

It began to stumble towards her, and once it was in range she quickly drove her blade through its mandible with perhaps too much energy. She had been on apocalyptic bed rest for nearly two months, she was ready to be a productive member of the group again. Not long after it hit the ground, Rick whistled from the doorway of their latest dwelling, and they made their way inside. 

____

Lori let out a small noise of surprise, and when Krystal looked over the woman was wearing a smile.

“What?” Krystal whispered, conscious of the roomful of sleeping people. 

Lori let out a quiet laugh, “The baby’s kickin’. Gonna be a little dancer if they keep goin’ like this.” A pause. Then, “You wanna feel?”

Krystal surprised herself with how quickly she nodded her head, shuffling over to the woman’s sleeping bag with childlike excitement.

“Where do I..?”

Lori took the girl’s hovering hands and then guided them to her swollen stomach. She’d reached the point where none of her clothes fit properly, so unless she was hidden underneath a jacket, her bump was exposed. 

A grin the size of Texas spread across Krystal’s face when she felt it. Little taps, the soles of tiny, underdeveloped feet. She looked up at Lori’s face with a naked expression of awe, then back down in the vague direction of the fetus. They stopped their fussing after a moment, and Krystal pulled back.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Obviously she knew what pregnancy was, knew the basics, but she’d never really been around it. The proof of an actual, real human being growing in someone else was spectacular and horrifying all at once. 

____

“How do I look?” Krystal asked, throwing an absolutely hideous shirt over her chest. It was a horrible shade of tiger-striped green, and it said ‘BAD GIRL 94’ across the front in blocky white lettering. 

She and Beth both giggled. The group was finally desperate enough to search the mall, hesitantly splitting into teams of two to do so, and the girls had decided to go off together. The sector they’d been assigned to wasn’t much besides clothing and accessories, meaning they probably weren’t going to find anything too important, so they had time to goof around. Krystal threw the shirt into their bag with the full intention of bullying Glenn into wearing it.

And then a loud crack sounded, followed quickly by the moans of the dead. Definitely too many to deal with on their own, and too close to successfully run from.

“Shit—“ Krystal reached out for Beth on instinct, sort of pulling her into motion, and the two scurried into a nearby fitting room. 

Fortunately it was an actual room, with a semi-steady door and a real lock, but unfortunately it was the size of a cupboard. She and Beth were practically cheek to cheek as the crowd of walkers staggered by, their breath bated. She was very, very aware of Beth’s closeness, her eyes subconsciously flickering down to the blonde’s mouth in the low light. Just and inch, and they could…

“Can I kiss you?” She whispered, practically breathed. 

Beth failed to respond for a moment, and Krystal inhaled to apologize, mortified that she even suggested such an activity. The blonde sucked that air right out of her, her hands coming up to cradle Krystal’s face. After the initial surprise passed, the teen realized she had no clue what she was doing. She’d never really kissed anyone. Beth didn’t seem to mind taking the lead, though, and a small, desperate whine bubbled in Krystal’s throat—

Something slammed into the fitting room door, and they jolted apart. 

Right. Walkers. And gunshots in the distance, too, when had that started?

Krystal swallowed harshly, trying not to breathe too hard, but it was too late, the creature on the other side of the door continued to bang and growl. The material that separated them wouldn’t hold up against such an assault much longer. She readied her knife, trying to guess where the thing’s head might approximately be. 

Before she could start stabbing, the tip of an arrow pierced the door. Other than Beth’s yip of surprise, all was suspiciously quiet. Then, footsteps coming towards them, too quick to be dead. Krystal mentally prepared for the worst, but it was Daryl who threw the door open, Carol close behind him. Krystal sighed in relief.

“Been lookin’ for y’all everywhere,” he huffed. 

She and Beth stepped out, and the four of them hurried back to the cars, the girls getting a rundown as they did so. Apparently someone had locked as many corpses as they could in a storage room, and the makeshift lock had finally given. Krystal didn’t care too much, now that they were out of there, but she appreciated being in the know. 

Chapter Text

March

It had been two weeks since the mall. After a brief 'what are we' discussion, Krystal and Beth had decided on girlfriends. Romantic partners. Significant others. Whatever the proper term was. They hadn't exactly announced it to anyone— aside from Maggie, Beth had been excited— but it wasn't a secret. No-one really had secrets, as packed-together as they were.

Which is why, before Krystal left to go hunting with her uncle, she didn't think much of giving Beth a quick peck on the lips.

"Be safe," the blonde bid, and Krystal assured her she would.

As the Dixons walked off, Daryl's tone was teasing, "Nothin', huh?"

Her face warmed. "I might'a been wrong."

He huffed a laugh. 

____

The scars had faded from red to pink. She wouldn't have known if she hadn't paused while in a bathroom scrounging for no doubt expired medicine, catching a look at herself in a broken piece of mirror. She didn't consider herself vain, but she couldn't help but be disappointed by how noticeable it still was. 

She'd grown up seeing scars as badges of honor, as proof of your nerve, but for some reason she couldn't see hers the same way. Maybe it was because she looked so different. Maybe it was because she got it in a stupid accident. Maybe, deep down, she was just a teenager sad to see her skin marred.

It didn't matter. There was no changing it, and she didn't have time to dwell. Really, she’d been lucky; to keep her eye, to scrape through the healing process without infection, to have people who knew what they were doing. Somehow she just didn’t feel it. 

____

Lori was crying. Quietly, to herself, and it was because of something Carl had said. He’d been a vicious little shit lately— apparently he’d hit puberty or something, because he was growing like a weed, too. He’d gotten at least three inches taller since the farm. 

Krystal sat beside his mother, out of her depth but unable to leave the poor woman to suffer alone anymore. Rick was barely talking to her, someone had to.

“Y’alright?” The teen asked, and Lori quickly nodded, wiping at her face.

“I’m fine, honey, you don’t need to worry about me.”

Silence passed. 

Then, “You’re a good mom.” 

Lori seemed startled. “I—“

“I mean it,” Krystal continued. “My mama left me on my daddy’s doorstep ‘fore I was a month old. She didn’t care a lick about me. You love Carl, though. And the baby. Whatever yer tellin’ yourself, or… or whatever he’s tellin’ you, it’s bullshit. The end ‘a the world ain’t yer fault.”

This just made Lori cry harder, which was kind of the opposite of what she’d hoped, but a small smile crossed the woman’s face, “Thank you.”

Krystal gave a sharp nod, and then stood, having reached her emotional conversation limit.

____

April

She was sweating bullets laying on top of her sleeping bag. She’d stripped as far down as was acceptable, pulled her overgrown hair into a ponytail, and she was still sweltering. The body heat that had gotten them all through the winter was now acting as a form of torture. 

She wished she and Beth had gotten together before it warmed up. Sleeping pressed against her sounded nice, but right now it might give the both of them heat stroke.

It ended up being a good thing, though, because a startled cry came from the front porch, and she was the only one who seemed to notice. Quickly snatching up her gun, she ran out the door to be greeted by Rick straddling a walker in the driveway. He had the thing pinned down with the rifle across its neck, but if he moved to kill it it would probably escape. 

Krystal quickly jogged down the steps, grabbing the creature by the hair, shoving its head down, and stabbing it through the eye. Once it’s growling fell quiet, Rick rolled over on his back beside the thing, panting.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” After helping him to his feet, she asked, “The hell happened?”

He sighed. She could’ve sworn shame flickered across his face when he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Fell asleep.”

Oh. Well, that certainly wasn’t good. She knew he was exhausted more than any of them, so many lives all ultimately falling into his hands, so it was understandable, but it was dangerous as hell.

“Get in, I’ll take the rest ‘a yer shift.”

“I appreciate it.” 

He didn’t fight her. She didn’t know how to feel about that. 

Once he’d retreated into their house of the night, she grabbed the rifle from where it still rested on top of the corpse. The gun was kind of bloody, but it wasn’t anything that would prohibit its functions, so she didn’t mind. Once she settled on the steps, she allowed it to rest between her knees.

Chapter Text

June

“Hey, Carol, where’s the calendar?” Krystal asked, leaning against the hood of the Chevy. Maggie and T-Dog were off collecting water, and Rick and Daryl were hunting, so there wasn’t much to do besides wait. 

“One sec…” Carol rooted around in the back seat of the Hyundai for a moment, before she pulled out the beat-up old journal. Andrea had started it back at the quarry, when everyone’s phones had finally died, and Carol had been keeping it up since the blonde had gone missing. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

Krystal skimmed the most recently updated page until she came upon the day she was looking for. June 2nd, about a week ago.

“Shit, I’m eighteen.”

“What?” Carol moved to look at the book, and Krystal pointed to the date. “Oh, wow. Well, happy late birthday.”

“Thanks. Can’t wait to vote.”

The woman chuckled. 

Rick and Daryl then emerged from the woods, no food in tow. There was something alive in the former’s eyes, though, something that seemed to have died a long time ago. 

“There’s a prison a few miles East.”

____

They were inside the outer gate by nightfall.

“Bethy, sing Paddy Reilly for me,” Hershel asked, the fire crackling before him. “I haven’t heard that, I think… since your mother was alive.”

“Daddy, not that one, please.” Maggie looked suddenly somber. He reconsidered.

“How ‘bout, uh… ‘The Parting Glass?’” 

Beth seemed hesitant. “No-one wants to hear.” 

“I do,” Krystal quickly piped up from beside the girl.

Glenn shrugged, “Yeah, why not?”

“Okay…” she glanced around at everyone, almost like she was expecting them to change their minds, before she finally began to sing. 

Her voice was beautiful. The song was pretty, too, if a little sorrowful. 

The few people that had been elsewhere in the yard began to migrate back, which seemed to make her hesitate, so Maggie joined in. For the first time in months, Krystal felt at ease. Not peaceful, exactly, but like she could finally sleep with both of her eyes closed. 

____

She crept quietly into one of the cell blocks on the heels of Rick and Daryl, T-Dog, Maggie, and Glenn close behind her. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was in the middle of their formation, she knew, and she understood. Even she could acknowledge that she was young for this sort of mission. She was just glad to be there. 

Blades— and crossbow— at the ready, they spread out a bit. The block was quiet, but that didn’t mean it was empty. Krystal found nothing but corpses as she scanned the lower floor, though growling started from above her. It was two walkers still locked up in their cells. Had they just been left to die in there when things went to shit?

Best not to think about it. They were dealt with soon enough.

____

She let out a heave of a sigh when she laid out across the bottom bunk in one of the cells, Beth sitting on the edge. It was a brick, but after so long on floors it was heavenly. Daryl had said he would take the perch, wouldn’t be sleeping in a cage, and Krystal couldn’t agree with him less. There were a couple walls between them and the outside, sure, but there could’ve been breaches they didn’t know about. One tiny room not even on the ground, one entrance that she could lock, and all of it was loud as hell considering it was all metal and cement. That was enough for her to sleep easy tonight. 

Hershel popped in to check on Beth, and as the girl assured him she was fine, Krystal gave a lazy thumbs up. He was gone before too long, probably just as tired as they were. 

She felt Beth shift to lay down, and she scooted over accordingly, until they were shoulder to shoulder on the bed. It was way too small for it, they could never sleep in such a position, but it was fine for lounging. 

“I love you,” Krystal said, barely even thinking about it as the first time those words were said between them. She was just filled with such a relief, like the weight of the world was no longer bearing down on her.

“Love you, too,” Beth responded in kind, her head turned so that her mouth was almost directly beside Krystal’s ear.

Today marked the beginning of something good. 

____

Everything happened so fast. One minute, they were creeping through the winding prison halls, and the next Hershel was screaming, teeth in his ankle. They managed to get him into a room, but the dead were banging on the other side of the doors. T-Dog, Krystal, and Daryl attempted to hold them closed, but when Rick called for Hershel to be held down, Daryl left to do so. 

Rick brought his axe down on the old man’s leg, and Krystal, overwhelmed by a wave of nausea, had to look at the floor. A particularly hard bang on the door, and she was pushed forward, falling quickly back against the cheap metal. That pushed it closed enough that T managed to stuff his fire poker through the handles. 

Hershel’s foot had only been detached from his body for a few seconds before Daryl was drawing on something. Krystal followed his line of sight to see five utterly baffled men in identical jumpsuits standing on the other side of a counter— they were in the cafeteria, then. Daryl kept them at arrow point as Glenn, Maggie, and Rick rushed to stop Hershel’s bleeding. 

He prompted them out into the open, and they obeyed. 

“What happened to him?” One of the prisoners asked.

“He got bit.”

“Bit?” The guy at the front pulled a pistol from the sleeves of the suit tied around his waist, and T-Dog pulled his own. 

Krystal couldn’t do anything besides brandish her knife, her Glock was empty as shit and sitting in she and Beth’s cell. Glenn walked right through all the raised weapons, towards the prisoners’ settlement in search of medical supplies. They weren’t pleased by this, but the walkers became more vocal due to all the commotion, and it distracted them.

“Who the hell are you people, anyway?” The one with the gun asked.

“Don’t look like no rescue team,” another chimed in. 

Rick quickly assured them that one of those was never coming as he and Glenn hauled Hershel onto a wheeled table. He then called for the door to be opened, and both T and Krystal hurried to do so. T rushed the nearest walker with the fire poker, forcing its head up to get under its riot gear, and Krystal laid into the next two. They had been prisoners, Before, so it didn’t take much.

They rushed through the halls with only the directions Glenn had spray-painted along the walls to guide them. That might’ve sounded easy, but considering it was pitch black and they were only visible when a flashlight was on them, the group were seconds away from missing all of their turns. 

The prisoners were following, but Krystal’s group didn’t have time to deal with it. They were forced to lead them right back to the cell block, where Hershel was quickly rushed through the gate that closed off the cells. The rest of their people swarmed as they hurried to get him onto a bed, and Krystal pulled Beth into an embrace as people ran to grab anything even remotely resembling a bandage to keep her father from bleeding out, that horrible green shirt from the mall included. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Krystal tried to assure, but her voice trembled.

Commotion sounded from outside, and Rick briefly explained the survivors they’d met before he was off, leaving everyone in even more of a panic. Krystal maneuvered her and her girlfriend further into the corner to give Carol and Lori more room to work. Even they could do little more than watch as Hershel’s blood soaked through everything they threw at it.

Chapter Text

Krystal snatched a box of 9mm ammo from between the Hyundai's passenger seat and center console with a cry of victory. How had they not noticed that before? It was halfway full, not including any that had spilled out in the process of her wiggling the box free. She'd go back for those later, for now she straightened up into the glaring sun and began to load her Glock. She'd started to carry it again, even empty, now that there were living people roaming around. It would at least make them pause. Now her threats didn't have to be empty.

"Found some goodies," she told T-Dog and Carol, holding up the box. The two had only just moved the cars into the courtyard.

"Nice," T said, drawing out the 'I' with a chuckle and taking the ammo when it was offered. He'd taken over Andrea's Ladysmith, and it took the same rounds. 

Further away, from the outer ring of fences, Glenn whooped, "Alright Hershel!" 

Krystal looked over to see what he was talking about, and found the old man making his way across the courtyard on his crutches, Lori, Carl, and Beth walking with him. A smile spread across her face. It had been a close call, but he'd recovered almost miraculously. 

Then Carl spun around, locking on to something just out of Krystal's sight, and yelled, "Walkers! Look out!"

Her heart sank. So many spilled out from around the corner, more than any normal breach in the walls or fences could have possibly been responsible for. She rushed forward as gunshots filled the air.

"Beth!" The shriek left her mouth against her will, completely useless as she hurried to close the distance between them. Thankfully, by the time she was in the courtyard, Beth and her father were already safely barricaded inside one of the cages.

She'd barely skidded to a halt to take her stand when T shouted, "That gate is open!"

When he took off after it, she was on his heels, helping to clear the way. He heard Maggie call Lori— and by extension Carl— somewhere, hopefully safe, and Carol stuck close to Krystal and T— everyone accounted for, then. 

Carol made a break for a nearby door as T-Dog began to pull the gate closed, his back nearly pressed to Krystal's. She fired into the approaching crowd until he managed to chain the thing shut with his belt, and then the two were dashing for Carol, who ushered them inside before her. 

They were back in those dark, winding halls, this time with no flashlights and no spray-painted arrows. Krystal hadn't been in this area before, and even if she had she wouldn't have known where to go. T seemed to take the lead fine, though, and she trusted he knew what he was doing.

"Watch out," he said as they ran, "That chain didn't break on its own, someone's got it out for us."

"Wha— who would do that?" Carol panted. 

Krystal had a feeling she knew.

"Two 'a those prisoners are still walkin', and Rick definitely pissed 'em off this morning. Think they—" She was cut off by an alarm starting to blare. "What the fuck?"

"Shit," T bit out. 

This was almost immediately followed by them turning a corner and being greeted with two walkers, which were quickly dispatched. Soon, though, with that alarm, it wouldn't just be two. It would be twenty.

She nearly ran into T-Dog when he stopped before a fork in the path, a horrified look on his face.

"What?" Carol asked, anxiety in her tone, and he went on to say exactly what both women were hoping he wouldn't.

"I took a wrong turn."

He looked around wildly for a moment, trying to place his location, but before he could find it groaning sounded from the hall on their right. Way closer than it should've been able to get without them knowing, because before they could react a group of at least a dozen were on top of them. One grabbed on to Krystal's shoulder, hissing in her ear, and Carol shot it. Shortly after, the woman was forced back the way they'd come as more and more confronted them, while T and Krystal were pushed down the left hall.

"Carol!" The man cried, trying to keep eyes on her as she disappeared behind the seemingly endless wave of bodies, but it was no use. They had to run. Krystal grabbed his arm and tugged, panic rising, and though she had no way of making him move he still turned away from the crowd.

____

It was dark by the time they made their way to cell block C, covered in walker blood and dead on their feet.

"Hey," she croaked, banging on the gate a bit in an effort to get someone's attention. T followed suit, much louder than her, and heads began to poke out of cells. 

"Oh my god—" that was definitely Beth. Krystal's eyes stuck to her as she descended the perch's stairs, Daryl not far behind. 

Glenn hurried to unlock the gate, and as soon as it was open Krystal sank into her girlfriend's arms. 

Beth planted kisses all over the side of her face, sounding on the verge of tears as she said, "We thought you were dead."

"Yeah," Krystal wasn’t too far off herself. She was so tired. 

Reluctantly, the two separated, and Daryl planted his hand on the crook of her neck, ducking his head slightly to get a look at her in the low light. It was hard to tell, but she could've sworn his eyes were shining. After realizing none of the blood was hers, he pulled her into a hug of his own, that hand now sort of cradling her.

She jolted at a baby's cry. 

Beth turned immediately at the sound, and that was when Krystal noticed the group's absences. She didn't like those implications.

"Where— where's Rick an' Lori?" She asked, pushing away from her uncle. 

No-one responded for a moment, and she spun around, searching for answers as her mind went to increasingly dark places. She settled back on Daryl, and he let out a somber sigh.

"Rick's fine. He's off workin' some stuff out. Lori... ain't."

"She went into labor, in the middle a' everything," Maggie piped up, her voice trembling. "Somethin' was wrong, though, and she— she told me to save the baby."

After everything she'd been through today, Krystal didn't have it in her to hold back the tears that began to stream down her face. They made it almost nine months on the road, and not even a week into this fucking prison— the one that was supposed to keep them safe— they'd lost someone? 

"This wasn't no accident," T-Dog said, drawing everyone's attention. "When I closed the gate I saw the chain, someone cut it open."

"It was Andrew," Daryl stated without a hint of uncertainty.

T seemed taken aback by this. "The prisoner? I thought Rick killed him?" 

"'Parently not. He led those sumbitches right to our door an' then let 'em in."

"He dead now?" Krystal's tone was hard.

Daryl nodded, motioning over his back with his thumb, "Oscar did it."

Oscar and Axel were both standing awkwardly in the back, though the latter gave a small wave as attention was drawn to them. She nodded towards them in acknowledgment.

Beth returned with the still-fussy baby, then, and Krystal's breath was knocked out of her. 

"It's a girl," the blonde explained, showing the kid off to both Krystal and T-Dog. "She don't got a name yet."

She was so small. So fragile. Even wrapped up in blankets, she looked like a strong gust of wind could take her away. T asked to hold her, and Beth obliged, which only served to make the child seem smaller. 

"She's up in our cell for now. Just 'till Rick gets back," Beth said, drawing Krystal's attention away from the new member of their family. 

She didn't mind that arrangement at all.

Chapter Text

The morning came too fast for Krystal's liking. Everybody in the cell block gathered around the tables for breakfast, aside from Axel, who went down to the generator room to try his luck with some repairs. It wasn't a bad idea, and it certainly gave her some peace. There was something about him and Oscar that made her nervous, unrelated to them being convicts. They were just... new. She'd gone through hell and back with her people, trusting them was effortless, it was strange to question someone's intentions again.  

"Carol's still out there," T-Dog was saying to Daryl, who seemed to be second in command in Rick's absence. "We were together, but we got split up by some walkers. I can take you down to where we lost her, but... who knows where she coulda run to."

"Alright. We'll gear up after everybody eats, see if we can't clear some bodies on the way. Carl, you with us?"

The boy looked up, roused from his somber staring, and after taking a moment to process what had been said, he nodded. Krystal didn't know her uncle's plan there, but she suspected he had one.

"Everybody okay?" Rick's voice startled them all. He was standing on the other side of the door, fingers resting between the bars, considering. 

"Yeah, we are," Maggie said as he finally entered. He came to stand by his son, but he didn't really look at him— didn't really look at anyone, actually. It was kind of freaking Krystal out. 

"What about you?" Hershel asked, and Rick completely ignored him.

"I cleared out the boiler block."

"How many were there?"

He barely glanced over at Daryl, "I don't know. A dozen, two dozen. I have to get back, I just wanted to check on Carl."

Glenn got to his feet to try to dissuade him, but Rick brushed him off. Once he confirmed everyone was armed, and got a recap of the day's plans, he was gone, ignoring Hershel's call.

____

Krystal got to hold the baby for the first time that afternoon. It wasn't like anyone had stopped her the night before, she'd just been so tired, so covered in muck, it hadn't seemed like a good idea.

"Hi, little worm," she said, eyes welling with tears when the baby made perhaps the cutest noise she'd ever heard. 

Lori would never hear that. She would never get to hold her little girl, or even know she was a little girl. Never pick out a name, or fuss over anyone’s dirty hands, or squeal about how cute the kid was in her little onesies. Krystal couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different, had Andrew died when he was supposed to. Would Hershel have been able to save her? Or was this birth just destined to be fatal without modern medicine? 

They'd never know.

"You wanna feed her?" Beth interrupted those melancholy thoughts, offering the bottle she'd been preparing, and Krystal nodded. 

"Of course."

The baby took the latex nipple with no issues, sucking down the formula Daryl and Maggie had managed to find for her yesterday. Krystal glanced up at Beth, and there was a... look in the blonde's eye as she watched the two of them. Something loving, dreamy, almost. Krystal understood. Even if there wasn't any chance they'd have kids of their own, given the current— nonexistent— state of assisted reproductive technology, it didn't hurt to think about.

Physically, anyway.

____

"Holy shit, you found her," Krystal nearly knocked herself to the ground in her haste to stand. 

Daryl had just walked in, Carol in his arms. She was grimy, there was a cut on her forehead, and she was unconscious— though that last part was probably just dehydration. All in all, nothing she couldn't recover from.

"Yep. She was holed up in solitary, must'a fought her way in after we got separated," T-Dog explained.

The two of them stood in the doorway of Carol's cell as Daryl lay her on her bed, only moving to allow Hershel inside. Beth was busy with the baby, and Carl was glued to his little sister after being away so long— plus, Maggie and Glenn were still out on their run, so overall the small room wasn't too crowded. Krystal glanced over at the gate to see Oscar peeking in, curious but knowing his place. She appreciated that, at least.

Hershel sighed and declared that there was nothing they could do besides wait for Carol to wake up, much to Daryl's visible frustration. When everyone began to make their way back to whatever they had been doing before, he remained, sitting on her dirty floor. It would be a shame for her to wake up alone, wouldn't it?

____

“I got it, I got it,” Carol assured him as she made her way outside with the others. 

Her eyes lingered on Rick as he soaked in his newborn, as well as the sunlight he’d been desperately missing in the prison’s bleak underbelly. Krystal could tell it was hard on her, no doubt a giant, glowing reminder of Sophia. At the same time, though, there was a certain kind of hope that being around new life brought; a reminder that there were still good things left in the world. With any luck, the kid would never know how horrible it could really be.

“She looks like you,” Rick told Carl, and for the first time since Lori’s death the boy smiled. 

Chapter Text

"How do you know we can trust her?" Oscar said, glancing over at the woman Hershel was stitching up— and wow, how times had changed. She'd stumbled up to the gates covered in walker blood and carrying a basket full of formula, telling them Maggie and Glenn had been taken to some nearby settlement in Woodbury.

From the details she'd given, Krystal was inclined to believe her. 

Beth clearly felt the same, using her limited baby-free time to demand the group take action, "Why are we even debatin'?"

"We ain't," Daryl said, "I'll go after 'em."

Krystal's eyebrows crept skyward, "Alone?" 

"I'll go with him," Beth said before Daryl could respond. There was no way in hell that was happening, but she got her point across. 

"Me too," T-Dog quickly volunteered. It set off a chain reaction, with Axel and Oscar also agreeing to join their rescue mission.

"Y'all know I'm down," Krystal threw in, just to confirm.

Rick looked around at all of them, considering. 

____

Axel and Beth didn't end up making the cut, who could've guessed. Krystal barely did, she'd nearly thrown fists with her uncle over it before Rick had confirmed she'd be useful. And even he had been hesitant. In the end, despite her tender age, she was— technically— an adult now, and she had some damn good aim.

They crept through the woods on what Michonne had called a mile or two long hike, cars left behind on the road. Apparently Woodbury had scouts. 

They were on a fairly straightforward path until a group of walkers blocked it. Rick ordered them into formation, which Michonne didn't know but fell into well enough. Krystal was between Oscar and T-Dog, slashing at anything that came too close, but more just continued to spill out of the trees.

"There's too many," Daryl said after at least a dozen were at their feet.

 Rick paused for a moment, searching, and then sent them in the direction of a nearby cabin. It's windows were boarded up, but the door was thankfully unlocked.

Once inside, the scent of death, feces, and rotting food all rolled into one hit Krystal with the force of a bus. Even her uncle made a comment, and she was decently sure he had an olfactory impairment. Moving forward showed the source of at least one of those things: some sort of fuzzy corpse on the floor.

"What is that?" Oscar asked as they approached, his light on the thing.

"Gotta be a fox. Or what's left of one," Daryl said. Upon getting closer, though, it was clearly a small dog. "Huh. Guess Lassie went home." 

"Aw, man, come on—" T started, only to be quickly interrupted by the dead banging at the cabin's walls. 

Those alive quieted fast. 

Rick murmured something unintelligible to Daryl, motioning towards a bed that Krystal hadn't even noticed. There was a suspicious lump under its blanket. Judging by the state of the place, and its lack of reanimation, it was probably just a regular corpse, but she kept her hand on her gun anyway as the two men approached.

Rick snatched the blanket back, and a scruffy man sprung out, a rifle in his hands. He looked around at all of them, eyes wide in clear terror.

"Get out of my house!"

His yells brought more of the dead to the door, and Rick hurried to placate him. It didn't work.

"I— I'll call the cops!"

Oh. That was sad. How on earth had he made it so long, not realizing? Or maybe that was a new development, he did seem on the older side.

"I am a cop," Rick replied without skipping a beat. Krystal thought he was lying for a moment before she remembered; it felt like years since he'd taken off that uniform. "Now, I need you to lower your gun."

He began to follow his own advice, slowly putting his magnum and his flashlight on the ground as he whispered more soothing words. 

Bed Guy shoved the muzzle right in Rick's face as soon as he was up again, "Show me your badge!"

"Alright. It's in my pocket. It's in my pocket," he began to move for... hell, it might've actually been his badge. Krystal had no idea if he still carried it on him. "Now I'm gonna reach down, nice and slow—" 

He smacked the barrel of the gun to the side, sending a bullet way too close to Daryl, and then wrestled Bed Guy into a hold. The man began to scream and wiggle to get him off, much to the excitement of the humanoid piranhas outside. Rick tried to cover his mouth, but that resulted in his hand getting chomped on, and Bed Guy making a break for the door.

Michonne stabbed him directly through the heart with her sword before he could even reach the handle. 

Krystal had to admit, she was kind of taken aback, both by the violence and by the precision. He would've died either way, Michonne had saved him some suffering, but she didn't even glance down at him as he bled all over his own floor. 

"Remember the Alamo?" Daryl snarked, peeking through the boards at their oncoming doom. 

Thinking quickly, Rick called him and T-Dog to help lift Bed Guy's body, ordering Michonne to get ready with the door. Okay, Krystal really had to get over the murder she'd just witnessed; it would now be saving not only her ass, but the asses of nearly everyone she cared about. 

She was kind of starting to like the new girl.

____

It was dark by the time they reached Woodbury's walls. They looked like they'd been made post-apocalypse, almost entirely out of rusty scraps and large tires— whoever their 'Governor' was, he wasn't much of an architect. It was enough to keep the walkers out, though. 

Clearly they hadn't had to worry about people.

As Michonne led them towards an opening in the hastily thrown together metal, it struck Krystal that she hadn't, either. Not really. Not in a combat setting. For just a split second, as the reality of what they were about to do set in, she was overcome with absolute terror— and then she remembered why they were doing it. Glenn and Maggie were in there, enduring God knew what, had been for a day at the least. The fear didn't go away, exactly, but it was beat into submission. 

____

Krystal didn't dare shoot into the cloud of tear gas as Rick and T-Dog dragged their rescuees away from Woodbury's enforcers. She kept her gun raised all the same, though, prepared for any of the coughing and spluttering men to rise. They didn't, and her group was out of the dungeon fast.

They ran until they made it into a nearby house, the streets now alive with tension. Glenn looked horrible. His shirt was on Maggie now— implications that Krystal didn't want to think about— which left every bruise and gash along his torso perfectly visible. He had to be helped into a sitting position, and even then he wore a grimace on his swollen face. 

Apparently Michonne had disappeared during their mad dash, because she was nowhere to be seen. Rick declared she was on her own, she made her decision, and Krystal was kind of relieved. She didn’t want to be there longer than necessary.

"Daryl—" Glenn struggled to get out as Maggie worked a hoodie over his shoulders— "This was Merle."

Krystal felt her blood go cold.

She couldn't tear her gaze away from the man's injuries now, cataloging each of them against her will, trying to match them to her father's fist. Doing so with ease. 

"You saw him?" Rick asked, and Glenn nodded.

"Face to face. Threw a walker at me. He was gonna execute us."

Krystal's impossibly wide eyes finally drifted over to Daryl, who stared intently at Glenn and Maggie.

"So— so my brother's this Governor?"

"No, it's somebody else. Your brother's his lieutenant, or somethin'," Maggie explained. 

"Does he know we're still with y'all?" Daryl asked. Krystal wasn't entirely sure how his voice was forming sentences so well, after a bombshell like that.

"He does now. Rick, I'm sorry, we told him where the prison was, we couldn't hold out."

Rick assured him there was no need to apologize as quickly as he could, before scurrying over to peek through a window. There was brief discussion on getting back to the cars, as if life-altering news hadn't just been shared. 

"Hey, if Merle's around, I— I need to see him!" Daryl tried, but Rick brushed him off.

"Not now. We're in hostile territory."

Rick's word was law. It had kept them save for nearly a year, now, because they'd followed it without question. But Merle was kin.

"We can't just leave him here," Krystal finally managed to get words out, uncharacteristically small as they were. There was no burning emotion with which she was saying them. But she couldn't... not, could she? 

"Look what he did!" Rick snapped as quietly as he could manage. His frustration turned back to stress fast, "Look, we gotta— we gotta get outta here, now. You heard what Maggie said, he's not a prisoner here, he'll be fine."

There was some more back and forth between him and Daryl, but ultimately, they needed to get out. Merle would survive another day inside of Woodbury. None of them would.

Once the smoke bombs went off, any hell that hadn't already broken loose proceeded to do so. There were so many people shooting in the street that they had to duck into the indented doorway of a building, all of them barely managing to cram in. 

"You guys go ahead, I'm gon' lay down some cover fire," Daryl said.

"What?" Krystal's heart beat in her throat. "No. No, you can't— we can't split up. What if—" 

"Hey, look at me." She had been already, but she took him to meant 'in the eye,' which she did. "I'm gon' be right behind you, okay?"

Sucking down a breath, she nodded.

With another smoke bomb, he was off, and then the rest of them were running across the street, towards a bus pressed up against the wall. Rick acted almost as a shield between them and Woodbury's people, and he was forced to duck behind a solar panel before he could reach the other side.

Maggie and Krystal fired in the vague direction of the opposition as Oscar climbed on the bus' hood, hauling Glenn up with T-Dog helping from the ground. Just after Oscar had half-thrown him onto the roof, though, a bullet caught the big guy. He didn't yell in pain when he hit the ground, didn't move from where he'd landed face down... even before T rolled him over, Krystal knew. Still, the man felt feverishly for a pulse.

"Dammit— dammit, come on, man..."

It was no use, Oscar was dead. 

Maggie, now crouched beside the body, started to scream for Rick, who was— Krystal's eyes nearly bugged out of her head— just standing out in the middle of the open, now. 

"T, we— we gotta—" she tried, her hand resting on his shoulder. After a mournful pause, he reluctantly got to his feet.

It wasn't until Maggie tearfully shot Oscar in the head that Rick began to run towards them. T helped Maggie onto the hood, then Krystal, and alongside Glenn they hurried over the wall. T came over next, no doubt ordered ahead of Rick, and then that same Rick could be heard yelling for Daryl. 

When he joined them on Woodbury's exterior, it was with a notable lack of Krystal's uncle.

"Where is he?" The girl practically squeaked. 

"He's still in there." 

She was rapidly nearing hyperventilation. "We can't go back witho—"

"We're not," Rick hurriedly assured. "We're not. We're gonna stay here and wait 'till he makes it out. Everybody stay low, stay out of the light."

Chapter Text

Krystal tore through the woods alongside her people, and even though her legs burned she didn't dare slow. The Governor hadn't sent anyone after them the first time, but now that they'd launched a second attack, who knew. The man had been holding a gladiator match, had what had to be perfectly suburban civilians cheering for it, she didn't want to see what else he was capable of.

It was only because of this frenzied escape that Merle was still with them. He'd been an unwilling participant in that match, alongside Daryl, and after the smoke bombs had been tossed Rick hadn't had time to chase him off. Not that he hadn't tried. Krystal was dreading the fallout of returning to Glenn and Michonne, who were waiting at the cars. 

Eventually, when the sun began to rise, they slowed to a walk. They were a mile away from Woodbury now, if they weren't safe yet they never would be. Krystal finally allowed herself to look at her father, even if it was with nothing but awkward glances.

The hand that he'd amputated had been fixed with a metal prosthetic, empty of the blade it was clearly made to don. The knuckles of the one he still had were split open— had been broken against Glenn's skin, she couldn't get the image out of her head. It made her ill. Had he made Maggie watch? Laughed as she cried, like he had done so often to Krystal when she was a child? Had he been in that group of men they'd tear-gassed? The word why bounced around in her head like a rubber ball, almost a plea to God. 

Surely there had been a reason? Her father didn't just go around kidnapping anyone he met, anyone he used to known. She knew Glenn had been there in Atlanta, when he was left behind, but he couldn't possibly harbor enough resentment to... 

What was she saying, he was Merle Dixon. He could.

Her glances turned over to Maggie, and the illness became violent. Krystal knew her dad. He was mean, and aggressive, and bigoted, but he wasn't... he wasn't the kind of man who left women half-naked, in need of the shirt off someone else's back. That couldn't have been him. But he'd allowed it, hadn't he?

They made it back to the cars, and it went exactly how Krystal had expected it to go. Screaming, yelling, weapons waving— until Merle dropped Andrea's name. Krystal's head snapped over to him from where she'd been standing off to the side, overwhelmed and unable to decide exactly who she needed to defend in this standoff.

Everyone's fire dimmed for a moment. 

"Andrea's in Woodbury?" Glenn asked, the— empty— gun in his hands drooping.

"Right next to the Governor," Daryl confirmed. Merle wore an annoying smirk on his face, like he'd succeeded in something. 

It didn't take long for things to ramp up again. Michonne knew Andrea, apparently, maybe better than they did— though Merle's testimony was filled with less than savory comments, so there was no way to be sure he wasn't exaggerating some of it. His smug demeanor finally vanished when Daryl told him to shut up for the second time, which got the older brother nothing but a thwack to his cranium from Rick's magnum.

With Merle now unconscious on a bed of fallen leaves, they walked over to the road to have a more productive conversation.

____

"Fine, we'll fend for ourselves." Krystal's stomach dropped the second Daryl said it. 

As much as everyone jumped to dissuade him, his mind was clearly already made up. He began to walk towards the Hyundai to unload his things, and Krystal rushed after him, the rest of the group not far behind. 

"Daryl. Dar— hey, stop." She grabbed his arm, and he paused, turning to look at her. "Can we talk about this for more than thirty seconds?"

"Nothin' to talk about. You comin' or not?"

She felt suddenly on the verge of tears. She would have to go. Living without her father was one thing, she'd been doing it for a long time. Him and Daryl, though? She wanted to scream at her uncle, to slap him around the head until she knocked some sense into it. 

Instead, with a cracking voice, she said, "Don't do this to me. Please don't do this to me."

For a half a second he looked guilty, but then he turned back towards the trunk without another word.

Krystal looked to Rick, desperation all over her face, but his verdict didn't change. Merle couldn't come with them. He walked over to her uncle in a last-ditch effort to make him stay, but it was doomed, she knew it was. T-Dog, Maggie, and Glenn looked at her with expressions ranging from sympathy to shock to betrayal, in that order. All she could think about was Beth. She couldn't leave her, just the thought made her nauseous, but she couldn't stay. Not without the men who'd raised her.

Daryl called her, then, and she felt like a deer in headlights. Like a scared child.

"I'm sorry," was all she could manage to her family, her eyes misty. 

“You do what you gotta do,” T-Dog said.

She only just managed to swallow a sob as she sprang forward, wrapping the man in a hug. 

"Hurry up, girl!" Merle barked from the woods, and she flinched, jerking away from T.

"I—" she looked at Maggie. "Tell her I'm sorry."

The woman nodded, and then Krystal scurried off. It felt so wrong. She didn’t have a choice, though, did she?

That smug expression of Merle's was back, and he looked almost tauntingly over his shoulder at the people his kin were leaving behind for him, throwing an arm around Daryl. Krystal felt like she was watching it all from outside of her body.

Chapter Text

It took about three hours of wandering the forest for Krystal to get pissed. At Daryl, for forcing her hand, at Rick, for refusing to compromise, at herself, for not fighting harder for what she wanted— but most of all at Merle, just for being what he was. Doing what he had done.

It reached a boiling point when he clapped her on the shoulder, and in a moment of sheer repulsion she nearly knocked herself to the ground pulling away.

"Don't f—" she snapped her jaw shut, struggling to keep her lip from curling. "Don't."

The expression on his face could be best described as displeasure. 

"The hell's up with you? Last time y—"

"What happened to Maggie?" 

It had been plaguing her since she'd first laid eyes on the woman, and something Glenn had said back on the road still echoed in her brain— how Merle's 'buddy' was a rapist. The mere concept made Krystal's skin crawl, made her cross her arms over her chest as if to hide it.

He was at a loss for a moment. She could feel Daryl looking between them, but her eyes never left her father.

"I didn't have no part in that," Merle settled on. 

Krystal scoffed, "Yeah you did. You brought 'er there."

"Y'know, girl, I don't appreciate this new attitude 'a yers."

"And I don't appreciate you tryin'a kill my friends."

They stared at each other for a moment. She would've cowered under the intensity of it, Before, but she had grown since then. She wondered if that surprised him. Wondered if he began to see the scars on her glaring face as symbolism of her change, or if he was just annoyed she was falling out of line.

"Y'all're scarin' away our lunch," Daryl interrupted after neither budged. 

Merle seemed more than happy to take the out, finally moving on, but Krystal turned her ire towards her uncle. 

He swallowed harshly, uncomfortably, and then nodded over his shoulder to where Merle was walking off as if he didn't notice.

____

The three of them stood on a bridge, surrounded by walker bodies and swamped in tension. Daryl didn't lower his crossbow until the family they'd saved was gone, and even then Merle was the one to push it up, out of his own face. 

He looked over at Krystal with a sort of 'do you see this shit?' expression, only to be met with disgust underneath all the gore she was slick with; a result of her knife fighting the dead. He was lucky her Glock was empty, or she might've capped him in the knee on principle. 

Her uncle stalked off without a word, barely stopping to pull a bolt from a corpse’s head, and Krystal followed. It wasn't until they reached the trees that Merle caught up, and boy did he have some things to say.

"The shit you doin', pointin' that thing at me?" He snapped at his brother.

"They were scared, man."

"They were rude, is what they were! Rude, an' they owed us a token of gratitude."

Krystal wanted to laugh, somewhere underneath all the revulsion. Merle had killed one walker that was about to get taken out anyway, if gratitude was owed, it certainly wouldn't be to him. He continued to run his mouth, and neither of his companions cared until he brought Rick into it.

Daryl whirled around to face him, perhaps a little defensive, "There was a baby!"

"Oh, otherwise, you woulda just left 'em to the biters then?"

"That what you woulda done?" She snapped.

"Yer damn right it's what I woulda done! There ain't no room in this world for bleedin' hearts, girl, not if you wanna make it." 

He'd said that her entire life. It was just as bullshit then as it was now. 

"I'd rather be dead than evil."

He rolled his eyes with a scoff.

"Man, I went back for you. You weren't there." It caught Krystal off guard for a moment, but when she looked at Merle's face she could see Daryl had struck a nerve. "I didn't cut off your hand, neither, you did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof! You asked for it."

Her father gave a sharp, mirthless chuckle.

"Y'know what's funny? You an' Sheriff Rick— both 'a y'all, yer like this now." He held his hand up, two fingers crossed together. "Huh? I bet you a penny and a fiddle 'a gold y'all never told him that we were plannin' on robbin' that camp blind."

"It didn't happen." 

"Yeah, it didn't. 'Cause I wasn't there to help you!"

"What, like when we were kids? Who left who then?"

Oh, they were going there, okay. Krystal turned away to observe their surroundings as the two began to yell at each other, very aware that they were still near that bridge they'd made so much noise on. She only looked back at the sound of fabric ripping, and saw Daryl on the ground, the back of his vest in Merle's hand. The latter seemed absolutely horrified, and for a moment Krystal was worried her uncle had fallen onto one of his bolts or something.

And then she saw what Merle was looking at. Scars, all across his back— old welts. Quickly, she looked away, allowing her uncle privacy as he tried and failed to cover them up with the shreds of his vest.

She had no positive sentiments towards Will Dixon. The man had died before she was born, and even then, no-one could manage to tell her any stories that didn't involve him being angry or throwing hands, usually with his kids. Sure, Merle might've slapped her around a bit, but he'd never drawn blood. Damn sure never left a scar. 

"I— I didn't know he was—" the man began, and Daryl cut him off, voice wavering.

"Yeah, he did."

He wormed quickly into their pathetically light backpack of supplies, getting to his feet and exchanging a brief look with Krystal. He motioned with his head in the direction she knew the prison to be, and then started towards it. She followed without complaint.

"Where are y'all goin'?" Merle called after them, and he sounded so... sad. All the wind in his sails was gone, it was a tone she'd never heard from him.

"We're goin' home," Daryl said, not sounding much better.

"I can't go with y'all. I— I tried to kill that black bitch! Damn near killed the Chinese kid."

"He's Korean," she and her uncle said it in near unison.

"Whatever! Doesn't matter, I just can't go with you."

Krystal had yet to see her father cry. For a moment, she thought that streak might break, and she looked to Daryl. He was wearing a multitude of different emotions on his face, so when he caught her eye, she gave a slight nod: I'm with you.

Her uncle exhaled sharply, and then looked back at Merle, "Y'know, I might be the one walkin' away, but yer the one who's leavin. Again."

And with that the two of them were off. 

____

"Hey, edge 'a the fence," Krystal said, motioning. 

Daryl readied his crossbow, "Yeah, I see him."

Rick was outside the walls, for some reason, with walkers closing in on him. As soon as Daryl let that first bolt fly, she was off, tackling one that he hadn't killed into the chainlink and driving her knife through its eye. Merle wasn't far behind her— which kind of surprised her considering he and Rick's animosity— uttering a truly heroic war cry before he began to club one of the creatures to death with his prosthetic. Krystal and Rick exchanged a very brief glance before she stabbed a walker with half of its skull missing. 

He went on to use his empty magnum a bit like brass knuckles, and with the ranged support from Daryl there was nothing but bodies in no time.

She panted, struggling to catch her breath as she took in the prison's state. There was a van in the field, abandoned, wearing a gate on its hood, and several walkers milled about. One of their trucks was hauling ass towards the courtyard, and their people were starting to give up on thinning the crowd. Krystal strained her eyes as they walked out of view, trying to spot a familiar head of blonde hair.

She didn't.

"Shit..." she ran towards the... well, just the gaping hole in the fencing, now, practically kicking up dust. "Beth!"

The girl's head turned towards her from the other side of the courtyard's gate, and she could've cried with relief. Might've been, actually, her vision was swimming a little. Several decaying bodies stumbled towards her, and she ran, trying to gain some distance from them as Carol and T-Dog hurried to open the gate. 

Taking a wide turn, she managed to get inside unharmed, and she skidded to a halt in front of her girlfriend, almost frozen. She didn’t know how to proceed. She wanted to pull the girl into an embrace, but… could she, after leaving?

Beth answered that question by throwing her arms around Krystal, pressing a quick kiss to her lips and then tucking her head into the older girl's shoulder. 

"I'm sorry," Krystal said, most definitely crying now, "I never shoulda gone, I'm so sorry. We— we were already on our way back when we heard the shootin', I..." 

Beth kissed her again, and Krystal kind of sobbed into it. The former brought her hands up to the latter's face, tilting her bowed head up so they were looking each other in the eye.

"I get it.”

Krystal didn’t know what past life she’d lived to deserve the girl in front of her, but it must’ve been impressive.

Chapter Text

The baby— Judith, Rick and Carl had finally picked out a name— stirred Krystal from her sleep with a cry. She was still set up in their room for the time being; apparently Rick was too busy with the Governor situation to take her. That or he just hadn't thought about it, it was the first night he was spending in his cell since Lori's death, after all. Either way, the kid seemed to be Beth's responsibility for now, and by extension Krystal's.

The blonde moved to get up, but Krystal hummed in a dismissive way.

"I got it," she said.

"Bottles're—"

"In the blue bag, I know. Two ounces for every scoop."

Beth relaxed.

Krystal lifted the kid out of her blanket-lined box. Someone had written 'Lil Asskicker' on the side— Carol, she was willing to bet, given the hearts and the smiley face. It was cute, made it a little less of… well, a box.

With one hand she searched through the bag, pulling out a formula can and a bottle, and then halfway through opening her canteen she realized that she couldn't read the measurements in the dark. 

"Shh, I know, I know, just gimme a second," she tried unsuccessfully to soothe as she searched for her flashlight.

Once she had it, she clicked it on and set it between her teeth. Placing the bottle on the floor, she filled it to the two ounce mark, trying her best not to spill any water. Getting the powder in was nerve-wracking but less of a challenge, and finally, she screwed the cap on, covering the hole in the nipple with her finger and shaking until it was blended.

"Okay, alright, here we go."

Judith quieted as soon as she received her food. Krystal walked out onto the small balcony, steering away from her tossing-and-turning uncle who had no doubt been woken by the crying.

The formula was gone fast, and Krystal tucked the empty bottle under her arm, propping the baby against her shoulder to burp, which the kid did quickly.

"Oh my goodness," Krystal whispered, chuckling.

She just sort of walked Judith back and forth across the balcony, humming a song she’d liked as a child as she waited for the baby's eyes to close. She didn't remember the entirety of the first verse, but when she got around to the chorus she started to quietly sing.

"He said, my name is Private Andrew Malone

And if you're readin’ this, then I didn't make it home

But for every dream that's shattered, another one comes true

This car was once a dream of mine, now it belongs to you

And though you may take her and make her your own

You'll always be ridin' with Private Malone."

Her voice was horrible, but Judith didn't seem to mind, gurgling sweetly. 

Krystal felt suddenly like she was being watched, and she looked over at the cell her father was locked up in, just outside the main block. Sure enough, he was sitting up in his cot, eyes on her. At least, she though so, she couldn't really see his shadowed features.

Did he know the cell she'd emerged from was Beth's cell? Was he questioning it? Had he figured it out?

She didn't pay him any more mind, she was just working herself up.

____

"Look, Merle's stayin' here. He's with us now. Get used to it. All 'a y'all." Daryl stalked up to the perch like a sulky teenager. 

Krystal— who couldn't allow her role to be overtaken— glanced around the group, before sighing and following her uncle up. 

"Daryl," she started, keeping her voice low. They lived in what was essentially a concrete cube, sound traveled. "You gotta know where he's comin' from."

"So what, yer on their side?"

"No, I'm not— I'm not on a side, dammit, I just want everybody outta each other's throats." He gave her a flat look, and she returned it. "What if it was one 'a their brothers? Beat the shit outta you, brought me to someone like the Governor? Would you be fine with him strollin' around where your family slept?"

He chewed on his bottom lip, leaning over the railing. He didn't respond— at least, not verbally. The inner turmoil was written all over his face. He didn't need to be reminded. Not really. Krystal left him alone, after that.

____

"You can't leave without meeting Lil Asskicker," Carol said to Andrea, and for some reason Krystal found herself lingering close by, nervous.

She didn't know why. She knew Andrea wouldn't hurt the kid, and the woman held her right, but there was something about it that made Krystal's hackles raise. Because Andrea was so close to the Governor, or because the last real interaction they'd had was after she had let Beth try to kill herself— or maybe Andrea was just little more than a stranger with a familiar face, now.

"Lemme guess, your uncle named her Asskicker?" The blonde asked, looking up at Krystal.

"Yep."

"That's not really her name?"

"Judith," Carol confirmed, and Andrea repeated it with a smile.

"Hi, Judith. How precious are you?" A moment passed, and suddenly the atmosphere seemed somber. "What happened to Lori?"

Krystal grit her teeth, ducking her head slightly.

"During a C-section," Carol explained. "Maggie. Carl had to—"

"Oh my God." 

Another pause. 

"And Shane?"

Krystal and Carol exchanged a look. Should they tell her? 

Somewhere in that look they must've settled on yes, because Carol said, "Rick killed him."

Andrea looked horrified. Krystal had to physically stop herself from reaching to take Judith back, half anticipating some sort of baby-throwing outburst. It was completely ridiculous, she didn't know what was wrong with her.

"That night we left the farm, that whole Randall thing was a lie. Shane tried to kill Rick."

"Shane loved Rick."

"Not more than he loved Lori," Krystal said.

Andrea shook her head, "Rick's become cold. Unsteady."

As if she was perfect.

"He has his reasons," Carol said, before Krystal could snip. The former turned to the latter, then, "Krystal, sweetie, could you give us a minute?"

The teen glanced between her and Judith,  before nodding and making her way downstairs.

____

The cell block was dark, silent aside from the sound of crickets chirping from outside. Carol, Beth, and Krystal sat around an electric lantern for no reason in particular, there just wasn't much to do in their down time. The latter's head rested in her girlfriend's lap, fingers playing with a loose string in her own shirt's collar. 

"They hung a sign up in our town," Beth began to sing, glancing around to see the reception. 

Krystal beamed up at her, and she continued.

The song was unfamiliar, but the older girl clung to every word, studying the way Beth's lips moved around them. She was so beautiful it made Krystal's chest ache, sometimes. 

It wasn't until way after that, when everyone moved to settle for the night, that she noticed Merle standing outside his cell, considering. It only took a moment for Glenn to usher him back in, locking him up while they slept, but it was enough to make Krystal nervous. 

She had no idea if he'd sussed out her romantic orientation yet, but if she kept going like she was, he definitely would— downright canoodling in his direct line of sight. Did she care, though, after all this time? Would she be willing to give up a single moment with Beth to keep the love of a man who was willing to leave babies to die?

It was almost startling to realize that... no. She wouldn't.

Chapter Text

"C'mon, girl, you know what we gotta do," Merle said, coming to stand beside his daughter as she loaded a rifle. 

They were stocking the prison up for war, just in case Rick's little chat with the governor turned out wrong— which she was almost certain it would. Merle seemed very keen on making it go wrong, though.

"Yep. Listen to Glenn," she replied, not even sparing him a glance.

She said it half because she meant it, and half because she knew it would piss him off, which it did. Maybe a little too much. She'd never quite grasped that line with her father.

"Fine. You wanna sit here playin' house with your pet dyke until the Governor busts the walls down? Be my guest! But I—"

Krystal must've blacked out for a moment, because without even consciously choosing to do so, she rammed the butt of the rifle into her father's face. He stumbled back, surprised, and she continued to smack him with the gun until he grabbed it, wrenching it out of her hands. She just switched to throwing punches. Eventually, he threw back. 

T-Dog grabbed her around the waist, trying to pull her away, and it seemed like everyone was yelling all at once— 

A gunshot rang out. 

The room fell silent, all eyes turning over to Beth, who had Lori's Colt Detective Special aimed up at the ceiling. Krystal really hoped she hadn't heard what Mere had said. T-Dog's grip slackened, and she pushed out of it, spitting blood from her split lip as she cast a withering look her father's way.

He seemed kind of surprised by the whole interaction, really, allowing Glenn to shove him backwards. Scrapping with your kid could do that to some people, she supposed, but wasn't that a Dixon rite of passage?

____

"What were you thinkin'?" Beth asked as she dabbed at a cut above her girlfriend's eye. Judith sat beside them on their bed, sound asleep despite all the commotion that had just gone down.

Krystal swallowed harshly. "I... I don' know. Just got mad."

The blonde raised a single eyebrow, and Krystal felt her soul was being examined. Beth didn't push any more, though. 

Instead, she said, "Y'know, I was pissed, at first. When Maggie told me you went off with him. Carol talked to me, though, got me to think about it a little more. How he was your daddy, even if he was an asshole. She said, 'sometimes people that are bad for you are in your life so long they start to seem like the standard.' Or… somethin’ like that, anyway.”

"Guess I owe her a thank you," Krystal said, voice kind of strained. 

Beth huffed a laugh, "Guess so. Just... my point is, he's bad for you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. But..."

"But he's your dad?"

"Yeah."

The blonde nodded, pursing her lips like she'd expected that answer but was disappointed anyway. 

____

Krystal greeted her uncle as he dismounted his— well, Merle's motorcycle, but it was basically his now. His brows furrowed when he saw her.

"The hell happened to you?"

"You should see the other guy," she dismissed.

He did when they made their way inside. She could see the exact moment he processed it, and to her surprise, he looked incredulously at Merle. Merle just itched the side of his face and looked at Rick, who was preparing to tell them how the meeting had gone.

"So, I met this Governor," he began. He paused to work his jaw a moment. Then, "Sat with him for quite a while."

"Just the two'a you?" Merle asked, and Rick nodded. "Shoulda gone while we had the chance, bro." 

He moved to linger by the cell block's gate, then, leaving Glenn grinding his teeth.

"He wants the prison," Rick continued. "He wants us gone. Dead, he wants us dead. For what we did to Woodbury."

A long pause stretched, and Beth reached for Krystal's hand, with the older girl giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

"We're goin' to war."

Chapter Text

Krystal didn't even know about the plan to trade Michonne to the Governor until an hour before the woman returned. She was unharmed, alone, and according to her Merle had changed his mind, which seemed quite out of character. It worried Krystal. Was he planning something? 

She was up in the guard tower when she got her answer, spotting his motorcycle riding up to the field through a rifle's scope. He was up front, held in place by one of Daryl's hands, which was pressing a blood soaked rag against his brother's abdomen. 

Krystal was down the tower in seconds, calling for help as she dashed towards the courtyard. 

"Hurry up!" Daryl snapped from outside, using his steering arm to shoot at a few approaching corpses.

Rick was soon there to help Krystal with the gate, and when it was open Daryl zoomed through. Krystal left their brave leader to handle shutting the gate himself, instead running after the bike until it screeched to a halt. 

"What happened?" She asked, taking in the awkward angle of her father's good arm, as well as it's two missing fingers.

"Governor," Daryl explained simply. Krystal wasn't surprised. 

Glenn and T-Dog lifted Merle from the bike, then, with T-Dog working him into a sort of princess carry and Glenn walking beside them, keeping pressure on the wound, grudges be damned. Daryl and Krystal trailed anxiously behind.

____

It was a while before Hershel walked out of Merle's cell, forehead beaded with sweat and hands stained red. The man had been lucky, he'd said; there was an exit wound, and given that he was still alive everything vital had to be intact. The arm, though, not so much. It was broken at the elbow, and though it had been fixed with a makeshift splint the odds of malunion were high. Which would mean he would be down to no functional arms— or, at least, one barely functional one. In the world they lived in, especially with the impending threat of the Governor, that could very well be a death sentence in and of itself.

It gave Krystal more confidence in their plan.

There was no way they could take him head on, he had too many people and too much artillery. They'd burned through most of what they had in their initial attack, and the only reason that had worked was because they'd caught the town by surprise. 

So why not try it again? 

Krystal threw the last of the bags into the Hyundai and then slammed the back door. She knew it had to happen, but it was an awful shame to pack all their belongings up when they weren't even really going anywhere. 

Turning to Beth, she found the blonde mustering up her best reassuring smile. There were a few people not engaging in their last stand, due to age, injury, or lack of experience, and Beth was one of them, alongside Carl, Hershel, Judith, and Merle— the later of whom was still in and out. Daryl and Krystal had to load him into the back of the car on a makeshift stretcher.

"Y'all get outta here if it starts to look bad," Daryl said as he helped Hershel into the passenger's seat.

"We will."

Krystal hugged her girlfriend around the baby in the blonde's arms, giving her a quick peck on the lips before they separated. 

"I love you. Be safe," Beth bid as she climbed into the driver's side. She passed Judith over to Carl, who was sitting on the center console, still stewing over being banned from participating.

"Love you, too." Krystal looked over to the boy, trying to quell the anxiety festering in her gut. He had a foul look on his face, a coldness that hadn't been with him back at the farm. It wasn't right, but Krystal found herself reassured by it. "You take care of 'em, alright?"

Carl nodded sagely. 

Once Hershel was inside, Beth took off, aiming for the woods. The Dixons both hustled inside the prison, unaware of how long they had before the Governor's arrival. If they got caught outside, they put the whole plan in jeopardy. 

Once they were safely in, they met up with Rick, Michonne, Carol, and T-Dog, and the six of them began to file into the tombs. That was, until Krystal— making up the rear— paused just outside the door, swallowing harshly. Memories of dark pathways filled with gnashing teeth came to mind, and suddenly that door seemed like a cavernous mouth waiting to swallow her whole. 

"You comin'?" Daryl asked, his tone impatient. 

Krystal nodded, and with a sharp breath crossed the threshold. She stuck close to him as they made their way deeper into the maze of corridors, palms soon slick with sweat. 

____

When all was said and done, two guard towers were smoldering, and the chain they used to bind the courtyard's gate had been busted, but they'd chased Woodbury's militia off. It wasn't a permanent solution, but they had a moment to breathe. 

Those hidden away in the woods returned, and while Daryl and T-Dog left to retrieve Merle, Krystal ran up to Beth.

"We did it," she said, a tired but still radiant smile across her face. Beth tried to reciprocate the energy, but there was something clouding her. Krystal's brows furrowed, "What's wrong?" 

"Oh, nothin'. Just... thinkin'." 

Krystal got the sense that wasn't the whole truth, but she left it. For now, at least— there was a team going after the Governor soon, and if Krystal was permitted to go she didn't want to waste her brief reprieve unpleasantly.

____

She wasn't, as it turned out. So she asked.

"Now we're just waitin', what's up?" 

Beth sighed, cradling Judith closely, "Carl. When we were out there some guy ran up— couldn’t’a been older than us."

Krystal found herself straightening at the knowledge of a danger that had clearly already passed, "What did he do?"

"Nothin'. He tried to hand his gun over, and Carl..." Beth shook her head slightly in displeasure, much like her father had a tendency to do, "He shot him. Just like that. We had to sit with him just... on the ground 'till it was safe to ride back."

Krystal didn't really know what to make of that. 

"Rick know?" She asked after a moment. 

Beth nodded, "Daddy told 'em."

____

When Rick, Michonne, and Daryl returned, it was with a bus full of people on their tails.

The story was recounted at least a thousand times that night; the Governor had killed his whole army, with only a woman named Karen managing to escape. Tyreese and Sasha were also there— Krystal hadn't met them before, but she'd been told of their previous visit to the prison. 

Everyone was settling now. It was a bit tense, but the bus was mostly the young, disabled, or elderly, with the exception of one pregnant woman. Krystal wasn’t dumb enough to underestimate them just off of that, though they seemed pretty docile, having lived behind walls since the start.

All in all, not a terrible ending to the story— with the exception of Andrea's passing. Maybe her death could have meaning, now. Something good could could be created in the wake of so much senseless tragedy. Naively, and for the first time since the word 'Woodbury' had left Michonne's lips, Krystal began to let herself hope.

Chapter Text

Ten Days In

Crying reached Krystal's ears. She wouldn't normally bat an eye over it, considering Judith was in the cell block, but it didn't sound like her. It sounded like an older kid; quieter, less of a wail, and from somewhere in the tombs.

She abandoned cleaning her Glock fast. 

"Hello?" She called, the word echoing as she poked her head through the door out of the block.

The crying quieted. 

"Hello?" A small voice returned. 

She moved forward, following the source of the noise, and quickly stumbled upon a little boy. He couldn't have been older than eight, and his face was red and crumpled. 

"Are you okay?" She asked, even though he clearly wasn't.

"I got lost."

"Oh. Uh— y'all're set up in D Block, right?" The boy nodded. "Yeah, come on, I'll take you there."

It was kind of a long walk, and the boy was still sniffling, so after a moment she tried to fill the silence. 

"What's yer name?"

"Luke."

"Hi Luke. I'm Krystal."

"Okay."

Never mind, then.

As soon as they entered the cell block, Karen approached them, visibly relieved. Most of Woodbury’s adults had died after their initial attack on the prison, which meant it was just her and a few others keeping track of the town’s children.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling the boy into a hug.

Krystal gave an awkward not-quite-thumbs-up and then turned, returning to her own space. The refugees weren't exactly hostile, but she could feel the looks, the questions at the tips of their tongues— when are we setting up showers, what do we do for heat, why is the water rationed so harshly— and she didn't want to deal with any of it.

____

Thirty-Nine Days In

"Damn, girl, did it hurt?"

Krystal was starting to regret signing up for construction of the food court. She stood from where she'd been crouched down measuring a plank, for a moment thinking the red-haired boy had been talking about her burn— because she hadn't been very popular in school. It took her until she processed his eyes jumping from her ass to her face to realize his intentions. She glanced over at Tyreese, who looked just as appalled as Krystal felt.

"I'm gay," the teen said, her lip curling slightly. Even if she wasn't, she had standards.

"Oh, c'mon, I bet I could change that."

How stereotypical was this kid going to get? Krystal chuckled, nothing but anger behind it. "Sure, pipsqueak."

He scoffed. As she began to turn back around, he said, "Don't gotta be such a bitch about it."

She promptly threw the plank she'd been measuring at his head. He barely managed to duck it, eyes now wide as saucers as he watched her start towards him.

"You wanna see a bitch?" She yelled, only to be stopped by Tyreese getting between them.

"Okay, alright, no need to hurt anybody," he tried, glancing over at the turned heads of the rest of their construction crew. "He's sorry, he'll leave you alone. Right, Nathan?"

The last sentence was pointed. Nathan nodded, a little pale now, "Right. Uh— s— uh, sorry."

Krystal resisted the urge to snap her teeth at him. Reluctantly, after fixing Tyreese with what was probably a death stare, she took a step back, holding her hands up in surrender. He remained between them as a protective barrier, because Nathan clearly wasn't one to take hints.

"Get outta here, man," Tyreese said, and the boy obeyed without further comment. "Sorry about him. His dad used to be a senator, he ain't used to havin' to act decent."

"I can tell."

____

Forty-Three Days In

Krystal stood at the entrance to her father's cell, taking him in. He'd been up since a few days after the Governor had disappeared, but they'd only exchanged a brief acknowledgment of one another in passing. Hershel of all people had finally convinced her to really talk to him. 

He'd been having a rough time, apparently. His prosthetic had been fitted with a more traditional hooked rod, but other than that, he was handless. Until the splint came off, at least. Less extreme but still noticeable was his crooked nose— more crooked than it had been, anyway. She'd broken it with the rifle, and she was decently sure the Governor had done a number on it, too. 

"Hey," she started, tentatively. 

"Hey!" he returned with his usual bull-in-China-shop-ness. "Finally came to see me, huh?”

"Maybe I shouldn't'a, 'f yer gonna be an ass. You apologize to Beth yet?"

She knew he hadn't, Beth would have told her. Didn't hurt to remind him, though.

"Yep. Got down on my knees to grovel, too." She rolled her eyes. "Come on, now, girl, I didn't raise ya to be so thin-skinned."

Wordlessly, she turned to leave. She didn't know how he managed to rile her up so effectively, not even a minute in and she was sick of him. As she headed towards her cell, Merle called after her.

"That’s right. Go ahead, run away from all 'a yer problems! Yer just like yer damn mama, y'know that?"

The sentence knocked her so off-kilter she actually stopped. She looked over her shoulder at him, incredulous. He didn't seem the slightest bit ashamed of what he'd just said.

"Fuck you," her voice carried more emotion than she would've preferred. 

She wished she had a smart-ass reply, or a straight face, just something to hide how deep it cut. She'd lived with him seventeen years and he hadn't once crossed that line.

____

Forty-Seven Days In

Krystal crouched beside Merle's motorcycle, covering the SS sticker on its gas tank with a shade of grey nail polish that stood stark against the paint. She had tried to just peel it off, but it had been on so long it was damn near fused to the metal. 

She hadn't really thought about the sticker's significance until T-Dog had pointed it out, and now that he had she couldn't unsee it. If the whole 'restructuring of a society' thing was going to work out, nazi symbols probably weren't the best to keep around. She knew Daryl hadn't thought about it— they'd spent so long surviving that they hadn't had time to think about the appearance of their vehicles. When it was just them it wasn't such a big deal; those nine months on the road had killed any and all remaining bigotry, their people knew that. Now, though, with Woodbury's refugees at the prison, it was an issue.

Speak of the devil, by the time the first 'S' was obscured, Daryl approached.

"What're you doin'?" He asked.

"What's it look like?" There wasn't much heat to it. 

He settled beside her, uncaring of her modifications. It was exactly the reaction she'd expected. "I, uh— talked to Merle. Says you still ain't happy with him."

"Nope."

A sigh. "Y'know he's sorry."

"Then he can say that. I'm tired 'a lettin' him get away with murder 'cause way deep down he's decent. He's a grown man, he can deal with the consequences of his actions." 

Silence stretched for a moment. Krystal tried to feel sure in her words, in her anger. In all reality she just wanted her dad. Her dad, the one she'd known when she was a little girl, the one she'd thought was a superhero. He didn't really exist, though— hadn't even then, she'd just hadn't known any better. 

____

Sixty Days In

"Yer dad talked to me today."

Krystal looked up from the clothes she was folding, over to where her girlfriend was setting out a rug. Judith was starting to play more independently, so Beth had put in a request for one. The baby was with Rick for the night, though, which gave the two some time to get their cell in order.

"What'd he say?" 

"I think he was tryin' to apologize? He told a story about some lady he served with who had a girlfriend, made some sorta analogy about cigarette brands and then just sorta... walked off."

Krystal chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds like him. I'll... I'll talk to 'em tomorrow."

____

Sixty-One Days In

Krystal sat beside her father for breakfast that morning. 

"Beth said you talked to her," she forwent any greetings.

Merle gave a firm nod. That was all she was going to get, she knew. The closest to real acknowledgment of harm done. She gave a nod in return, and they ate in silence.

That was, until a familiar little boy approached her.

"Here!" He said, excitement in his voice. She looked down at his outstretched arm to see a piece of paper. 

When she took it, examining it closer, a smile lit up her face. It was a crayon drawing of her.

"Oh my God, look at that! That looks just like me. Thank you, Luke, this is beautiful."

He ran off giggling, and she noticed more papers in his hands. He'd probably drawn a few people, then. It was stupid, but Krystal found herself a bit emotional as she looked back at her portrait.

"Beautiful, huh?" Merle teased, and she shot him a flat look. He was still on thin ice.

The drawing was pinned up on the wall above she and Beth's dresser as soon as Krystal got the chance.

____

Eighty-Four Days In

Krystal ran, clutching the duffel full of canned goods close to her chest— curtesy of Costco's impossibly tall shelves. With her free hand, she shot at some walkers blocking her scavenging team's exit. There was only three of them, they could slip past the crowd pretty easy—

A hand grabbed her ponytail, and she was nearly snatched off her feet. With a yelp she began to writhe, trying to force the hand off before teeth could reach her scalp. Sasha and Zack turned immediately around for her, with the former running to her aid as the latter watched their backs. Sasha stabbed the walker holding on to Krystal, but its grip didn't slacken, and more were closing in. 

Thinking fast, Sasha used her knife to just slice the hair off at the tie. It was sharp enough that it went through with ease, if a little painfully, and then the they were running, dashing out to the parking lot and into Zack's Dodge Charger. He peeled out, tires squealing, and only slowed once they were safely on the road back to the prison.

"Thanks," Krystal managed to pant out from the middle of the back seat. 

"No problem."

Duffle now sitting beside her, Krystal pulled the hair tie from her head, and with a bit of a chuckle asked, "How bad is it?"

Sasha turned to look at her, and Zack must've glanced at her in the rear view mirror, too, because both of them burst out into laughter.

When they made it back, Sasha pointed her in the direction of a sweet old lady who'd been a hairdresser for most of her life. By the time the whole fiasco was over, Krystal was left with a bob barely an inch below her ears.

____

One Hundred Two Days In

An uneasy feeling came upon Krystal as she walked through the tombs. To be fair, uneasy feelings did that a lot in that particular location, but nothing quite so intense. Not since they'd mapped the place out, anyway. She paused, looking around with a hand resting on her holstered gun. 

"Hello?" She called, expecting a walker to reveal itself, or something of the sort. 

What she was not expecting was sudden, rapid footsteps, and when she looked over at them Nathan was inches from her face. 

"Shit—!" Was all she managed to get out before she was tackled, two hands around her throat. 

The idiot either hadn't noticed her Glock or didn't care, so with one arm she clawed at his face, trying to jam a thumb in his eye, and with the other she struggled with her holster. He was too busy hissing about how she'd humiliated him to notice.

Dark spots were starting to dance in her vision when she finally got it free, pressing the barrel into the side of his stomach and firing. He released her neck in shock, howling with pain, and she managed to shove him off. Scrambling backwards, she continued to shoot until her gun had nothing left to fire. 

That was where Glenn, Tyrese, and Karen found her. Krystal was trembling, empty pistol still raised, and Karen quickly crouched beside her.

"What the hell happened?" Glenn asked as Tyrese approached Nathan's body. And it was absolutely a body, so Krystal wasn't sure why the man checked for a pulse, much less shook his head to tell them he hadn't found one.

"He t—" she took a sharp breath, and then immediately broke out into a cough— "he tried to kill me. He— he followed me, or— I don't know, but he— I didn't even see him 'till he came at me."

"Are you okay?" Glenn then crouched beside her as well, and she nodded.

Pretty soon more people gathered— Maggie, Rick, T-Dog, Sasha, a few Woodbury refugees and other various people they’d found out on the road that she didn't know the names of.

Maggie and Karen escorted Krystal away from the commotion, with the former uttering a gentle, "Let's get you looked at, come on."

When they entered C block, Krystal could pinpoint the exact moment her dad saw her. He looked completely unbothered by all the commotion until then, when he straightened up, pulling himself to his feet with his claw. His remaining arm was out of the splint, now, but like Hershel had expected it hadn't healed quite right, and it kind of constantly ached. He didn't put too much weight on it anymore. 

"What's goin' on?" He asked, making his way over alongside the old man. Beth came out of their cell with a similar question, Judith in tow.

Hershel began to look Krystal over, and Maggie ushered the two— technically three, including the baby— out near the tables, presumably to explain.

Good. Krystal didn’t want to talk about it any more.

____

One Hundred Eleven Days In

She stabbed at the walkers building up on the chainlink fence, a relatively new job the council had begun to distribute among the community’s members. And wasn’t that a term, ‘the council.’ After the incident with Nathan, they realized they needed a proper group of officials to deal with such serious matters, mostly because the boy’s mother had started a small riot over Krystal’s lack of punishment— as if nearly being murdered wasn’t punishment enough. 

Krystal hadn’t exactly been dealing with it well. She was fine, physically, though, which meant she could keep herself busy to her heart’s content. Weirdly, the most traumatizing thing about the whole ordeal was her defending herself. She could still hear Nathan’s death rattle clear as day. She’d never killed anyone before— that she knew of, anyway. She’d fired a lot of bullets while rescuing Glenn and Maggie from Woodbury, but she hadn’t seen where any of them had ended up.

“Hey!” Daryl called, approaching. He and Michonne must’ve finally gotten back from their latest search. It had been a while, Krystal had been starting to worry.

She plastered a half-hearted smile on her face and returned his greeting, pulling the gloves from her hands and tucking them in her waistband. 

He hugged her perhaps a little too intensely, and when they parted he moved his hands to rest on her shoulders. She snatched back with an irrational spike of panic, and then immediately felt guilty at her uncle’s sheepish expression.

“Sorry, I…” 

“I heard what happened,” he said. Then, after a moment passed, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Really. I mean, I’m… I will be.”

____

One Hundred Thirty-One Days In

A knock on the bars of their cell drew both Krystal and Beth’s attention.

“Hey,” Merle began, and Krystal stood from the bed to speak to him, not bothering to slide the door open.

“Yeah?”

“I, uh— I found this, out in that department store. Figured y’all might like it.”

He handed her a simple little rectangular sign through the bars. ‘HOME SWEET HOME’ was written on in in large cursive lettering. Krystal smiled. He’d gone on his first run that afternoon, and apparently he’d been thinking about her. 

“Thanks,” she said.

He gave a bit of an awkward nod and then retreated.

Chapter Text

“I love you, be safe.” Beth gave what was the standard goodbye at this point, giving her girlfriend a quick kiss. 

“We will. Oh— uh, Molly said she wanted to talk to you about something, by the way, you should find her when you can.”

“Alright. I’ll see you when y’all get back,” she said, and then started off back towards the prison.

“I love your confidence!” Krystal called after her. It wasn’t entirely misplaced— they’d gone an entire month without losing anyone, after all.

“How long y’all been married, again?” Daryl teased as he loaded up the Hyundai. The Ram was already stocked, with Zack idling beside it.

“Shit, I should prolly ask soon, seein’ as we got about eighteen kids an’ all.”

Daryl chuckled. “Hey, y’all signed up for babysittin’.”

“She signed up for babysittin’, I just get roped in.”

“Hey!” The newest addition to their community approached, catching the scavenging group’s attention. Krystal couldn’t recall his name for the life of her. He was nice, though, she didn’t mind him. “I’d like to start pullin’ my weight around here.”

“Bob, it’s only been a week,” Sasha said, not as herself but as a member of the council. Bob. Krystal really needed to remember that.

“That’s a week worth of meals. A roof over my head. Let me earn my keep.”

After some back and forth, with endorsement from both Daryl and Glenn— apparently he was an army medic, which Krystal had not known— Bob was permitted to come. Krystal climbed on to the back of her uncle’s bike, arms around his midsection as he started out the courtyard’s gate. There was enough room in the cars, technically, but she liked riding with him. Not that she would ever admit that.

They didn’t get very far before they came across Rick, Carl, and Michonne. Daryl might’ve stopped running himself into the ground trying to find the Governor, but Michonne had not, and despite the fact that she’d clearly only just dismounted her horse, she offered to accompany them. 

____

All in all, there was eight of them at the Big Spot; Daryl, Michonne, Zack, Bob, Sasha, Tyreese, Glenn, and Krystal— the latter of which would trust almost all of the formers with her life. She didn’t feel terrible about their odds, especially since things seemed quiet. Maybe she’d just gotten too comfortable being outside the walls, but she was kind of excited.

They sat by the windows after making some noise, just waiting for anything inside to make its way out to them. Zack decided to continue the game he’d started the month before, which was guessing Daryl’s old occupation. Krystal and her uncle both knew he’d been unemployed, which kind of made it more amusing.

“Alright, the way you are at the prison—“ Zack began— “Y’know, your bein’ on the council, you’re able to track— your helpin’ people, but your still being kind of, uh… surly.”

Krystal laughed, and Daryl shot her a half-hearted glare.

“Big swing here.” Zack paused for dramatic effect. “Homicide cop.”

It was Michonne’s turn to laugh. Krystal looked to her uncle to see his reaction, and when he kept a straight face she did, too. 

“What’s so funny?” Daryl asked.

“Nothing. It makes perfect sense.”

“Actually, the man’s right. Undercover.” 

Krystal really struggled to stifle a smile.

Zack looked at him, eyes widening a bit in disbelief, “Come on, really?”

“Yep,” she piped up. “Pay was shit, ‘s why he lived with my daddy ‘an I.”

“Yeah. And I don’t like to talk about it, ‘cause… it was a lotta heavy shit, y’know?” 

“Dude, c’mon, really?” He and Zack stared at each other for a moment, and then the boy sighed. “Okay. I’ll just keep guessin’, I guess.”

“Yeah, you keep doin’ that.” 

____

He didn’t get to. He didn’t get to, because walkers started to fall from the fucking sky, and then they were sinking their teeth into his leg, his neck, his face, and the ceiling was creaking ominously under the weight of a helicopter and Daryl was dragging his niece out of the store by the collar of the bulletproof vest he had made her wear. 

There was no time to catch their breath outside, because bodies were crashing down from the roof, so the seven of them ran straight for the vehicles. In the panic Krystal was half-shoved into the back of the Ram, right beside Michonne.

____

Once they made it back, Krystal sat beside Beth in their bed like a stone. She began to struggle out of her vest as the blonde closed her journal. It wasn’t working out too well, so Beth assisted, and the two left the thing abandoned on the floor.

“What happened?” Beth asked.

Krystal swallowed harshly. “Zack,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. 

That was all it took. Beth nodded, sighing and moving over to adjust the Workplace Accident board they’d began to keep. After the ‘30’ had been reverted to a ‘0,’ Beth returned, and the two sat in quiet for a moment, Krystal leaning her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder. This was just a part of life now. People died horrifically all the time, neither of them were going to break down over it. Krystal especially had seen plenty of it, with all the runs she’d gone on. 

She still couldn’t quite kick the nasty feeling it left behind, though that was probably a good thing at the end of the day.

Chapter Text

Rick's dreaded alarm rang through C Block, and Krystal rose with a groan. Beth was out of bed quicker than her, sliding on her day clothes as Krystal was still rubbing exhaustion from her eyes. She hadn't slept well last night, considering everything that had happened. 

Groggily, she shed what she'd conked out in and pulled on the nearest articles of clothing; a black tank and some skinny jeans a couple sizes too large. As she cinched her belt down around her waist for dear life, Beth tossed a hoodie at her; the air was still frigid with morning chill, she could see the goosebumps rising along her girlfriend's arms. 

"Thanks," Krystal said as the blonde left to retrieve Judith, the hoodie just kind of sitting where it had landed on her shoulder until her belt was done. 

By the time she was in it, Rick and Carl were leaving to do their morning chores, and Beth was walking around with the kid. 

"Good morning, little worm," Krystal greeted, kissing the top of the baby's head. A few more months and she would be a toddler, she was growing like a weed. Looking up at Beth, Krystal said, "I'm gonna be on the fence if y'all need me."

"Alright. Love you." 

"Love you." Krystal kissed her cheek and then departed. 

She didn't quite make it to the fence, though, because screams and gunshots came from back inside. Without even really thinking, she dashed towards the commotion, meeting up with Rick and Daryl as the three of them burst into what turned out to be D Block.

It was chaos. 

People were running, shouting, crying, there was blood and walkers everywhere. Rick began to usher people out as those more prepared filed in. Krystal nearly ran right past Luke, who was sitting petrified on the ground as a corpse crawled towards him. She shot it, then scooped him up, half-throwing him into a cell with Karen and David as well as a few other kids. 

She then hurried upstairs at the sound of another scream, and pistol-whipped a walker approaching a cowering woman. The thing fell, and Krystal began to stomp on it until her boot hit the cement, splattering blood and brain matter everywhere.

"Go!" She ordered, and the woman, now covered in gore, obeyed. 

____

It had been a sickness. That was all. Two people inside their walls had died from it, one who hadn't even escaped his cell, and it had led to a massacre. The mortality rate was so high it had led to someone slaughter two of their own in an attempt to stop the spread, which hadn't even worked. They didn't have the manpower to find out who, considering the vast majority of the prison was being quarantined— hell, at the rate they were going, the killer could very well already be dead. Their priority was medicine, so that was what Krystal had set her sights on.

She sat in the back of Zack's Charger, sandwiched between Tyreese and Bob, with Daryl and Michonne in the front. Her dad had given her hell about leaving so soon after her last excursion, but ultimately he didn't get a say, considering he was neither her guardian nor a particularly respected member of the community. Oh— and she was an adult, of course, but most of the people around her seemed to forget that.

Maybe she should've listened to him, because the run went wrong fast. They got driven off the road, and separated from Zack's car, which meant they needed to fix up another they happened to come across. That was what had led her, Daryl, and Bob into an old, family-owned auto shop. They found the necessary supplies with little issue, and as they exited Daryl stopped, shining his flashlight at the floor. 

"That's puke." Random as it was, he was right. There was a bunch of it crusted over, an empty bottle of antifreeze beside it. Not hard to put the pieces together. "Those douchebags in the vines... took themselves out. Holdin' hands, kumbaya-style."

Krystal's metaphorical hackles rose. Images of Beth crying in a bathroom flashed through her mind unbidden, wrist dripping blood onto the tile, desperately apologizing. The teen moved to snap at him, but Bob spoke first.

"They wanted to go out out together, same as they lived. That make 'em douchebags?"

"It does if they coulda gotten out."

"Daryl." It wasn't chastising, exactly, but it held an edge of warning. He turned to look at her, a sarcastic comment dying on his lips when he connected the dots.

A moment of silence passed before Krystal worked her jaw, stalking past him. Behind her, Bob shot her uncle a questioning look, and Daryl just shook his head. Now wasn't the time, and either way it wasn't his place.

____

Of course once they had the medicine, they had to make a dramatic escape out a window. What was an adventure without one? 

The small structure they were escaping to was about a yard away from the main building, which meant it was a decent jump. Bob landed wrong, toppling over and nearly dropping his duffle over the edge. The crowd of corpses below tried their damndest to drag him down by it, and Krystal didn't hesitate to hit her stomach beside him. They couldn't waste anything. They'd barely found enough as it was, ignoring that it was all expired and the dosage would need to be higher. 

The force of the walkers began to pull her forward, though. She tried to hook her feet around the lip of the structure she was laid across, but she was just half an inch too short, too far. She began to slip over, nothing but a sharp gasp leaving her as her chest dipped past the roof, right hand careening into the dead's waiting jaws—

Tyreese snatched her back just in time, hauling her up on her feet. She stumbled a little, nearly tripping over the bag that had also thankfully been rescued, and it made an odd, heavy clunk. She looked down at it in shock. That was not the sound of pills. Daryl clearly agreed, giving Bob a suspicious look before rummaging through it and retrieving... a bottle of alcohol. 

Oh. 

She sat for a moment as he and Bob began to argue, taking a moment to collect herself. It was then she noticed the smallest little nick on her ring finger, just above the knuckle. It hadn't been there before she'd dropped it into those walkers.

Her mind began to spin. 

Was it a tooth mark? Say it was, was it enough to kill her? Was she even certain she hadn't gotten it somewhere else? No-one seemed to noticed her inner turmoil, and she was too afraid to speak, just staring at the tiny, tiny little cut.

If it was from a walker she needed to act fast. Adrenaline pumping, she pulled her knife from her belt and splayed her dominant hand out as best she could, lining the blade up about half an inch below the wound. Better safe than sorry, right?

"What are you doing—!" Michonne noticed her half a second before Krystal brought the sharp edge down, cleanly severing her finger.

Pain shot down nearly the entirety of her arm, and she swallowed a scream as well as she could— which was to say, not at all. Everyone seemed to be still with shock for a moment, trying to process what she'd just done.

It was Bob who moved first, flipping straight into medic mode. He crouched in front of her, lifting her bleeding hand above her chest.

"You got bit?"

"I think," she managed through grit teeth. "I don't— it was so small, I don't know."

"Smart move. Can't be too careful, right? Come on, on your feet, we got a first aid kit in the car." 

He helped her up, with Daryl quickly— and unnecessarily— taking her good arm. She'd lost a finger, not a knee. Either way the two sort of escorted her back, Michonne and Tyreese taking out the dead along the way. 

____

It wasn't until Krystal began to cough that she started to worry she hadn't gotten to the small puncture mark in time. She felt... well, she felt like she was dying. It had come on with the speed of a bullet train, and she certainly looked like all the other bitten people she'd seen. Sweaty, flushed, overall miserable. She made them pull over, and when she tried to get out she just kind of spilled out onto the ground, leaning her head against the bottom of the seat. 

"You were in D Block," Daryl stopped chewing on his thumbnail long enough to say. "It's prolly just whatever's goin' around. I mean, you said it, you ain't even sure you got bit to start with."

"I was sure enough to cut it off!"

"Hey, no need to panic. Let's get some medicine in you, see if it helps," Bob suggested. 

Krystal shook her head, "No. If... if I'm bit, yer just gon' waste it."

"And what if you aren't?"

She looked up at Michonne, steadily loosing capacity for speech as her brain cooked inside her skull. "I don' know. Le's... wait. To see."

"To see what, if you start coughin' up blood?"

"Sure."

Michonne scoffed.

"We're not gonna do that," Daryl said, and he sounded much more somber than his niece was expecting. "Just take some, we gotta figure out how much to give people anyway."

She gave in after that. More out of a lack of energy to fight than a real change in opinion, but the group would take what they could get. 

____

She woke up in the passenger seat of the car as the sun was setting, an IV tube in her arm, feeling about a thousand times better. To her knowledge, walker venom didn't allow that, so she was going to go ahead and give her team the win on that one. She could've cried with relief. For all her tough talk, she really didn't want to die. 

Michonne gave her a warm, kind of pitying smile from behind the wheel. 

"Here," the woman said, pulling a beat up plastic bottle from a cup holder and offering it to Krystal. 

It was only a small portion, isolated from their canteen to keep her from spreading any more germs than she already had, but it tasted like ambrosia to her parched throat.

____

Tyreese barely waited for the car to stop before he was out, running to see his sister. Rick greeted the rest of them, sweaty and clearly frazzled— Krystal didn't know what had happened, but it must've been serious. He moved to unload the car alongside Bob and Michonne as Daryl walked around to his niece's door, throwing it open and helping her out. 

"I— I can do it," she rasped out, and while it might've been true her uncle didn't move away from her. She didn't protest any more; sure, maybe she could, but a strong breeze was liable to knock her down in her current state.

Merle ran up then, having apparently been waiting for them.

"The hell happened—?"

"Get— stay back, 'm sick."

Daryl didn't stop walking, "I'm gettin' her to the quarantine zone."

"The hell you are! That place is a damn graveyard, it ain't safe."

"If you wanna help, get the shit outta that van," Daryl snapped.

Krystal's lungs decided now was an excellent time to send her into a coughing fit, and her uncle had to readjust his hold on her so she didn't keel over.

Merle hadn't been kidding about the 'graveyard' thing. Maggie found the two of them at death row's broken-open entrance, guiding Krystal the rest of the way inside, and the place was covered in bodies. 

She was shut in a cell with Lizzie and Luke, the latter of which seemed incredibly anxious. 

"Did you guys get the medicine?" Lizzie asked as Krystal all but collapsed onto a bed.

"Yep. 'S comin'."

Chapter Text

Krystal waited with bated breath for the sun to set. Now that they had a way to treat the illness, most of those affected were allowed to return to their usual cells, but she had opted not to. Ignoring just potentially getting Beth sick, Judith spent a majority of her time with the blonde, and in her spaces. Krystal didn't need to put the kid in any more danger than she already was. 

That didn't stop Beth from coming to visit her once Judith was with Rick for the night, though. It probably should've, but after Krystal's maybe-near-maybe-far death experience the two of them were a little clingy. 

Equally antsy was Luke, who, since Karen and David's deaths, didn't have a cell to return to. Krystal was unofficially looking after him until he recovered. He was a sweet kid, but he had been in a box for a few days, and he was just sick enough to be uncomfortable and not bedridden. He was driving her a little crazy. 

"How 'bout we do tic-tac-toe," she suggested, sitting on the floor and pulling close a box of chalk that Hershel had brought them. 

"Tic-tac-toe is boring."

Krystal gave an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to her chest. Luke visibly fought a smile. 

"Alright, fine, grouchy. Dots-n-boxes?"

"What's that?"

"What do you mean 'what's that?' You ain't never played dots-n-boxes?" 

He shook his head.

"Huh. Alright. Uh, so like... hang on, let me make the dots." She drew eight quick rows on the concrete floor, each eight dots long. "So we both take turns drawin' lines until one of us makes a box. Whoever gets the last line on the box gets a point."

She made a line as example. "Like this. Here. Uh— wait, actually, we should use different colors."

He got the hang of it pretty fast, and became completely determined to win a round. Krystal didn’t plan on letting him, but she was happy to help him practice. 

By the time Beth arrived, the cell was technicolor with chalk dust.

____

It was dark, now. Luke was asleep in the top bunk, and Beth and Krystal both sat on the bottom, leaning against each other with their heads tilted in opposite directions. 

“You need to go back. Rick’s gonna have you up at the ass crack ‘a dawn,” the latter said, reluctance plaguing her tone.

“I know.” Beth sounded dangerously close to falling asleep. 

Krystal shook her own shoulder a bit to stir her. “Really. I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

The blonde hummed in displeasure, but got up anyway. 

“I love you. Sleep good, I’ll see you when you get off baby duty.” Krystal took her hand and kissed the back of it, like a prince might in a Disney movie, and Beth gave a sleepy smile. 

“I love you, too.”

With that she was off. An overwhelming feeling of sadness overcame Krystal, then, as it always did when she was left alone at the end of the day. Pretty much since the apocalypse started, she’d had people around her. She’d grown accustomed to sleeping nearly on top of everyone she cared about, had only just gotten comfortable sleeping in the cells, with her family still only feet away. Now there was entire buildings between her and anyone who wasn’t Luke. Nothing against him, of course, but it wasn’t the same. 

God, she was so ready to get better.

Chapter Text

A loud boom rocked death row so profoundly that concrete powder began to rain from the ceiling. Krystal straightened up, scrambling out of bed. Gunfire continued steadily on in the background as she slipped her boots on, shouting and screaming echoing all around.

"What's going on?" Luke said, his little voice trembling. 

"I don't know. Get your shoes on, we need to get to the bus."

She slipped her gun into her holster as he obeyed, throwing the few important belongings they had with them into his dinosaur backpack. 

A second explosion— and that was what it had to be— wracked the building, closer this time. Krystal hurried Luke out of the cell, into the tombs only to be immediately stopped by a walker. She stilled for just a second, her stomach dropping. Either a member of the community had died— which she didn't believe, because the corpse was ripe and completely unfamiliar— or there was a breech, and if it was the latter... 

Thinking fast, she stabbed the thing through a missing piece of skull, and then dragged its now limp body back into death row. Something horrible was going down, something more than just walkers in the building, and if they were going to make it out they needed to take extreme measures. 

She drove her knife into the walker's bloated stomach and sliced as far up as she could.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked, looking at her like she'd grown not just a second head but a third as well. 

Why hadn't they had some sort of survival class? It had been naive to think the kids wouldn't need it.

"If we smell like them, they won't hurt us," she explained, stifling a gag as she pulled a handful of blackish goop from the wound she'd just created. "We're gon' put some of this on ourselves, and then we're gon' calmly walk to the bus, okay?"

He didn't respond, but based on the shade of green he was turning he'd heard her.

She slathered it all over the front of her shirt, first, in an attempt to show him it wasn't bad, even though it was really, really bad. She would have to peel her skin off if— when they made it out, if she ever wanted to feel clean again.

"See?" She said once she was almost suffocating in the smell of rot. A forced smile ghosted across her face for just a moment before it was gone, and she waddled over to Luke on her knees, "Your turn." 

He subconsciously leaned away as she approached, but his feet didn't move, and she was able to cover him decently. Before she stood, she moved her hands to rest on both of his arms.

"I need you to listen to me, okay? Once we go out there, you stay calm. Don't make any noise, don't run. We'll be fine."

He nodded, already seeming near tears. Krystal took his hand as they finally re-entered the hall. There was at least eight walkers in the cramped space, now, and she felt Luke stiffen. Gently, she pulled him forward, brushing shoulders with one of the dead. As confident as she'd tried to appear to her charge, her heart was racing. All that was keeping this herd from tearing them apart was scent, and who knew how long that would last.

Making it outside revealed a whole new set of chaos. The fences were down, walkers were everywhere, and fires blazed from all directions— not to mentions all the bodies strewn about. Krystal strained her eyes in a desperate attempt to spot any of her family, alive or dead, but she found nothing. Not until they turned a corner and she saw a baby seat sitting out in the middle of the courtyard. 

She moved perhaps a little faster than she should've, but the living dead were fairly spaced out now. Dread crept up her spine when she got closer and heard the absolute silence coming from the carrier. 

And inside was nothing besides a red stain. Krystal nearly hit her knees, her vision blurring and an unshed sob burning her throat. 

"No..." she failed to contain it, no louder than a whisper.

This couldn't be happening. It felt like the floor had dropped out beneath her, and she stumbled a bit, just like the walkers around her. She felt like one. How could this have happened? Who had just left Judith outside to die, what kind of monster had been living amongst them? She wanted to scream and throw up and hit people and lay down on the floor to die.

But Luke tugged at her hand. 

She couldn't fail another child. 

In a haze she led him forward, tears falling down her blank face. The bus was long gone, now, so instead she tried not to look at the smoldering remains of her home as she walked right over the fence that had been such a godsend all those months ago. And it had only been a few months, even if it felt like years and seconds all at once. A tank had driven right through their budding crops in its haste to destroy their lives, and she didn't have to wonder what had happened anymore. The idea had struck her as soon as she'd heard that first explosion, but now she was certain, this was the Governor's doing.

They walked until they could no longer see the prison, and the sun was setting. That wonderful blanket of shock was wearing off now that they were out of the thick of it, and she found herself fighting a meltdown tooth and nail. There wasn't time. Luke was the priority. Luke was hungry, and thirsty, and scared because they were sitting ducks. 

She could fix one of those things. Rooting through their measly little backpack of supplies, she handed him her canteen. Their canteen, now.

"Thank you," he said, voice small as he accepted it. 

She left him where he was to attempt to build a fire. It didn't work, of course, because everything was wet. Apparently it had rained recently. Probably for the best, considering walkers were attracted to fire. Not like they had anything to cook. It was cold, though, and all they had were thin jackets. They wouldn't freeze, but it wasn't comfortable.

She gave Luke hers in a bid to get the boy to sleep. After a long time, he did, curled up beside her on the pine needles as she stared out into the woods. Her mind stuck on the bloody carrier. Replayed the image until she thought she saw bits of flesh, of too-small organs and tiny, shredded clothes.

In all her attempts to distract herself, her mind didn't conjure much better. She saw Beth, torn away from Judith. Rick and Carl much the same. Saw Daryl trying to save Krystal's barely-operational father and failing miserably. And even if it wasn't horrific death, she saw them far away. Lost to her forever.

She pulled her knife from her belt just to distract herself from the images she could see forming in the darkness, carving three simple words into the tree she was leaning against: KRYS WAS HERE.

Chapter Text

Krystal continued to carve that message wherever they stayed, mostly on trees. She knew it wasn't the wisest, leaving an obvious trail— especially if the Governor was still out there— but she was too desperate to care.

It caught up to her about a week after everything happened. 

She heard the pump of a shotgun from behind her before an unfamiliar, masculine voice said, "Howdy, Krys."

She didn't dare move for her gun. Instead, she slowly brought her hands up, giving Luke a nod to encourage him to do the same.

"Both 'a y'all, turn around real slow, please."

They obeyed. 

The man was white, tall, probably in his mid-forties, if she had to guess. "Pass over that bag and nobody's gotta get hurt."

She didn't bother begging. He pulled a shotgun on an eight year old, she wasn't going to appeal to his humanity. Still, something in her eyes must've given away her desperation as she slid the backpack off of her shoulder, because he raised the gun a bit.

"Come on, now, no funny business."

She set the bag on the leaf-strewn ground.

The old man glanced at it, then looked back at her, "Gun, too."

She unholstered her Glock and tossed it on top of the bag. Luke began to quietly cry, his arms no doubt aching. 

"On yer knees." Krystal sneered, but did as she was told. "You, too, little boy. Unless you want a hole blown through yer mommy."

Her wrists were bound in front of her with a zip-tie, while Luke's were tied with rope because apparently their kidnapper had run out of his usual supply. Must've done this often.

"What's 'Krys' short for, again? Krystina? Krysta?" The stranger asked in a casual tone, now dropped into a crouch as he rooted through their bag. 

"Krystina," she lied. She didn't really know why, or if it would benefit her at all, but it felt like a private 'fuck you' to the guy.

"Well, Krystina, I gotta say, I'm disappointed in yer stash. This ain't—" 

Something made a loud rustle from off in the distance, likely just a branch falling, or something of the sort. Their kidnapper was jumpy, though, and he leapt to his feet.

"What was that?" He asked, before whipping around to look at Krystal, all pretense of friendliness gone. "You got people with you?"

She stayed silent, and he kicked her in the chest, sending her toppling over. 

"Fuckin' answer!"

"No!" Luke wailed, "It's just us! We're alone, please stop hurting her!"

"Goddamnit, I don't believe this—" the man turned, presumably to address the fake person out in the woods, "You come up here and I'll fuckin' kill both of them! You hear me?"

From the ground, barely propping herself up, Krystal found herself face to face with the man's ankle, exposed by a short set of tennis shoes. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, she lunged forward, biting into his heel as hard as she could. 

The man screamed, moving to turn his gun on her, but a loud pop split the air before he could, and he hit the ground. She worked her knife from her boot as he writhed, spitting out the piece of his Achilles tendon she'd taken, and then climbed on top of him, stabbing any fleshly bits that she could reach. A scream of rage left her as she continued long past the fatal blow, until a cavity had been cut into his chest and the both of them were covered in his blood. 

Men like him were the reason her home was gone. Men like him were the reason Judith was dead, why Krystal would never see her family again, see Beth again, why Luke would never have a decent life— it was their fault.

When she finally dropped back on to the forest floor, she was panting, and her palms were shredded from where they'd slipped past the hilt of the knife and onto the blade. She cast her eyes over to Luke, who was staring at... at her fearfully. 

"C— come here," she said, her voice cracking. He obeyed, if anxiously, and she cut the rope from his wrist. 

Offering the blood-slick blade to him, he did the same for her. An overwhelming need to leave struck her, and she hurried him up, stuffing their backpack and her Glock into the man’s bag, then slinging it over her shoulder. She barely had the presence of mind to grab his shotgun before she all but ran off, Luke on her heels. He tried to give her knife back as they hurried away, but she shook her head. He couldn't be defenseless, not in this world.

"Keep it." 

Wordlessly, he tucked it into his belt, making sure his shirt was behind the hilt. She couldn't help but wonder where he'd learned that, but capacity for casual conversation was evading her at the moment. 

They walked so long they made their way to a road. Luke grew tired, and instead of stopping Krystal just picked him up, even though her whole body ached and she felt like she was about to fall over. She couldn't stop. They needed to get as far away from that man as possible, and a part of her was trying to be logical about it— it was because of all the noise they'd made, or in case he had friends— but she knew it was really herself that she was running from. Her kill count was two, now, directly anyway, and she felt so numb to it all that it was frightening. 

She was just barely stumbling down the road, Luke half-asleep in her arms, when she heard a rustling from behind her. She turned, somehow expecting to find that man alive after everything she'd done to him, and instead saw... Merle. 

He looked about as stunned as she felt. She tried and failed to keep her face from crumpling as he approached, nearly dropping Luke in a sudden wave of relief because someone was alive. He sort of slipped to his feet, her exhausted grip tight enough to keep him from outright falling.

"Daddy—" she sobbed out just a half a second before Merle pulled her into a one-armed hug. 

She buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to him like she was a little girl again, crying until her head hurt and her face was hot and puffy. He didn't push her away, or even attempt to let her go, despite the dried viscera she was covered in.

Chapter Text

Krystal watched the fire burning before her, gently carding her fingers through Luke's hair. He was asleep, his head resting in her lap, and Merle was opposite them. Apparently he'd been following her markings, which meant some good had come out of them— still, she’d opted to quit carving them. 

"Did you see Beth?" 

"Nope. Got separated from everyone when shit hit the fan. But, uh..." Merle paused, looking hesitant to say whatever had just crossed his mind, and her heart sank.

"Who?" 

He looked at her with more empathy than she thought him capable of. "The old man."

All she could do for a moment was stare. It shouldn't have been so surprising— Hershel was elderly, and his leg was gone; the odds of him surviving the attack were low, let alone the aftermath of scrounging around in the woods, in the winter no less. For some reason, deep in her childish mind, she just perceived him as above it all. Like he was simply too respectable to kill. 

After an excruciatingly long pause, with her eyes back on the fire, she said, "Judith, too."

She didn't know why. Maybe just to share her grief, maybe because she felt he deserved to know. The rest of the night was spent in silence.

____

It felt like the rest of her life would be spent in silence. The supplies they'd stolen from that man— Vincent Brown, as the ID tucked in his bag had read— barely lasted a day between the three of them, leaving them all tired, hungry, and cold. There wasn't much to chatter about.

"I'm goin' huntin'," she said as her companions settled into an old cabin. 

It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep the dead off of them. The same couldn't be said for the living, though, which meant they couldn't stay long. 

"You can't just go wanderin' through the woods alone," Merle protested. 

"I know you ain't been out with me in a while, but I got a sense 'a direction," with that she was out the door.

____

She came back with a fox. It was barely enough to feed them all. Merle and Luke were both awake when she entered, with the former sitting like he was waiting for her to return from a sneaky night out. Not that he'd ever cared when she had them, Before. He hadn't even been there when Rick had brought her back in that squad car all those years ago.

"You sure took yer time."

All that annoyance she'd left behind in the woods came back tenfold. She practically slammed the fox down on a nearby table, sending up a plume of dust. 

"You get lost?"

"Nope," she said, pulling Vincent's knife from her belt, beginning to skin the animal. Luke had officially taken over her old one, she was lucky to find a replacement so fast.

____

'SANCTUARY FOR ALL, COMMUNITY FOR ALL, THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE' the sign before her read. Below it was a map with the railroad paths highlighted, all meeting at a spot marked 'Terminus.'

Her sigh of relief was audible. "We need to go here."

"Nah. There ain't no tellin' who runs that place, leavin' signs out like this. Either they're settin' traps or they're just plain stupid, we don't need that. We'll be fine on our own."

"No, we won't. We—" she glanced over to Luke, then lowered her voice— "We can't keep goin' like this. You know what happens to kids on the road."

Merle shrugged, "So we drop him off."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She was back to full volume now. 

"Calm down, Mama Bear, it was just a suggestion." He held his arms up in mockingly placating way.

Krystal hiked Vincent's duffel bag over her shoulder, and continued on down the train tracks. "Come on, kid."

"Where the hell are you going?"

"I told you where! You wanna split up, that's yer business."

"Hey! Hey—" he jogged to match their pace, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her around to face him, "Why do you really wanna go, huh? What aren't you sayin'?"

"I need a reason other than stayin' alive?"

"After what happened at the prison you oughta know these little communities ain't safe. Why are you runnin' in head first? That somethin' officer friendly taught you, that dumb luck's on yer side?"

"Beth might be there!" She snapped. "And Daryl, and— and my whole damn family, okay? If there's a chance I can see any of them again I'm gon' take it."

"They ain't yer family," he said it almost on autopilot, without thinking too much about it.

Krystal was close to stamping her feet. "Why not? Huh? Those people have saved my ass more times than I can count! Took care 'a me when I was sick, when I was hurt, fed me, clothed me, risked their lives for me, what the hell else do you call that?"

"You kn—" he began, but she cut him off. He had cracked open a floodgate, and no-one was tossing him a life jacket any time soon.

"What, do they gotta smack me around? Sell my gameboy for drug money, call my girlfriend a dyke? Maybe lead a psychopath right to my doorstep?" She shoved him a bit. "Huh? Are they family then? 

Silence reigned for a moment.

Then, "Come with us or don't, but keep your opinions to yourself."

____

Their travels were thick with tension, but they did stick together. Krystal was trying her hardest to be positive, now that they had a destination in mind, and it showed in Luke's behavior. It seemed her hope was contagious.

"You think Beth will be there?" He asked as he walked beside her. Merle was trailing behind them petulantly. 

"Maybe. Odds are someone is, we can't be the only ones who saw those signs."

They'd passed a few more as they followed the tracks, and Krystal was willing to bet there were more in the area.

"I hope Tyrese is. He's really nice."

"He is, isn't he?"

"He used to give me toys when Karen was taking care of me."

"That sounds like him."

"And Molly, too! She's my best friend."

She smiled, almost somber. "We'll see when we get there, bud."

Something told her most of the prison's children hadn't made it. Luke continued to chatter away, and Krystal listened, warmed by it. It had been a while since he'd gotten to act like a normal kid. 

"Hey!" The voice came from behind them, most certainly not Merle's, and all three of them spun around. 

Krystal aimed her gun at the newcomer, hurrying forward until she was beside her father, keeping Luke close behind them. 

She lowered it almost immediately.

"Holy shit." 

T-Dog walked towards them, a giant smile on his face. He gave an elated chuckle as he pulled her into a hug, which she quickly reciprocated. She didn't even care that she was being choked by his shoulder. He pulled away after giving her a solid pat on the back, and then he took a knee, giving Luke a fist-bump.

"Hey, little man." He stood, giving a small whoop. "Man, am I glad to see y'all. I thought I was the only one left."

"Yeah." She was still kind of in disbelief.

"Uh... y'all headed to Terminus?" He asked after a moment. 

"That was the plan."

"Mind if I join you?"

She beamed at him, "I guess we could swing it."

____

"Whew, this smells worse than that fridge back at the prison," T-Dog said, his shirt pulled over his nose. 

They were passing over what was basically a graveyard. Burnt and torn apart bodies lay everywhere, and everything else was ash.

Still, Krystal found herself producing a chuckle, "Euhg, God, don't remind me. I don't know how everyone survived cleanin' that thing out."

"What're y'all yappin' about?" Merle asked, crotchety as always. 

"W— uh, when we first got to the prison there was a couple guys holed up in it. They'd been locked in the cafeteria since the start, and we were— what, about a year in?"

"At least, 'cause Lori didn't start showin' 'till after we left the farm." T-Dog confirmed. 

She was proud of herself for not letting mention of the woman dampen her mood. 

"Yeah. Anyway, don't matter too much, the guys were usin' the fridge as a bathroom when we found 'em, 'cause it was sealed." 

Merle whistled. "Can't say I'm sad I missed that."

____

Krystal watched Luke sit atop T-Dog's shoulders fondly. The kid had gotten tired— his legs were so small to be making such a long trek, but she knew it would be worth it in the end. Tired was better than dead.

"Ain't he a regular ol' George Bailey," Merle snarked. 

He was clearly unhappy being in such close, constant proximity to T, but after her outburst he wasn't directly protesting. Krystal was going to tentatively call that growth, even if now he was just making passive-aggressive comments. 

She tried to ignore the sass, but Merle kept it up.

"You think he's got any yougins runnin' around out there that he don't know about?" He seemed to think it was funny, "You know how they are, always—"

"Dad." She snapped. She knew what he meant by 'they,' and she didn't want to hear what kind of diabolical racism he had cooked up for a punchline. 

"Oh, what? I'm just jokin'. You been hangin' around a bunch 'a pansy ass democrats too long, 's made you sensitive."

Krystal almost laughed— she'd severed a man's tendon with her teeth a little over a week ago. Not exactly what most would call 'sensitive.'

____

They stumbled into the factory’s yard just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. It was quiet, but an older woman was there to greet them with a smile, even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hi. I’m Mary. Looks like you’ve been on the road a while.”

“That’s an understatement,” Krystal said. She glanced down at Luke, who was clinging to her leg.

“Let’s get you settled, and we’ll make you a plate. Welcome to Terminus.”

Chapter Text

They didn't end up getting any food. 

Almost as soon as they had surrendered their weapons, a skinny man gave some sort of signal, and the whole camp had their guns on Krystal’s group. Merle gave her a look that screamed 'I told you so' as they were marched into an old train car. 

Turned out that neither of them had been entirely wrong, though, because once they were inside a whole host of prison refugees emerged from the shadows. There were a few additions, as well, four people by the names of Tara, Rosita, Abraham, and Eugene.

"Hey, little brother," Merle clapped Daryl on the shoulder, and the man gave a strained smile.

Krystal searched the overstuffed car as reunions unfolded, but she didn't find the head of blonde hair that she was looking for.

"Did— um, where is Beth?"

Daryl turned to look at her, something somber on his face.

Her heart stopped for a moment. "No."

"She's alive," he said quickly. “But I don't know where."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"She got taken," Maggie said. 

"We got split up, and someone grabbed her. A black car, with a white cross painted on it. I tried to follow it, but..." He trailed off, casting his eyes downwards in shame.

"But... she's okay?"

"She was."

That was enough for Krystal.

____

When the flash-bang dropped into the train car, Abraham yelled, "Move!" 

There wasn't much time to do so, though, because they'd spent a solid five seconds just staring at it. Krystal turned her back to the grenade, grabbing Luke and pressing his face into her stomach as she squeezed her own eyes shut. The noise left her ears ringing, disorienting her so badly she toppled right over, only barely managing to land in a sitting position, still keeping Luke close.

There was muffled yelling, and then absolute silence as the train car was slammed shut again. 

When her senses finally returned to her, she could see that Rick, Glenn, Bob, Merle, and Daryl were all missing. Luke was crying, out of fear or because his ears hurt she wasn't sure. Either way she shifted him into something more of an embrace, with his chin resting on her shoulder. 

"Everyone okay?" Maggie called, rubbing at her own face.

A chorus of 'yeah' and 'yep's sounded. 

____

Krystal worked on sharpening her belt buckle as Eugene rattled on about saving the world. It seemed too good to be true, but Glenn and Maggie seemed to trust him, so Krystal supposed she might as well. They had to survive first before she put any real thought into it, anyway.

He'd barely gotten to finish his explanation before Rick threw open the car's side door, bloody and wielding an assault rifle. 

"Come on!" He said, firing into the absolute horde of walkers amidst the smoke, "Fight to the fence!"

Krystal moved to pick Luke up, but T-Dog prompted the boy to climb on his back, and there wasn't time to argue. T was larger than her anyway, it probably wouldn't even slow him down. She stuck beside them as they entered the fray, following Abraham's lead and using her belt like a whip. The sharpened prongs that were once a buckle didn't kill much, but they pushed the dead back long enough to get by.

Rosita was the first to reach the fence, making sure everyone else knew the spot she’d cleared before she climbed to the other side. Eugene was next, and Krystal was expecting Abraham to follow, but he stayed behind to help everyone else, which she respected. T-Dog handed him Luke, and the kid was all but thrown over, which meant Krystal was up. 

Once on the safe— well, safer side of the fence, she took her place beside Rosita, holding off approaching walkers as more of their people joined them.

Daryl, Rick, and Abraham were the last over, and then they all booked it towards the cover of the forest. 

Once among the trees they slowed to a walk, catching their breath as Daryl lead them to something. Luke reached out for Krystal’s hand in a by-now familiar way, and she took it, giving him the most enthusiastic smile she could muster. 

Eventually, Daryl pointed to the ground, and Rick began to dig. 

"The hell are we still around here for?" Abraham asked. 

"Guns." Rick replied. "Some supplies. Go along the fence, use the rifles, take out the rest of 'em." 

"What?" Bob said, and for a brief moment Krystal was seventeen again, fresh off the farm's destruction and afraid to question Rick's authority.

Bob hadn't been through any of that, though, nor had he been through the months after. He'd only known Rick a few weeks, and they'd been separated for most of them, he had no reason to trust him.

Rick looked calmly over his shoulder at the man, "They don't get to live."

A pause.

Then, from Glenn's mouth, "Rick, we got out. It's over."

"How can you say that after what happened at the prison?" Krystal said, accepting Andrea's old Ladysmith from their leader. Her Glock was long gone inside Terminus. "We thought it was over then, too, and look what happened."

"That was different. We're the ones leaving this time."

"The fences are down," Maggie agreed with her husband, "They'll run or die."

"And what if they run after us?" Rick finally stood, magnum in his hand. 

Unfortunately, no-one answered that very valid question, because Carol appeared. Daryl was the first to notice, and he took off towards her, nearly lifting her off her feet in a hug.

____

She led them up a hill, to a small cabin— apparently they were everywhere— which Tyreese was exiting, a baby in his arms. Judith in his arms, alive and well, if a bit distressed.

Rick dropped the bag of supplies, sprinting over to his daughter, Carl on his heels, while Sasha ran to her brother. Krystal pressed a hand to her mouth to keep the emotional noise rising from her throat in place. It took a lot of willpower not to sprint towards the little girl herself, to just allow the Grimeses a moment with each other. 

Because it was in the air, her uncle pulled her into a hug of their own, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in sideways. She rested her head on that arm, putting very real effort into holding back tears. 

____

While valiant, her efforts did eventually fail. Enough time passed that she felt comfortable approaching Judith, who was now in her brother's arms, and at that point her eyes may as well have been faucets. 

"Hey, lil' worm," she greeted, running a hand over the kid's head. Carl gave her a knowing look, and she sniffled. He’d grown so much in the last year. "I saw a car seat, back at the prison, and I... I thought..."

He nodded, "Us too."

A moment passed, and then Rick returned to business. Terminus was still burning, and they needed to get away, lest the flames catch up to them. No-one had a destination in mind, but as long as they were together Krystal was confident they’d be okay.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in the church was warm. They were well fed from the run into town, and everyone was smiling. The priest that had led them there seemed shady as hell, but he wasn’t dangerous. 

Despite all that, a pit continued to swallow up Krystal’s stomach. She sat on her own, hidden from the soft glow of candlelight by a pew. 

She shouldn't have felt so bitter. It was a feeling that hadn’t struck her until the last day or so, after she’d had time to adjust to having the group back together. Most of it, anyway, because it was Beth's absence that loomed over her. She couldn’t help but wonder why no-one had even brought up trying to find her. 

Really, though, deep down, she understood. They had no leads, nowhere to even start looking for any, and their priority was survival— or, saving the world, if Rick meant what he’d said to Abraham. It was just that she was starting to wonder what the point was, without the blonde by her side.

She sipped on her communion wine as her people happily chattered away, feeling no closer to God than she had in that train car.

____

Her mood was not improved when, later that night, Bob, Daryl, and Carol all went missing, and certainly not when Gabriel’s breakdown produced nothing of value. 

Krystal was pacing a tread into the floor when Glenn, peeking out the window, said, “There’s something… there’s someone outside, lying in the grass.”

She’d never moved towards a door faster in her life. Merle caught her by the elbow, though, and she would’ve just blown him off, but Rick motioned for her to stay as he ducked after Sasha.

Her cry of distress could be heard through the church’s doors.

There was some more shouting, and then a barrage of gunfire started. Sasha and Tara carried Bob inside, and Krystal could see why his girlfriend had been so disturbed.

His leg was gone.

Krystal pulled Luke out of their path as they passed, joining those gathered around him once he was on the ground. The wound had been bandaged, at least. Rick, Glenn, T-Dog, and Merle burst back inside, and Rick slammed the door shut, hurrying to lock it.

“I was in the graveyard,” Bob explained once everyone had settled, sweating profusely, “Somebody knocked me out. Woke up outside this place… it looked like a— a school. It was that guy, Gareth, and five other ones.”

Krystal caught Glenn’s eye, her jaw taut. So much for it being over. 

“They were eating my leg right in front of me. Like it was nothin’. All proud, like they had it all figured out.” 

“Did they have Daryl and Carol?” Rick asked, his voice as soft as he was capable of nowadays. 

Bob started to breathe heavily, and for a moment Krystal thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then, “Gareth said they drove off.”

That was almost as alarming as it was reassuring. It was great that the two weren’t being cannibalized, but if the remains of Terminus didn’t have them, where the hell had they gone?

Bob groaned, and Sasha looked over to Rosita, who was standing off to the side by Eugene. “He’s in pain, do we have anything?” 

“I think there are pill packets in the first aid kit,” the woman said, moving to get them. 

Bob stopped her, though, “Save ‘em.”

After a bit of back and forth with Sasha, he leaned up, peeling back the collar of his shirt to reveal the tender flesh of a bite mark.

Damn. 

“It happened at the food bank.”

____

Once Bob was as comfortable as they could get him in a back room, Abraham decided to try to take charge.

“Time for a reality check!” He called in a tone so similar to a drill sergeant’s it made Merle fix his posture. “We all need to leave for DC, right now.”

Everyone just stared at him for a moment, appalled. It was Rick who spoke first.

“Daryl and Carol are gonna be back. We’re not goin’ anywhere without ‘em.”

“I respect that. But there’s a clear threat to Eugene here, I need to extract his ass before things get any uglier. So if y’all won’t come, good luck to you. We’ll go out separate ways.”

“You leavin’ on foot?” Rick said, with an obvious threat in his tone. 

Krystal straightened, hand ghosting over the gun tucked in her waistband. With no belt, she had nowhere to keep her holster, which meant if she wanted to stay armed she would have to be a bit improper. She gently pushed Luke behind her, just in case. She didn’t think Abraham or his companions were the type to shoot children, but if bullets started flying anything could happen.

____

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. They sorted it out somewhat amicably, even if it meant temporarily losing Glenn and Maggie. And God, did Krystal really hope it was temporary. They’d deal with that agreement tomorrow, though. For now, Krystal stayed hidden in the back room, alongside the kids and a few various adults.

Not long after their offensive team had made a big show of leaving, the church’s lock was cracked open. 

“Well… I guess you know we’re here,” Gareth said. 

Krystal stood beside the room’s entrance, pistol at the ready. Any moment now, Rick and his team would return, they just had to stall.

“And we know you’re here. And we’re armed. So there’s really no point in hiding anymore.”

A long pause. 

“We’ve been watching you. We know who’s here.”

His voice grew closer and closer as he listed off their names. She had to admit, it was eery. Her eyes bore into Gabriel’s head as Gareth tried to appeal to him, offering to let him and Judith walk. He didn’t so much as twitch to take the deal, though. 

A bead of sweat dripped down her face.

And then the baby started to cry. 

Carl hurried to shush her, but the damage was done. Footsteps stopped right outside their door, any gun the group had probably aimed right at it. Slowly as Krystal could manage, she crouched, trying to keep her head out of the line of fire.

“Now’s your last chance to tell us you’re coming out,” Gareth said. Even when he was threatening them, he sounded sickeningly matter of fact. 

She was just starting to worry something had happened to the rest of their people when two silenced gunshots rang through the church. A wave of relief crashed over her.

She didn’t hear what prompted it, but Gareth yelled, “Rick, we’ll fire right into that office, so you lower your gun—!” 

A third shot, and he let out a yelp of pain.

For a while, there was nothing but low murmurs, and Gareth whimpering in pain, begging to be spared. Krystal would be lying if she said it wasn’t a bit satisfying.

And then, the undeniable sounds of a slaughter. Screaming, slashing, the splatter of viscera. Halfway through Tyreese peeked out the door, and when he turned back there was horror in his eyes. 

Once the noise stopped, Krystal figured it was safe to come out. 

“Luke, stay in here,” she ordered. He didn’t need to see the bloodbath waiting outside. 

____

The next day, as Sasha fashioned a cross for Bob, the rest of them said their goodbyes to those headed out to save the world. A sense of wrongness settled in Krystal’s bones as she watched the bus pull away, taking six of their people with it. There was something poetic in that, considering they’d killed the last six survivors of Carol’s attack on Terminus, but she wasn’t artsy enough to lay it out.

Chapter Text

Krystal walked down the halls of Grady Memorial, heart pounding in a way bordering on dangerous. The initial plan had been to storm it, but Tyreese had suggested a hostage exchange, so all of her expertise was out the window. 

When Beth came into view she felt nauseous, with excitement and fear and desperation and practically every other emotion the brain was capable of cooking up. The exchange went well at first— Carol was pushed over in a wheelchair, and then Beth walked towards them.

There were two stitched up gashes on her face, and a cast underneath the sleeve of her cardigan, but other than that she seemed unharmed. Krystal pulled her into a quick hug, pressing a kiss to her lips, and then they walked off alongside the rest of their group arm-in-arm. Now wasn't the time for any real reunion, but she couldn't help it. Up until yesterday she'd thought she'd never see her again.

Then, belatedly, Dawn called after them, "Now I just need Noah."

The group stilled.

There was some protest from Rick and Daryl, but Noah went without argument. Beth followed after him, crossing the border that was Rick and hugging Noah goodbye.

"I knew you'd be back," Dawn told him, and Krystal saw something shift in Beth's posture. 

She released Noah, stalking up to the cop with squared shoulders. Krystal stepped forward, anxious with the blonde outside their protective bubble, but Daryl held an arm out to stop her. No need to set things off.

"I get it now."

Krystal didn't have much time to wonder what that meant before Beth drove something sharp into Dawn's abdomen, and a gunshot rang out.

A wordless, formless scream tore its way out of Krystal's throat as her girlfriend fell limply to the floor. She tried to rush forward, but her legs gave out, and if T-Dog hadn't caught her she would've collapsed much the same. Dawn was dead hardly a second later, but it didn't undo what had been done. 

There was yelling, guns raised, and Krystal didn't understand any of it, didn't care. She could barely hear it over her own uncontrollable wailing, tears and snot dripping down her face from where she hung in T's arms. A physical pain had spread across her chest, snaking down to her stomach, up to her neck. All capacity for thought had been stripped away.

After a moment, T tried to pull her to her feet, but she struggled away, suddenly desperate to fix her girlfriend. There had to be a way. She hadn’t even gotten to tell her Luke and Judith were okay. T didn't hold her against her will, instead carefully lowering her onto her knees, and she crawled over to Beth. The girl's blood soaked into her jeans as her hands hovered uselessly, smeared crimson and trembling. She didn't know what to do. 

Beth just stared up at the ceiling, her eyes blank. One neat little red dot in the center of her forehead, and she was gone forever. She wouldn't even reanimate.

Krystal could do nothing but sob, craning her head over the still-warm body. T tried to tug her away, and she tore herself free from his hand. He tried again after a moment, this time more forcefully, dragging her back despite her kicking and writhing, her screaming 'no' until she heaved. 

Daryl scooped the blonde up as gently as he could, her head lolling and limbs swinging. Krystal was forcibly turned away, half-carried out of the hospital herself.

When they made it outdoors, the rest of their people were waiting for them, including those who had left with Abraham. Including Maggie. Krystal didn't know what she had been told, but the teen could see her face drop when she heard the crying. 

____

She was silent during the funeral. The last shovel full of dirt was dropped, the cross already fixed at the grave's head, and she said nothing. Not even when prompted. She didn't move, either, as everyone started to. 

It was a while before anyone came up to her, and when it finally happened, it was Noah, of all people.

"I'm sorry," he said. "She saved me, and I— I couldn't save her. I—"

Krystal swung at him, catching him right across his unsuspecting nose. Those nearby started to rush towards them as he reeled back, clutching his face, and when she moved to hit him again despite the burn in her still-healing finger, a hand caught her wrist. Tyreese’s.

"Get the fuck off 'a me!" She shouted. It was the first thing she'd said since they had left the hospital. 

He allowed her to tug her arm away, and she shoved him as far backwards as she could manage— which wasn't far. She wanted him to fight back, itched to feel the sting of broken skin, but he looked at her with nothing short of compassion. It only fueled her indiscriminate, all-consuming rage.

"If we'd gone with Rick's plan she'd still be alive."

Tyreese didn't deny it. 

Daryl stepped in, though, "Krys..."

"No, fuck you, you backed him up! How many more 'a our people have to die because y'all wanna be pacifists?" Technically Bob would've died wether they'd let Gareth live or not, but that wasn't how the memory was filed in Krystal's head.

No-one had a response to that, and she scoffed, "Just... just go away."

____

She sat atop her girlfriend's body, nothing between them but four feet of earth. It was dark, and the woods around her were oppressive. A walker could sneak right up on her in the state she was in, she wouldn't notice. 

She wouldn't care, either. 

A part of her— a large, ever-growing part of her— hoped it would happen. They could be buried beside each other, Krystal wouldn't have to abandon Beth when the group inevitably left.

She remembered back at the farm, what the blonde had said. How it was inevitable that they would all lose each other, how it might as well have been their choice when. Krystal wished she'd listened. Wished she'd stayed behind in the CDC when she'd had the chance. Wished she had never been born in the first place, so she never had to feel what she was feeling now: this horrible, yawning pit of despair that seeped the energy from her bones. 

The thought of the sun rising tomorrow, of having to go on with her miserable existence with no light at the end of the tunnel… it was more than she could handle.

Chapter Text

Daryl looked around their camp, trying and failing to spot his niece. His existing anxiety only grew— the girl was gone from Beth's grave, and if she hadn't returned to the flock, that meant she'd gone off alone.

Approaching the fire, he nudged Merle's back with his boot, "Hey, where's Krystal?"

"Uh—" he glanced over, expression quickly falling when he noticed his daughter's absence. 

Daryl turned right back into the woods he'd just emerged from, "Dammit..."

He'd left for not even ten minutes to take a piss, how hard was it to look at someone? 

____

After what felt like hours of frantic tracking with nothing but a flashlight and a dream, his only comfort being the knowledge that he wasn't alone in his search, he stumbled across a rope tied firmly around a tree branch. Bringing the light down, he found exactly what he'd hoped he wouldn't. 

Krystal was hanging limply on the end. Her lips were a concerning shade of blue, and she had been there long enough to stop swinging. He dropped the flashlight in his haste to lift her by the midsection, hoping her respiratory system would take over when the pressure against her neck was lessened.

"Hey! Over here! Help!" 

His yells echoed around the forest, and with so many people in so many different directions, it took a while for anyone to locate the source. For too long it was just him, and he was starting to weigh the risk of letting her go to cut the rope. It didn't feel like she was breathing anyway. He didn't have to, though, because his people began to spill in.

Shock rippled through the crowd, and T-Dog quickly helped Merle— and by extension the blade attached to his prosthetic— up the tree. He had sit in a bit of an awkward position, crawling out on the limb and sort of laying over it, hand on the rope to keep it steady while he sawed at it. She dropped like a stone, and Daryl guided her fall so that she was laying on her back. 

"Is she breathin'?" Maggie asked just half a second before Daryl started CPR, not bothering to check for a pulse. 

He'd done it a lot in his life, a result of hanging around the wrong people— not that it was his fault his brother fell into that category. The beat to 'Stayin' Alive' was burned into his memory. 

After about thirty seconds— a lifetime, in terms of a brain being starved of oxygen, especially since nobody knew how long she'd been hanging beforehand— Abraham stepped up, gun at the ready. 

Merle put himself between the man and the two on the ground, "Woah, there, carrot top, what d'you think yer doin'?"

"What I have to. I’m sorry, but she’s gone, and she could turn any second now."

There was a flurry of commotion after this, yelling, pushing, people wedging themselves between Abraham and Krystal as Daryl continued to try to resuscitate her. Even those around them were starting to lose hope, though— if they'd had it to begin with.

"What the hell is wrong with you people? You know what we do to the dead, no exceptions!”

"Abraham, stop it!" Rosita tried to push her boyfriend away, but he shoved her off to the side with ease, shouldering his way through the rest of the bodies blocking his path. He knocked Carol completely off her feet in the process. 

He aimed down at Krystal's head, and for a split second Daryl felt completely helpless. Soon after, though, he heard the click of a hammer being drawn back, and glanced over to see Rick's magnum pressed to the back of Abraham's head.

"Stop."

The man obeyed, nostrils flaring and face red as he brought his hands up. 

They stayed like that for a whopping six seconds, when Krystal's eyes finally flew open, and she sucked in a breath, only to violently cough and splutter. She had just a small, blissful moment of amnesia before her brain rushed to remind her of all that she was hoping to escape out in the woods. She should've just shot herself, noise be damned.

"Shit—!" Abraham swore, moving to do it for her. He abandoned that course of action quickly upon realizing that the girl hadn't just risen from her grave, opting instead to stare in horror.

Daryl scooped her up, cradling her close to his chest like he had when she was a baby. Wether he was crying or just breathing heavily she didn't quite know, but his eyes were definitely shining. Merle crouched beside them, scooping up the flashlight to look Krystal over with. 

There was a gnarly bruise forming around her neck already, and one of her eyes was bright red with a burst blood vessel, but she seemed otherwise okay— superficially, anyway.

"What's yer full name?" He asked, struggling to come up with a simple question to test her with. There wasn't exactly a current president, and that used to be his go-to. 

"Krystal Marie Dixon," she rasped. 

That mostly put his mind at ease.

____

Later, when everyone was safely back at camp, Merle caught their leader’s attention.

“Rick.”

Said Rick turned to look at him.

“I know you an’ I ain’t always seen eye to eye, but… you did right by my kin tonight.”

The two men looked at each other, conveying a thousand silent feelings. They would never be close, but in that moment, bonded by a shared family, they knew they could trust one another. 

Rick gave a firm nod, and they went about their nightly responsibilities. Merle hadn’t expected his to include tearing his fool daughter a new one, but such was life.

____

Krystal wasn't allowed to be alone after that. She appreciated that no-one was trying to be subtle about it, at least, even if she did feel a bit like a dog on tie-out, bound to the center of their camp by an invisible leash.

After a while of just… existing, soaking in the damp, dreary morning atmosphere, Daryl sat beside her, tossing a granola bar into her lap. She stared at it dumbly, like she didn’t know what to do with it. The concept of eating made her stomach churn, no matter how badly it rumbled. 

“Y’ain’t had anything since yesterday,” he said, like he could read her thoughts.

Maybe she just didn’t care enough to mask her expressions any more. 

“M’ not hungry,” she managed, pushing past the ache in her throat. 

He gave her a stern look, but she didn’t budge. Instead of prodding further, he sighed. 

“Fine. Did you hear any ‘a what Noah was sayin’ last night?”

She shook her head. She didn’t care, either. 

“He’s got family up in Virginia. Said he ain’t seen ‘em since the start, ‘cause Dawn got ahold ‘a him.” He seemed to hesitate before saying the next bit, “That’s… that’s why Beth got him out first. She wanted him to see ‘em again.” 

Finally, she looked up at him. It was like her brain chemistry was rewriting itself on the fly, flipping every hateful thought she’d been having on its head. Beth had made a choice, she had to have known what would happen. But she couldn’t possibly be mad at Beth. It wasn’t a betrayal, like the stabbing pain in her chest seemed set on making her believe, it was a sacrifice. How could Krystal have treated the object of that sacrifice so poorly? How could she have even thought to hinder her girlfriend’s last wishes in such a drastic manor? They could’ve been well on their way if she hadn’t tied that rope.

After giving her a moment to process the information, Daryl continued, “Rick’s plannin’ on takin’ him. Place might be safe enough to stay, if it’s still standin’.” 

She nodded. Her uncle nodded back, clapped her on the knee, and then stood. 

“Eat,” he said, and then he was off… somewhere. 

Krystal stood as well, renewed with purpose. It was the first time since Beth’s death that she hadn’t had to drag herself to her feet. She found Luke, sitting with T-Dog, and she tried her damndest to muster up a smile. It felt more like a grimace, skin stretched against teeth with no emotion, and she abandoned it quickly. 

“Here,” she rasped, offering the granola bar to the boy. 

There was a sense of guilt that came with being around him. He’d lost so much already, and she would’ve left him without so much as a goodbye. She was a horrible person. No wonder Beth had chosen a stranger over her.

“Thank you,” Luke said, and hesitantly, giving both him and T time to chase her off, she settled beside him.

Chapter Text

They spent a lot of time driving. Before it only would've taken a day or two, but with all the stops for supplies they had to make, the trip seemed as though it would never end. 

Currently, it was dark, and Krystal was in the passenger's seat of a Honda they'd hijacked along the way. They'd had a firetruck, but it hadn't lasted long. Luke, Noah, and Daryl were all asleep in the back seat, with Tyreese driving. She'd made a comment about being crammed in the back when they'd last gotten in, just as a light-hearted complaint, and her uncle had offered up the front without hesitation. He was overcompensating a bit, trying to keep her spirits up, which wasn't fair because he had lost Beth, too. He kept urging her to talk about it, and yet he hadn't uttered a word himself. 

She began to chew on the nail of her thumb, only to stop when she felt grit against her teeth. Her hands were filthy, she didn't need to be getting sick. 

"Ty?" She said eventually, keeping her voice low.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry 'bout what I said before. I— I don't know if I meant it or not, but you didn't... you couldn't’ve known, 's not fair."

She could only just see Tyreese's warm, edging-on-sad smile in the moonlight, "No hard feelings. Lord knows, I wasn't any better after Karen."

"How do you talk about her so easy?" She asked before she could stop herself. "I mean— you— you can say her name, and... reminisce about her, and I can't even..." 

She didn't finish the sentence, didn't say 'can't even think about Beth without wanting to string myself up again,' but it was inferred.

Tyreese let out a heavy breath. "Truth is, it still hurts. Sometime out on the road, though, I just... I got used to it. I had Judith, and—" 

He stopped. Swallowed harshly. 

"I had Judith. Keepin' her safe, it gave me a reason to keep fightin', and the rest came with time."

Krystal tried to keep her sniffling quiet, turning her glossy eyes out the window. 

____

Abraham had been avoiding her like the plague since he'd tried to blow her brains out. Not that they had been best friends before that or anything, but he kept at least ten feet between them at all times. It wouldn't have been strange if it weren't for the whole group living on top of each other.

One day, she decided she was sick of it. There was enough regret amongst them all without him feeling guilty for something he hadn't even done. She snuck up on him while they were pulled over to change Judith's diaper, waiting until she was within talking distance to say his name just so he didn't try to shuffle away. He jumped in a way that would've made her laugh, were she not plagued by the crushing weight of grief.

"What?" He said, face hard and stern.

"I'm not mad at you for trying to shoot me."

He hadn't been expecting that. She could see a multitude of emotions in the twitch of his mustache, and he settled on, "I'm glad to hear that."

It didn't fix everything, but it alleviated some of the residual tension.

____

It was just Krystal, Noah, and the kids remaining near their cars, the rest of their people combing the area for anything useful. It was a quiet evening, and despite her best efforts to stay alert, she found herself lost in the flames of their campfire. She'd been sleeping horrifically since Beth's death, too afraid to sit with her own thoughts long enough to try, and then, on the rare occasions that she managed, constantly startled awake by nightmares. It was catching up to her.

A yelp drew her attention again. She looked over, springing up from the ground on instinct, and found Noah grappling with three walkers. She and Carl both leapt to action, though the boy was a bit delayed, as he had to secure his sister, plopping her down in Luke's arms. Krystal stabbed one of the creatures, it's teeth touching Noah's shoulder, and then quickly turned on a second, while Carl dealt with the third. 

Once the commotion was over, Krystal looked over to Noah, panting. He was already pawing at the bloody teeth marks on his shirt, and she assumed the worst, tearing both his flannel and the stretchy collar of his t-shirt back. No open wound greeted her, though, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

Her heart continued to beat at an accelerated rate, though, pumping a notch in her rib cage. A fraction of a second later, and she would've been too late, and then Beth would've died for nothing. She would have failed the blonde yet again. 

"You good?" Noah asked, and it really should've been her asking him that. 

She needed to pay more attention to Noah The Individual rather than Noah The Concept.

With a nod, she looked him over one last time, "Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I—"

She didn't know how to finish that, just waving her hand around aimlessly. The poor boy looked so confused. His nose was still bruised from where she'd punched him for daring to speak to her, and now here she was, verging on a panic attack over a close call. Carl had returned to Judith by now, so the two barely-adults just stared at each other for a moment. 

"You sure?"

Krystal chuckled mirthlessly. "No. But who is anymore?" 

A moment of silence passed.

Then, "Hey, I— I never shoulda... it's not yer fault, what happened. You tried. I was just—"

"Nah, I get it, man."

People had been saying that a lot. Variations of it, anyway. She understood why, but she sort of wanted someone to get angry at her— snippy, at the least. If would’ve felt more concrete. It wouldn’t exactly be undeserved, either, she’d been a ball of vitriol the first few days after Beth’s death. Still was, if she was being honest, she just reigned it in a little better now. 

Noah made his way to the fire, and she walked over to Luke, who had returned Judith by now.

“You okay?” She asked. 

Luke nodded. He was still adjusting to the violence of the road, since he’d gone straight from Woodbury to the prison, and he didn’t talk much. That was alright. All he needed to do was keep breathing.

Chapter Text

Noah’s neighborhood was a bust; teeming with walkers, walls knocked down, buildings bearing the scars of fire. Whatever had happened, it had clearly been more than starving, or getting overrun by the dead. 

All that was left was supplies, so as Noah cried on the asphalt, Tyreese standing close by, the rest of them went off to search. 

Krystal had found another belt, at least, so her Ladysmith was properly stored in a holster as they swept the area. When she thought about it, carrying Andrea’s gun made her feel strange; it was a memento of someone she barely knew. It would’ve felt more appropriate in Glenn’s hands, but he hadn’t said anything, and she doubted the woman would’ve minded. 

She helped Michonne gather some trash bags from a garage, trying not to be too apathetic about the situation. She’d hoped they’d find the neighborhood intact, of course, but… well, she didn’t set herself up for failure anymore. 

The two had to walk around some clutter, dipping closer to the driveway on their way, and they could hear Rick talking to Glenn.

“—on’t know if I thought it would still be here. But Beth wanted to get him here. She wanted to get him back home. This was for her.”

It wasn’t anything that Krystal didn’t know. Still, she was overcome with a wave of gratitude that she’d been permitted to carry out her girlfriend’s final wishes with her family by her side. That they’d wanted to take this journey, too, just to honor her memory.

____

And then Tyreese got bit, and all that newly found… not quite joy, but okayness slipped right through her fingers.

After severing the infected arm, they rushed him back to their people, unable to care about the limbless, W-marked walkers that spilled from a nearby truck as they sped off. It didn’t matter, though. He managed to rasp out, “Turn it off,” and then he was gone. Ironically, if they’d left the arm on, he might have made it a little longer.

Krystal wondered numbly what he had meant as they came to a stop, hauling him out of the back seat to ensure he didn’t turn. 

____

She was barely present as Gabriel read from his Bible, phasing in and out of the night they’d buried Beth— right down to the blood drying on her clothes.

The only difference was Luke, clinging to the leg of her pants, crying quietly. He stuck close to her as she dropped her handful of dirt on top of Tyreese’s body, and when she moved to help with properly covering it up, Daryl stopped her.

“Stay with him,” he said, nodding towards the boy.

____

Later, when the sun was setting and Tyreese’s cross was up, Sasha approached the two of them by the fire. She stopped in front of Luke, who was nestled into Krystal’s side, her eyes puffy from crying. 

“I— uh,” she started, crouching, “I think you should have this.”

She held out Tyreese’s beanie. Luke took it, turning it over in his hands for a moment, then looked up at Sasha as if asking permission.

“You meant a lot to him. He’d… he’d want you to have something.”

There was something about that that set off alarm bells in Krystal’s head. The way she’d said it, maybe, like there was no hope left in the world. Maybe that paired with her giving the hat up— she had yet to take off Bob’s jacket, after all. Krystal just didn’t think it wise to let her leave.

“Hey, Sasha?” She said as the woman began to walk away. “Sit with us.”

There wasn’t as much argument as Krystal had expected. 

Luke rested his head back on Krystal’s chest, beanie now pulled nearly over his eyes— he’d have to grow into it— while Sasha sat roughly a foot away from them. Gabriel kept looking over at her— them?— from across the flames, concern all over his face. He might’ve been a coward, but he had yet to let go of his role as a pastor, down to that stupid clerical collar still around his neck.

Chapter Text

Afterwords, they agreed to head to DC. Eugene might've been lying about a cure, but he still seemed convinced that was their best chance, and they didn't have anywhere else to go. They lost the cars to empty gas tanks along the way, so they resorted to hoofing it. 

The sun cooked Krystal's toes through her worn boots as they staggered along, exhausted, demoralized, barely distinguishable from the herd of corpses that followed behind them. She didn't know how much longer she could keep pushing. Even if they did make it to DC, and there was a fully stocked bunker with damn air conditioning, would it be worth anything? With no big mission, nothing to put her feelings aside for, nothing she felt obligated to complete, nothing more than a direction she had to walk, it was hard to escape the horror of just surviving. 

____

They sat at the edge of the road, nothing to drink but rum, nothing to eat but stray. Poor Luke took that last bit pretty hard— she'd seen the way his eyes had widened ever-so-slightly with wonder when the four dogs had approached. It was that or starve, though. As much as Krystal would love to keep his childlike whimsy intact, he would have to face the harsh realities of the world if he was going to make it.

And he was going to make it.

____

"You doin' okay?" T-Dog asked the next day, when they were back to walking.

She nodded. Her uncle had taken off into the woods alone, but she had full confidence he'd catch up. Or, at least, when she didn't think about it she did. She didn't have the mental capacity to worry anymore.

T nodded back. Then, "How you doin' on ammo?"

"Not great."

That was an understatement. 

"I was kinda hopin' you'd say that," he said, and when she looked over at him in confusion he pulled a box of 9mm ammo from the bag over his shoulder. "Here."

She took it, flipping the top open and seeing it nearly full. "Woah. Where did you find this?"

"Back at that stack 'a cars, in a spare tire hatch. I'm sure you'll have to share, but... y'know," he shrugged. 

"Yeah. Thank you."

"No problem."

____

Her hair stood on end as soon as she saw the bundle of water just lying out on the asphalt. The note— 'from a friend'— didn't give her much more security. But, at the same time... it was water. So much of it, right there, and she was so thirsty.

They at least had to wait until Daryl returned to make any decisions, but that didn't make it easy.

"What else are we gonna do?" Tara said once they were all together again.

Rick was pacing, "Not this. We don't know who left it."

"If that's a trap, we already happen to be in it. But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend," Eugene said, practically drooling as he looked down at the object of their debate. 

"What if it isn't? If they put something in it?"

Eugene did not care for Carol's pessimism, stalking forward with conviction and grabbing one of the bottles despite the rest of the group's protests. He would've drank it had Abraham not slapped it out of his hand. 

Rick gave the shorter of the two a severe look once the taller had backed off, "We can't."

"Well, we can't just die 'a thirst," Merle groused. He'd clearly been hoping Eugene would be their Guinea pig.

As if on cue, thunder split the once perfectly clear sky, and rain began to fall. Heavy rain. Enough to fill up their canteens, to allow them to leave the mystery water in the dust. She looked over to her dad, who stared up with a sort of squint that upturned his lips.

"I'll be damned."

People laughed, soaked up the small mercy they'd been granted. Gabriel began to cry, apologizing to god, which Krystal didn't really get but good for him. When she looked over at her uncle, though, she could see her own hollowness reflected. 

Rick ordered them to fill up whatever they could, and they got to work, setting out bottles and bowls of all kinds. Judith began to cry, prompting Carl to cover her up with his hat. 

More thunder ripped through the sky, seeming violent rather than kind, now. Krystal grabbed Luke's hand after he visibly jolted, turning her head to see near-black clouds. 

They couldn't stay out in this. 

"Let's keep movin'!" Rick had to shout over the storm. No-one fought him.

____

They ended up in a barn that Daryl had found during his solo excursion. It wasn't fancy, but considering that it was dry and walker-free, it might as well have been a five star hotel.

They were struggling to boil some of their rainwater over their measly little fire, drawing the process out far too much for Krystal's liking. She'd done it a lot since she'd scalded herself, of course, but it never failed to make her nervous. 

____

In the early hours of the next morning, after holding the barn doors shut against wind and walkers for so long her whole body ached, she plopped down beside Daryl on the dirt floor. They sat in silence for a while, Krystal waiting until most everyone was asleep before she dared ask what she planned to.

Eventually, "What... happened, before she got taken?

Her uncle sighed deeply— not frustrated, just preparing himself. He didn't need to ask who 'she' was. 

"She nearly got us both killed over some peach schnapps."

It was so far from what Krystal was expecting that it surprised a laugh out of her.

"What?"

"Yep. She ain't never had a drink before, she wanted to."

"And y'all got peach schnapps?"

"Nah, I found her some good stuff," a smile graced his face as he recalled some memory that Krystal would surely never be privy to. "She was a happy drunk."

The two of them sat with that, from then on. She tried to image Beth all smiley, mason jar in hand. She could see the blonde's wrinkled up face upon taking her first sip. 

She was terrified for the day that that would stop; that she would no longer be able to recall her girlfriend's features. Already she was starting to lose some of the finer details— was the curve of her nose as concave as Krystal remembered? Her eyebrows as squared? Her cheeks as round? 

She'd never know.

Chapter Text

The barn doors creaked open, and Maggie's voice pierced the somber air. "Hey, everyone?"

Krystal didn't bother to look up at her from where she was sitting, back pressed to a support beam, instead just tilting her head a bit to hear better. 

That all went out the window when the woman's next words were, "This is Aaron."

The whole room sprung to life, Krystal included, staring at the stranger Maggie and Sasha had just brought into their safe house. Krystal took a bit of a side step in front of Carl, pushing Luke beside him, and watched the new man for even the slightest twitch. She wondered if he was their "friend" with the water.

Despite Maggie assuring them that his weapons and gear had been confiscated, Daryl still patted him down rather roughly. 

There was a moment of tension, where Aaron stared down the barrel of at least a dozen guns, and then smiled. That was not comforting, even if it was a weak one.

"Hi," he said. 

Judith immediately began to cry. 

____

After hearing the tales of his walled community, and getting confirmation from Michonne's scouting group that he at least wasn't lying about getting caught out on the road, Krystal was trying not to be hopeful. Terminus was still fresh in all of their minds, but this guy's story held up.

After a lot of convincing from Michonne, Rick agreed to go. At sundown, and on a different route than Aaron insisted on taking, but Krystal was confident they could handle any walker-related issues that cropped up on that front. It was better than walking right into an ambush. 

Now it was just a waiting game. Krystal had offered to take Judith so Carl could get some sleep in preparation for their big night, and the two girls paced around, the older humming Riding With Private Malone. She'd forgotten more and more of it as the months passed.

Judith rested her head sleepily against Krystal's chest, a thick splotch of drool steadily growing on her shirt. She didn't much care, though, the kid had covered her in worse bodily fluids. Her thoughts drifted to that first week of Judith's life, when the baby had stayed in her and Beth's cell. The spit up had been awful, and the smell of dirty diapers felt ingrained into her nostrils. 

She'd give anything to go back. 

On a whim, she glanced over at Aaron, and saw Luke only a few feet away from him, staring warily at the man. 

"Hey," she warned, her voice quiet as she could manage while still sounding stern. Judith still jumped in her half-sleep, but her eyes didn't open.

The boy turned away from their hostage, practically skittering off, and Krystal fixed her glare on Aaron. He hadn’t really done anything wrong, but he was new, and that alone agitated her.

____

Being in an RV again was weirdly nerve wracking. They'd found it nearby, and it was about the only thing that would hold all of them— minus Rick, Michonne, and Glenn, who were riding in a separate car with Aaron. It didn't look much like Dale's on the inside, but it had that same sort of cramped energy that she didn't like. Not after that night at the farm.

 Her anxiety was only heightened when the road came up full of walkers, and Glenn plowed right through them all to make the RV a way out. 

"Where'd they go?" Maggie asked as they themselves spend on. Krystal peered out a window, trying to spot headlights. "Do you see 'em?"

"No," Krystal responded. "They must'a stopped." 

"We gotta turn around." 

"Right back into that mess?" T-Dog exclaimed from behind the wheel, "We ain't gonna be any help. Might not even make it through."

"We can't just leave them!" Carl protested. 

"We're not. They got a flare gun, if they send it up we'll know where they are, and if they need us. 'Till then, we keep on truckin'." 

The boy looked over at Abraham uncertainly, but he didn't argue further. 

Barely a minute passed before orange, sparkly light shot into the sky, and Krystal's stomach sank. Maggie barked at T to go from where she was now leaning against the dash, and he went.

____

When they arrived at the site of the flare, they found a car swarmed with walkers. It wasn't the car Rick's team had been in, though. Still, at the very least it was someone, and the adults in the RV ran out to help, weapons drawn.

"You stay with Carl, don't get out until I say," Krystal ordered Luke.

The boy nodded, and then she was off, hacking and slashing. Best not to fire any guns in their situation, lest they bring more walkers down upon them. They fought their way to the car and found an unfamiliar man stuck beneath it, his leg crushed between a tire and the road.

Abraham, T-Dog, Daryl, and Tara were able to push the thing off without much trouble, but the guy's ankle was clearly screwed. He still thanked them about a thousand times as T and Tara helped him to his feet, one of his arms slung over either of their shoulders. He didn’t seem very surprised by his rescue, though, and the next words out of his mouth were, "Where— where is Aaron?"

"He's with Rick," T said.

"He's okay?"

Krystal shrugged, "If he didn't try anything."

That seemed to be a relief to the stranger, so she'd take that as a decent sign. 

They basically carried him into the Rv's bedroom, Maggie sitting at the edge of the mattress to assess his injury. When she emerged reporting it to be a break, Krystal wasn't shocked.

____

They holed up behind the first secure door they could find, waiting for the rest of their group. It was surprisingly cozy. The man— Eric— was about as bubbly as one could be in their circumstances, and it was sort of refreshing. It didn't make the lack of necessary introduction on their part any less unsettling, though. He knew every single one of them, could call them all accurately by name— and there was a damn lot of them. 

"How long have you been watching us?" Krystal asked after a while. 

He had the decency to seem bashful, at least, "Uh... about two weeks, probably.”

She couldn’t even really be mad; they would’ve done the same, after all. It just made her skin crawl, knowing none of them had noticed despite being on their highest alert. How many private moments had been shared with complete strangers?

Everyone was spared more awkward conversation by a whistle from outside, signaling the return of their lost members. 

Chapter Text

When they loaded up the next morning, Krystal opted to climb into Eric's car rather than the RV. The thing just put her on edge, as stupid as she knew that was, and she didn't need any unnecessary anxiety on top of her already frayed nerves. 

Luke was sandwiched between her and Carl— and Judith, by extension— in the back seat, with Rick and Michonne up front, and if she put aside the growing pit in her stomach Krystal could almost pretend it was fun. Rick wasn’t exactly talkative, but Michonne was clearly in good spirits, and it was infectious; her and Carl were cracking jokes like talk show hosts. 

The RV sputtered to a stop after a while— how nostalgic— and most took the repair time to stretch their legs. Krystal found herself gathering with the older Dixons while Luke talked to T-Dog.

"Y'all ready for this?" She asked somewhat awkwardly, desperate to hear a confident 'yes,' to steel herself. That was not what she received.

Daryl shrugged, giving a small grunt, and then said, "Gotta be."

"No, we don't," Merle tried, and judging by his brother's reaction this was an ongoing argument. 

Krystal's eyebrows furrowed slightly. 

"What're you talkin' 'bout?"

"Nothin'," Daryl snapped. He glared pointedly at Merle, but the man— predictably— didn't flinch.

"You tellin' me you trust those poofs in there?" He jerked his remaining thumb towards the RV, then grimaced slightly. "Hell, even if they ain't lyin', if they're all like that the place ain't gon' last long."

"What's that s'pposed'ta mean?" Krystal leveled him with her own glare as he rubbed at the elbow the Governor had broken. 

"Come on now, girl, you know what it means. Men like that just ain't strong enough for this kinda world, it ain't nothin' against 'em." 

"Seems like they made it so far."

"So's Eugene. 'S just dumb luck, sooner or later it's gon' run out.” A pause. “You roll those eyes at me one more time an' I'm gon' nail 'em to a board."

She scoffed.

"If you wanna leave, then do it. Ain't no-one stoppin' you," Daryl said.

It was a sentiment that had been echoed many, many times since that first attack on Woodbury, Merle was probably sick of hearing it. Clearly he hadn't taken it to heart, though.

"You know damn well what's stoppin' me."

"And you know damn well it's not changin'. 'Specially not 'cause yer head's still up yer ass." Daryl stalked off, and after an uncomfortable moment Krystal followed suit, approaching the car.

"Where's yer dad?" She asked Carl, glancing around and finding the man absent. 

"He'll be back in a second," Michonne answered instead. 

Krystal didn't ask her to elaborate; so long as he hadn't disappeared unnoticed, it wasn't cause for concern. With a nod of acknowledgment, she leaned against the car beside Carl, poking Judith gently on the cheek. 

____

When they approached Alexandria's impressive, if rusty, gate, Krystal waited to exit the car until Rick gave the OK. 

It was downright imposing up close. Large, safe, sure to hold out even the toughest of the dead, possibly even the living. Some quiet chatter broke out amongst the group as they waited for something to happen, staring up at the story-tall metal. Nothing did until Aaron and Eric made their way up, the latter leaning heavily on the former and somehow still wincing with every step. They entered with no issue as soon as the gate's two layers slid open, but the newcomers hesitated, tense, waiting for something to be said. 

A loud rattling startled every single one of them, each turning towards the sound with their weapons drawn like it was a practiced choreography, to see a trash can tumble over. An opossum crawled out, squealing, and then it fell silent with an arrow in its midsection. 

Krystal let out a harsh breath, heart pounding. The gate squeaked open further, and she pulled Luke closer to her side as a clean, casually dressed man took them in. He seemed as wary as they did.  

"Brought dinner," Daryl said. 

The new man worked his jaw a bit, almost like he was offended, but Aaron cut off whatever he was about to say, "It's okay. Come on in, guys."

They did. Krystal looked down at Luke as they passed the threshold, squeezing his shoulder with an only slightly strained smile on her face. He couldn't tell— or didn't comment, at least. The gate was closed behind them, and the new man told them they'd have to give up their guns. 

Rick protested a bit, and Aaron surprisingly stood up for them, telling his buddy— Nicholas— to let them speak to Deanna first.

That was how they ended up around the porch of a large white house. 

As Krystal waited for her interview, sitting on sun-baked brick steps, she took the neighborhood in. It was the kind she would've made fun of, Before, for being too soft, too preppy. Populated by the kind of kids who used to look at her like she was some sort of anomaly. The kind she'd always secretly wanted to be a part of, even if she never admitted it to herself. Beth would've loved it, would've fit right in chatting with the moms about milestones and meatloaf.

There was a cold sort of anger, more frustration than anything, that threatened to bring tears to her eyes as she thought about it. What a sick cosmic joke, to find such a safe place just a month too late. 

And then something cold and slimy pressed into her hand. She flinched initially, her mind conjuring an image of a blood-slick, rotting face, only to see a much cuter one. A Border Collie was nosing at her, vying for attention, causing Luke to gasp excitedly from her side.

"Oh, hello..." Krystal grinned despite herself, giving in to the dog's demands. 

It didn't take long for nearly the entire group to follow suit. 

By the time the dog's owner jogged up, empty collar still attached to a leash, he was laid out on the driveway getting belly rubs from a nearly prone T-Dog. 

"Atlas!" The woman called, tone chastising as if she were summoning a human child. The dog's head turned, but he didn't move. 

T backed off as she slipped the collar back onto Atlas, who reluctantly got to his feet at the lack of affection. 

"I am so sorry—" the woman began, and at least eight people rushed to tell her not to be. It seemed to spook her.

"We... haven't seen one in a while," Michonne explained, bordering on sheepish. It was easier than saying 'we had to eat a few of them on the road.'

The woman smiled, "Well, I'm glad you got the chance, then. Oh, I'm Barbara, by the way. I live nearby. If everything goes well with Deanna, y’all feel free to stop by whenever."

"Thank you, we might just have to take you up on that."

With that small exchange over, Barbara was gone. 

Krystal looked over at her dad to make some sort of comment about how painfully suburban the place was, but she kept her mouth shut when she saw the absolute shock on his face. 

"You alright?" She asked, mildly concerned that he was having some sort of medical episode. He was old, after all.

When he turned towards her, he cycled through several expressions before he managed to find something casual. 

"Fine as frog hair split four ways.”

She didn't have time to push further, because Eugene was exiting the house, and Deanna was summoning her. She stood, motioning for Luke to follow, only for the older woman to stop her.

"I'd like to speak to you alone, if that's alright."

"He stays with me."

Krystal didn't know entirely why the thought of leaving his side in this place freaked her out so much, especially when he'd be safer with the rest of the group, but it was enough to make her sweat.

"Hey," Daryl smacked gently at her shoulder. Standing on the bottom step like she was, Krystal towered over him. "I got 'em. Go on."

____

She settled into an armchair in a well-lit living room, foot tapping nervously as she took it all in. It was so nice she would've been overwhelmed by it even before electricity had become a thing of the past. 

"Do you mind if I record this?" Deanna asked, motioning to a camera on a stand opposite Krystal. It was mind-boggling that it worked. 

"Um. No."

"Alright." Deanna fiddled with it for a moment, and then sat in the couch in front of the camera. "What's your name?"

"Krystal. Uh, Dixon."

"And how old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"I suppose I don't need to ask what you did before all this, then."

At Krystal's lack of response, the woman continued, perhaps sensing her unease. 

"Do you have any questions for me, Krystal?"

"How… did you do this?"

To her credit, Deanna explained in full. How the neighborhood was built to be self-sustainable, how she'd been directed to it by the military at the beginning, how her architect husband used the supplies of a nearby construction site to build the walls. 

She ended with, "How did you make it?"

Krystal began to give as short a response as she could manage, but... well, that wouldn't be entirely fair. Plus, there was no surer way to make herself look suspicious. 

"My, uh... my daddy didn't trust the government, so he didn't wanna go to Atlanta— uh, that was where our quarantine zone was set up. Stayed outside the city with some people who couldn't get in, and... uh, y'know, just moved around from there."

"Atlanta is certainly a long ways from here. What made you travel north?"

She grit her teeth for a moment, before forcing her jaw to relax. "Found Noah a couple weeks ago, he had family near here. Uh... he don't no more, but we had to see." 

"That's a kind thing to do for a stranger. Arduous."

"Yup. Rick's a regular ol' Mother Theresa."

"Did Rick make that decision alone?"

Trying to suss out the group dynamics, then. "No. He coulda, if he wanted, but he didn't."

“I see. You trust him, when he puts his foot down?"

"Always."

The woman nodded sagely. Then, with a smile, "Alright, you’re free to go. Thank you for your time.”

Krystal gave an awkward sort of nod as she stood, and then she was led out the door, Gabriel called in to replace her.

Chapter Text

Krystal nearly hit her knees when she felt hot water on her skin. It had been far too long since she'd had a shower at all, of course, but even at the prison they hadn't had any practical way to control the temperature. It had all been cold, straight from the creek.

The water that rolled down her skin was nearly black with grime, and she stood there until it ran clear, just thinking. Remembering fingers working expired shampoo through her hair, Beth pressed up against her back, chin resting on shoulder. Blood and brain matter seeping across linoleum. Butted rudely from her reverie, her eyes snapped open, and she hurried to rid herself of the two-in-one clinging to her scalp.

She felt a bit light-headed as she toweled herself dry, blood pressure low from the heat. She had to lean against the wall for support as she tugged on a pair of jeans with nary a hole to be seen. 

When she caught her reflection in the mirror, it almost startled her. The pale, wrinkly marks that stretched across her face and neck weren't new, but they paired with her sunken eyes, her hollow cheeks in a way that made her look dead, like her body was starting to catch up to her long-gone soul.

Krystal knew she couldn't die, if only because she would probably take more than herself with her— she would never forget the look that her uncle had worn the night she'd tried, when she'd first opened her eyes; horrified and despaired and so, so afraid. And still, selfishly, she wanted to. Every waking moment was like dragging a freighter uphill, and she longed to just let it go. 

It was almost worse in Alexandria. Life on the road was constant waves of fight-or-flight, of split second decisions and mindless violence; breaks from the part of one's mind that whispered, 'why are you still fighting?' Inside walls, though, there was nothing to subdue it. 

Someone knocked on the door, and Krystal flinched, hand twitching towards the knife sat out next to the sink. 

"Hurry up, we're loosing people to Noah's B.O.," Tara's voice teased. 

The boy gave an indignant, "Hey!" from somewhere behind her. 

Krystal sighed, running a hand over her tired face. "Yeah, gimmie a second." 

____ 

Later that day, when the group had begun to scope the place out, Deanna approached her. Krystal didn't greet her, more out of social ineptness than malice, instead waiting for the woman to speak. 

"Hello. What do you two think of the place so far?"

Krystal glanced down at Luke, who was leaning against her shyly, and then around at the few members of their group that they could see. They were in shouting distance, but they probably couldn't hear any casual conversation.

"'S fine."

Deanna chuckled a bit in a way more jovial that humorous, "Glad to hear it. Well I'm here because I figured out a job for you." 

Krystal raised her eyebrows a bit, prompting.

"How do you feel about teaching?"

"Don't know much."

That drew a real laugh, "Don't worry, you won't be planning the lessons. There's a man named Emile who's handling the whole community's schooling on his own, God bless him. I spoke with him today, he said he would love an assistant, and I figured you would appreciate being able to keep an eye on Luke when he attends. Does that sound alright?"

"Uh... yeah, what's the schedule?" 

"You should talk to him about it. I'll send him your way, you can ask him everything you want to know."

"Alright."

Once the woman was gone, Krystal smiled half-heartedly at Luke, "Hear that? Yer goin' to school."

____

When Krystal returned to the group's house, she was expecting it to be mostly empty. That wasn't entirely wrong— the hushed argument that reached her ears came from between it and the one they'd decided not to use, for now. She peeked over the side of the porch, finding the source to be Merle and Barbara, of all people. 

With a quick motion directing Luke inside, she said, "Daddy, what the hell're you doin' to that poor woman?"

Both of them looked at her like deer in headlights. She'd expected her dad to grouse at her, but instead he seemed at a loss for words. Barbara glanced over at him, almost pleading, and when her eyes made their way back to Krystal they were heavy with emotion.

What the fuck?

"Um. Y'all okay?"

"Krystal, I—"

"Am leavin'," Merle interrupted. "Right now."

With one last positively devastated look the teen's way, Barbara obeyed, disappearing down the road as he began to walk towards the porch steps.

"What was that?"

"Nothin'." 

"Yer a shit liar, old man, y'know that?"

"Yeah? That why you never beat me at poker?" He grinned with faux-playfulness, holding the door open for her as they made their way inside.

"Don't try changin' the subject, what did you say to her?"

"I told you, nothin', get yer nose outta my business."

"It ain't just yer business if it's gon' cause trouble."

"It ain't." He said it harshly, and Krystal's jaw flexed. 

"Fine," she said after a moment, "but if it comes back to bite us in the ass it's on you."

____

Emile visited at what the clock on the wall said was 3:27 pm. It was Rick who answered the knocking, and Krystal could see his head tilt in confusion from where she was leaning against the arm of the couch.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

The man introduced himself, continuing, "I'm here to talk with Krystal? She'll be working with me, I wanna explain some stuff."

Rick looked over his shoulder at said Krystal, who straightened up and took over for him. 

"That's me." 

She gave him a small nod to indicate she had it handled, and he returned it, making his way back into the living room.

"Hi!" Emile— a South Asian man with an impressively shiny ponytail— greeted. His disposition was so radiant it made Krystal feel old and grumpy, despite being at least a decade younger. "I'm— well, you know my name." 

"Yep." 

He laughed a bit uncomfortably as a moment of silence passed. "Um, anyway, I was thinking I could show you where we'll be holding classes, maybe answer some questions on the way?"

"Sure, yeah." She wasn't stupid enough to wander off with a strange man alone, nice as he may seem, so she looked over to her uncle, who was sitting on the porch boring a hole into the back of Emile's head. "You wanna come?"

He nodded, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder as he stood. Emile stood back, giving Krystal room to exit, and regarded the other man with a smile.

"Luke! Hey, c'mon, we're gon' check out the classroom."

The boy obediently slipped his shoes on. 

____

Krystal learned her hours as they walked, as well as how many kids they'd be dealing with at once. Not as much as she'd been expecting, thankfully. Ages 6–10 were there from 9 am to 11 am, and ages 11-16 from 12 pm to 2 pm. 

The 'classroom' was really just Emile's garage, decorated with colorful paper and paintings of varying quality, seemingly made with DIY paint. There were still seeds in some of the reds. Pillows were scattered across the ground for the kids to sit on, all facing a foldout chair that she assumed was Emile's. A chalkboard sat beside it— the kind that was usually outside of restaurants, small and foldable. It worked, she supposed.

"Were you a teacher Before?" Krystal asked.

"I was. Art, if you couldn’t tell," he chuckled, motioning to all the decoration. "I don't teach as much as they should be learning, but it's better than nothing."

She nodded. Then, "What do you think, kid?"

Luke just shrugged. She put great effort into holding off a sigh. The boy had been painfully quiet since Terminus, and the deaths that followed hadn’t helped matters.

Hopefully that would change, now that they were in Alexandria. Maybe he would make some friends his age, finally have the sort of normal they’d failed to make at the prison; lunchboxes, bandaids, playgrounds. Real safety. She knew better than to set her heart on it, though. As nice the place was, sooner or later something would go wrong, and she wasn’t confident in the abilities of the neighborhood’s residents. 

Then again, that was why Deanna had taken Krystal’s people in, wasn’t it? Maybe they could make it work. 

Chapter Text

"I look stupid," Krystal said, staring into a floor-length mirror inside one of the bedrooms. No-one had slept in it yet, piled into the living room as they were, so it was mostly just a place to change.

"No you don't, you look nice," Carol smiled. It didn't quite reach her eyes, and while her tone was warm, there was an underlying sternness to it. 

The teen hadn't worn a blouse her entire life, and the first one she'd been stuck in was a frilly, pink-and-white striped monstrosity. Granted, she did look like all the teachers she'd ever had, which she supposed was the point.

After prodding at her a bit more, adjusting collars and sleeves, Carol continued, "We have to keep up appearances. That goes double for you, since Daryl and Merle aren't acclimating."

Krystal huffed a laugh. They really weren't— Daryl had basically taken up post on their front porch, chasing potential visitors off like a dirt-encrusted guard dog, and Merle was... well, he was himself. He'd agreed to talk to the neighborhood's surgeon, at least, to see if the long-term damage in his elbow couldn't be repaired. 

Once Carol was finally happy with the outfit, Krystal and Luke were on their way to the makeshift classroom. 

____

When they arrived, it was empty aside from Emile, who greeted them kindly. They were about thirty minutes early, upon request, so Luke went ahead and sat on one of the pillows while his elders prepared the room. 

"It shouldn't be too much today, we're just focusing on history. For the little kids we're doing the standard Founding Father's stuff, for the older ones we'll be talking about Incan Empire."

Krystal had no idea what that was, but she nodded along anyway. 

As the kids started to show up, she did her best to rid her face of the aggression it usually carried. None of them ran screaming, so she would consider herself successful. It was mind-numbingly surreal, to be where she was now when three days ago she'd been hacking through corpses. 

There were seven kids not including Luke: Elijah, Danica, Cole, Sam, Mark, Fatima, and Lauren. Krystal imagined there were more in Alexandria, though.

Emile sat in his seat, and Krystal followed suit with a cooler he'd dragged out for her. After introductions, things went about as smoothly as could be expected. He had to pause to answer a lot of questions, so it took about an hour to complete, and then a simple little assignment afterwords took up the rest of their allotted time. He'd explained previously that the hours were more of a suggestion; if they were done early, then that was that, and the kids who weren't allowed to go off alone would play cards or paint until they got picked up. 

Krystal helped give out the worksheets, hand-written on what looked like homemade paper, alongside beat-up clipboards of varying sizes. 

Mark tilted his head a bit when she reached him. "What happened to your finger?" 

"Hey, buddy, that's not a polite thing to ask," Emile cut in before Krystal could respond. 

"Nah, 's fine." To Mark, she gave a simplified explanation, "I got bit."

His eyes widened, "It got bit off?"

"Uh... no..." she pondered a moment, wondering if it was appropriate to explain if he didn't already know. She’d forgotten how sheltered— how normal these children were.

Luke had no such worries, because in a matter-of-fact tone he said, "No. A walker bit her, she had to cut it off."

"What's a walker?"

"He... means a monster, bud," Emile explained, though he seemed hesitant to. 

To spare him more questions, Krystal waved a hand, "Alright, enough war stories, do yer work."

____

At 11:00, she walked back to the house with Luke. The plan was to eat, recuperate, and then head back to the garage for afternoon class on her own.

"How'd it go?" Maggie asked when they entered, Judith on her hip.

"Fine."

She nodded, wearing an expression like she wanted to say more. It might've been an overestimation of her own worth, but Krystal could've sworn there was a twinge of pride somewhere in the woman's eyes. 

"Carol made some sandwiches, they're in the kitchen.”

"Thanks." 

Krystal followed those directions, Luke on her heels, and made the two of them plates. It was so painfully domestic that she half expected to blink and open her eyes back at Terminus, or something. 

____

At 11:30 she returned to the classroom, and from there it went much the same. 

Kids arrived— Mikey, Ron, Anna, Stacy, and Lamar this time— and though they were a bit rowdier than the morning group, they weren't mean about it. Not like Krystal and her peers had been, when she was their age. They waited a few extra minutes for a girl named Enid to show, but she didn't, so they carried on. 

Krystal found herself in a good mood by the time class ended. She even stuck around to help neaten up the garage. 

It held up on the way back, when she ran into Barbara and Atlas again. The older woman greeted her kindly, but there was a sort of skittish energy to her now. 

Krystal crouched, scratching behind Atlas's ears as she spoke, "Hey, sorry about whatever my dad said to you the other day. He's... he takes some gettin' used to."

"Oh no, sweetie, you don't need to worry about that." There was a significant weight to the words. "How, um... how are you settling?"

"Fine. 'S a nice place. Nicer than I ever lived before." The woman's face twitched with emotion at that. Krystal stood. "Are you... okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." 

She failed to keep the annoyance out of her tone when she said, "Really? 'Cause you and my dad are both bein' weird as hell."

There was a moment of silence, and then, to her horror, Barbara began to cry. 

"I'm so sorry," the woman said. Her dog nudged her thigh, ears flat with anxiety. "He told me not to say anything, but I can't... I can't just live my life knowing you're right here."

"What're you talkin' about?" Krystal's voice was at least an octave higher than normal.

"I'm your— I'm… I’m the one who gave birth to you."

Static started to crackle away in her ears. “What?”

"On— on June second, nineteen ninety-three—"

"No.”

“Listen, I— I'll explain everything, if you let me." 

"No, I… No." The teen began to walk away, and Barbara half-followed.

"Krystal, wait—"

She didn't. 

In a daze, she stumbled towards the group’s house, struggling to process the severity of the information she'd just learned. Pondered the idea of it being a lie. Wondered wether she wanted that to be the case or not.

When she made her way onto the porch, her father— smoking with her uncle— took the cigarette out of his mouth to say, "Phew, girl, you look like warmed-over shit. Them kids a handful?"

He laughed obnoxiously, and she was overcome with a rage so profound her hands began to shake. 

"Nah. Just had a conversation with my mother."

His face dropped, and that was all the confirmation she needed. Daryl looked as shocked as she did, at least, whipping towards his brother.

"She wasn't s'pposed'ta tell you 'bout that."

Krystal scoffed, "So you were just never gon' tell me?”

He hesitated, and her vision swam with unshed tears; angry, or sad, or confused, she had no idea— maybe all of the above. She felt spacey again.

"Huh." She took a step forward, slumping against the railing until she just sort of fell into a sitting position. 

There was some hushed conversation between the two older Dixons, and then Merle went inside, leaving Daryl to sit beside her.

"You got another one?" She asked, motioning vaguely to the cigarette between his fingers. 

He debated for a moment, then said, “Hell, you’re old enough,” and passed over a crumpled-up box of menthols. She pulled one out, and he lit it for her. 

Belatedly, after exhaling a plume of smoke, she said, "Thanks."

Silence stretched.

Chapter Text

The next day, the numbness had all but faded; Krystal was pissed. She had point-blank refused to acknowledge her father's existence before she and Luke had left for school, and had kept her eyes pointedly away from any dog walkers on the way over. Her bitchface was decently controlled during the morning class, but after lunch, when the adolescents rolled in, a girl named Anna approached her.

"Hey, Ms. Dixon?" 

It was uncomfortably formal, seeing as they were no more than four years apart in age, but that was how Emile had asked the kids to address Krystal, so she didn't feel it acceptable to protest. Still, it caught her off guard a moment, especially because it was the first time one of them had called upon her in particular. 

"Yeah?"

"My mom asked me to give this to you," the younger girl said, holding out an envelope. 

Krystal's eyebrows furrowed as she accepted it. Surely any school related stuff should go to Emile?

"Uh— who is— who's your mom?" She asked. Krystal’s name— her full name— was undeniably written across the envelope’s front, and a sort of sinking feeling spread through her chest as a theory emerged. 

It was confirmed when Anna replied, "Oh, her name's Barbara Jacek."

For the second time in as many days, that woman had managed to knock the breath out of Krystal. 

She had a sister. The girl standing before her was her blood, her family, and yet they were perfect strangers— it didn't even seem like Anna knew. 

It was one thing for Barbara to abandon her firstborn if she just hadn't wanted children, but for her to be ready not even half a decade later? For her to not have tried to reconnect when she made that decision? For the kid she actually wanted to be growing up in goddamn suburbia? 

It was another entirely. 

Anna, unaware of the latest installment in Krystal's long line of earth shattering revelations, quirked her brows a bit.

"Um, are you okay, miss?"

Krystal swallowed harshly, tucking the envelope into her own bra strap in lieu of any pockets. 

"Yeah. Get, uh... go sit down."

____

A few hours later, Krystal found herself standing on the group’s back porch, thumbing at the envelope’s lip. She wanted desperately not to care about it, but every time she moved to throw the thing away she found herself unable to— and yet she also couldn’t bring herself to read it. It was Pandora’s box; once she opened it it, there was no going back, and she didn’t know if she could handle what was waiting for her. 

The door to the house creaked, and she looked over as Glenn stepped out, expression a bit like she’d been caught doing something scandalous. He paused for a moment, surprised to find her and then startled by her reaction— though when his eyes drifted down to her hands, the pieces seemed to connect. 

“That from your mom?” He asked.

Krystal nodded, not entirely trusting her voice. They hadn’t spoken about her… situation, but he’d more than likely gotten the details from Daryl, or even Merle if the man had complained loud enough. Glenn was quiet for a moment, very obviously considering something, and she felt a spike of insecurity at the apparent scrutinization.  

“What?” she snapped a bit too harshly. 

He still seemed uncertain, but he obliged her.

“Okay, don’t… take this the wrong way, I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, just… look, I had a pretty bad relationship with my parents. Hadn’t seen them in years when all this started. I get it’s not the same, but… I would give anything to make it right with them now.”

Krystal’s only response was to stare, somewhere between touched and offended. 

He gave an uncomfortable sort of shrug. 

“I’m just saying you’re not always gonna have the option to talk to her, y’know? You’ve got a one-in-a-billion chance here. I don’t—“ He hesitated for a moment, struggling to word his thoughts. “I don’t want you to have to live with that what if.”

Like I do, was silent but understood. 

A heavy look passed between them as Krystal’s ire faded, and her eyes shone with naked uncertainty. He gave her a sympathetic smile, and then went on his way, walking through the yard and into the house that they had yet to use. She wasn’t sure why he’d gone out the back, but she supposed she couldn’t fault him for wanting to be discreet. 

Finally, after a few more minutes of internal debate, she tore open the envelope. Out popped no disease, or violence, or vice— just an innocent-looking piece of paper folded up to fit inside. She removed it, unfurled it to its full stature, and began to read. 

Hi, it said, though several words had clearly been written and erased before that was settled on. 

I know what you must think of me. You're probably right to think it after all the pain I put you through. I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but you deserve an explanation either way, so that's what this is. 

I was twenty-two years old when I got pregnant with you. I was in active addiction, I had just gotten expelled from college, and all my family had pretty much given up on me. I don't know how much you know about your dad's drug use— way too much, Krystal thought— but that's how I met him. It wasn't a very long relationship, and by the time I found out I was pregnant I assumed we'd never speak again. I didn't know what to do. I was homeless, jobless, with no support system. So I went crawling back to my parents. They only let me in the door because of you, and they paid for my rehab. 

You saved my life, Krystal. But it was a double-edged sword, because even if I was clean, I knew I was in no position to take care of you. Looking back, it was probably irresponsible to assume your dad was, but at the time I was naive enough to assume anyone over the age of thirty could make do. After I gave you up, I finished my degree, moved to Virginia for work, and truthfully I tried to forget about you. I was just so ashamed at what I'd had to do to get stable that I never wanted to think about it again. That obviously never worked, and then by the time I was finally ready to be a mom, I was too afraid to reach out. I didn’t want to overstep in a life that I had no real place in. 

But I never ever stopped thinking about you, or loving you. Writing it all down like this makes it seem like I’m looking for sympathy, I promise I’m not, my actions are my own fault. I shouldn't have been such a coward. I am so, so sorry that I was, I can't imagine how hard all of this must be for you. My door is open at any hour if you ever decide you want to see me, but I understand and respect if you never do.

— B.R.J.

There was an address scribbled below the initials, and a smudge of led above them that Krystal was decently sure once read ‘love.’ 

She wished she’d never touched the damn letter.

____

Glancing down at that address one final time for confirmation, she looked up at the mahogany door in front of her, knocking before she could talk herself down. A dog— Atlas, she was assuming— began to bark as soon as her knuckles touched wood. A few seconds passed, and then there was some indistinct speech from inside, followed by the sound of a dog being pulled unwillingly across hard floor, eventually falling silent. 

Krystal steeled herself as footsteps approached the door, and then— far sooner than she was ready for— she was looking up at Barbara’s shocked face.

They stared at each other for a moment.

Then, “I… wanna talk.”

A smile ghosted the older woman’s lips. “Come in.”

Chapter Text

Once Krystal had entered her mother's house, Barbara shutting the door behind her, she didn't know how to proceed. She stood still for a moment, before Barbara ushered her politely out of the mud room, into the den. Inside, sitting on the couch, was a man whose eyes widened a bit upon finding her.

She waved uncomfortably, and he fixed a smile on his face, returning the gesture.

"Hi, there."

"Oh— um, this is my husband, Marek. Marek, Krystal."

"It's nice to meet you," he said. 

Krystal gave a nod back, and an indistinct mumble that sounded something like 'yeah.' 

It was awkward.

Barbara cleared her throat after a beat of silence, and then with false cheer said, "I was just about to take Atlas out. Do you, um... do you want to walk with us?"

"Okay."

____

So they did. As Atlas fought to run ahead of them, now wheezing in a choke chain rather than slipping his collar, they had their first real conversation. Krystal learned her mother had two other children— one being Anna, of course, and the other being Elijah— as well as that Barbara had been an acupuncturist before the fall of civilization. It was the smallest of talk, only barely initiated by Krystal's stilted prompts, but it was better than avoidance.

"Did you and your dad ever make it out of King County? Before, I mean," Barbara asked eventually, after a thirty second stretch of nothing.

"Nah."

She nodded in acknowledgement. "What, uh... what happened to his hand? Did he get infected?"

"No. He pointed a gun at the wrong person, got himself cuffed to a roof. Had to cut himself loose." 

A beat.

"I got infected," she said, holding up her hand to display her missing finger. It didn't soothe the disturbed expression on Barbara's face. "I think, at least. Hard to tell. Guess self-amputation runs in the family."

"Oh." 

"None'a y'all've had to?"

"What, cut off a limb?" At Krystal's nod, the woman sighed. "Someone tried, once, close to the start. One of the supply runners."

"He didn't make it?"

"No." 

Silence. 

"So, have you been on the road this whole time?"

"Nah. There, uh... there's been a few places, but none of 'em have lasted."

"I'm sorry."

Krystal scoffed out a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, me too."

"That little boy that always follows you around... Liam, was it?"

"Luke."

"Luke. Did you know him before?"

"No. I've only known him a year or so. He, uh— our group was stationed at a prison for a while. We took in survivors, he was one of 'em. After we lost it, we were all scattered, so it was just him an' me for a while." 

That was how most of their walk went. Barbara just seemed to keep getting sadder with every word her daughter said, though, even the light-hearted stuff— which was her own fault, Krystal supposed. She wouldn't have missed anything if she'd stayed. Knowing the full story might have made it easier to extend an olive branch, but Krystal couldn't quite let go of her resentment. 

Today was a start, though.

____

Later, when Krystal returned home, she was greeted by the smell of something freshly baked. It carried her into the kitchen, where she found a tray of pinkish cookies sitting atop the stove. They were still warm, so when she grabbed one it folded in on itself, causing her to rush to bring the thing up to her lips. 

"What are you doing?" Carol's voice startled her, and she looked up, mouth full of cookie, struggling to keep the rest of its pieces from hitting the ground. 

"Uh." Krystal swallowed the bite. It had an... interesting taste, but she wouldn't call it bad. "Nothin'?" 

Carol shot her a half-hearted look of annoyance, fiddling with an earring. "Don't eat any more of those, they're for Deanna's dinner party. Which you're going to, by the way, so go get dressed."

"But—"

"No buts. Upstairs, now, go, be ready by four."

"Would you quit bossin' her around, woman?" Merle said as he emerged from... somewhere. 

Normally she would appreciate the sentiment, but currently she was mad enough at him to be offended by it. Who was he to tell Carol off? Casting a glare his way, she walked over to the stairs, up towards the group's shared closet. 

Behind her back, her father gave Carol a wink, and then retreated into the living room. 

____

Deanna's house was already crowded by the time the first few members of Krystal's group arrived. Luke's grip tightened on her hand, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze even as she looked over to Rick for help. He was already being waved over by Deanna, though, leaving the two of them alone.

It was awful. Krystal stood oddly by the wall, probably looking like a sewer creature as the place continued to fill up. There was food somewhere, because people were walking around with plates, but she had yet to see it— not that it mattered, she was too tense to eat.

Sam Anderson came up after a while, stamping both their hands with a red 'A' and whisking Luke away to play with a few other kids. He took a bit of encouragement, but once he realized there was someone he knew in pretty much every room, he didn't seem to worry too much. Krystal still had eyes on him when someone came to stand beside her.

"Hey," T-Dog said, and she gave him a small smile of relief. 

"Hey."

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall.

"Phew. Man, it's crazy, isn't it? I never thought I'd go to something like this again."

"I ain't never been to something like this," Krystal said.

"For real?" 

She shook her head. Their trailer park hadn't exactly been tight knit, after all.

"Huh. It everything you expected?"

"Pretty much." Her tone of voice clearly conveyed those expectations hadn't been high. 

"You eat, at least?"

"Nah, not yet."

"Oh, come on, then. There's this casserole thing that's all meat and bread... you gotta try it."

"Uh, I don't..." her protests died out as he guided her with a hand on her back towards the dining room.

____

"We're gonna do something a little more active today," Emile was saying, motioning down at a potato, a multimeter, and some various hardware scraps on a rolling table new to his garage. "At least, if I can get it right. That's why I wanted to do it with the older kids first, so no-one walked away too heartbroken."

The kit seemed vaguely familiar, from some lesson she probably ignored in middle school. She nodded rather than ask any more questions— she probably wouldn't be helping that much, anyway.

Adolescents began to roll in shortly thereafter. Krystal greeted them as kindly as she could muster, even conjuring up a smile for Anna— and then did a double take when she spotted a familiar cowboy hat.

"Carl," she said, surprised. "I didn't know you were comin' in today."

"Uh— yeah, me either. Just kinda... happened."

He glanced over at the girl he'd walked in with— Enid, Krystal thought? 

"Huh. One time thing, or...?" 

"I don't know, maybe."

She nodded. "You picked a good day, we're gonna do some cool shi— uh. Cool stuff."

"Cool."

Something told her he wasn't there for the learning experience.

Chapter Text

"Come here, kiddo. Come on! Come on, you can do it, come to Aunt Tara," said Tara encouraged, crouched in front of Judith on the living room floor. 

Krystal watched the two of them from the couch as she sharpened her knife, a small smile on her face. She'd thought calm moments like this were a thing of the past. 

Judith wobbled a bit as she stood on her own, Tara's hands no longer supporting her, and then— holy shit, threw a foot in front of herself. Both women froze in place, wide-eyed as the child took two more steps before tumbling against Tara's chest. 

"Holy crap." Tara gave a shocked chuckle. "Holy— Carl! Hey, Carl, come down here a second!"

Rapid footsteps thumped above their heads, and then Carl was at the bottom of the stairs, hair half brushed and concern on his face. "What's up?"

"Judy walked!"

That concern melted into surprise, then awe, and he hurried over to his sister, kneeling beside her in order to properly fuss over her.

____

Krystal felt a knot of anxiety in her chest when Elijah walked into the classroom. She hadn't seen him since she'd found out they were siblings, and he hadn't been home when she'd visited Barbara, so she had no idea if he knew. He made eye contact with Krystal almost immediately upon entering, though, grinning and exposing one of his missing front teeth, so maybe he did. 

"Hi Ms. Dixon!"

"Hey, bud. Can I, uh— can I talk to you for a minute?"

He nodded, and Krystal motioned at Luke to stay put before she stepped outside the garage with Elijah, hand on the kid's shoulder. When they were far enough down the driveway for their conversation to be considered private, she crouched in front of him.

"So, uh... has your mom talked to you at all?"

He nodded again, more exuberantly. "Uh-huh! After the party, we had a big talk about it. She said to give you space, but you're talking to me, so I guess you don't want that."

"Um. I guess so, huh?"

"Who's your dad? Mom said we're half-siblings, so it can't be my daddy."

"How— uh, how about we talk later, huh? Class is starting."

"Oh. Okay. Hey, you can come eat dinner at my house tonight if you want!" 

"I'll... talk to your mama about it," she said as she stood, sending him back towards the garage's interior with a light push. 

As they went, he asked, "Do I still have to call you Ms. Dixon? What's your name?"

"It's Krystal. And, uh... I guess not, if you don't wanna."

____

The afternoon class came and went, and by the end Anna was breaking her routine, standing with the kids who had to wait for their parents, working her jaw as if she was summoning her nerve.

"Y'alright?" Krystal asked after at least two minutes of this, and the younger girl blanched.

"Yes. I, uh— I just... um... wanted to ask if you wanna walk home with me? If— if it's convenient, I mean, no... pressure, or anything." 

A pause of surprise on Krystal's part, and then, "Sure, yeah."

Relief spread visibly across Anna's face. 

"Cool."

“Hang on, though— hey, Carl?” The boy looked over from where he was standing nearby. “I’m gonna walk Anna home, go back without me.” 

“Okay.”

“I bet you’re celebrating on the inside, huh? Gettin’ some some alone time with your girlfriend?

He turned beat red and gave a squawk, casting a glance Enid’s way just long enough to make sure she hadn’t heard the comment before he looked back at Krystal.

“That’s— not how it is—“

“Sure, lover boy.”

He tilted his head, face fixed with a sort of surprised, sort of humored, ‘since when are you an asshole??’ expression. 

“I’m gonna tell my dad,” he said with teasing petulance. 

“Oh, c’mon, me an’ him, one on one? I can take him.”

“I don’t know, your family doesn’t have a good track record with that.” 

It was Krystal’s turn to squawk, which faded into a laugh. Merle getting left behind in Atlanta, Daryl getting subdued after that— he wasn’t wrong, which made it all the more annoying. She smacked his shoulder.

“Alright, we’re leaving, you little shit.” Turning to Anna, Krystal found the girl watching with a sort of… sad expression, almost envious. In a gentler tone, she said, “Lead the way.”

"Oh, yeah, right."

Anna did so, down the sidewalk and through a left turn. Neither of them spoke, unsure of what to say and uncertain it would be welcome. Krystal could understand that expression, now— this was a stark contrast to the energy she’d had with Carl. 

"What's Anna short for?" She settled on eventually. 

"Annalise. Total old lady name, right?" The girl chuckled, a bit forced. 

"Nah, 's pretty."

"Well, thanks. Apparently it was my great... great grandmother's, or something— or, uh, our grandmother's. Sorry, that’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“‘S fine.”

____

“You’re later than usual,” Merle said as Krystal entered their house. 

“Yep,” her reply was curt, and she walked briskly past him towards the kitchen. He followed.

“You, uh… with yer mom?”

“Nope.”

She heard him sigh behind her. 

Neither of them spoke for a while, Krystal silently willing him to just go away as she began to put up clean dishes. He didn’t, of course, because when had he ever done what she wanted, so when he finally said something it was to her back. 

“I, uh… talked to that doctor fella about my arm. He said he’d be able to put it right.” 

She nodded.

“I’m gonna go in tomorrow. I’ll be in a cast for a while, just to let y’know.” 

Another nod.

“Goddammit, will you stop with this silent treatment bullshit? Yer actin’ like a brat .”

“You lied to me, why should I?”

“I was tryin’a protect you! She left once, I didn’t want it to happen again, alright?”

“That is not—“ she slammed a metal bowl down hard on the counter, harder than she meant to— “your decision!”

“Well excuse the hell outta me for tryin’a be a half-way decent father.”

“Why start now?”

Were she looking at him, she would’ve seen the glower that came across his face.

“I didn’t raise you to be this ungrateful.”

A bitter laugh left her against her will. “Yeah, thanks so much for dumping me on your brother the second you knew about me. You oughta climb up off that high horse ‘a yers, I know you didn’t want me any more than Barbara did.”

She paused, surprised the words had left her mouth. They weren’t exactly… untrue, but they were a little unfair— he’d been around, after all, if not all that helpful. It didn’t matter though, she’d said it, no take-backs. 

With a huff, she abandoned her task before the two of them devolved into screaming— Luke was upstairs, and he didn’t need to hear it. Instead she stormed back outside, onto the front porch, where T-Dog was sitting with Judith on his knee. 

He gave her a wary look. “You okay?” 

“You heard that?” She asked, rubbing at her eyes as if it would relieve her tension. 

“Nothin’ specific, just the tone.”

“Sorry. He’s just— he’s so—“ she groaned, clenching her hands into fists. “Y’know?”

“Oh yeah, I know.”

Of course he did, Merle had almost killed him not even two years ago. 

Krystal took a seat in the rocking chair beside him, letting out a deep breath and brushing a few hairs out of Judith’s face with a squeaky, “Hi.”

Chapter Text

Krystal watched her uncle load up the saddle bags of his new motorcycle with an expression edging on sour.

"Do you really gotta go today? We've barely been here a week."

Daryl shrugged. "'S long enough." 

"W— can't Aaron find someone else?"

"Would you quit naggin'?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just... come back, alright?"

He paused, expression softening a bit as he looked over his shoulder at her. After a moment, he nodded.

"I'm gonna."

She nodded back once, firmly, and then turned to exit the garage.

____

Noah was dead. 

When the words left Glenn's mouth, Krystal just... went. As far as her legs would take her, until the sun disappeared and she collapsed onto asphalt. The sting was muted, buried beneath a haze of fog that clouded her vision, her hearing, her thoughts— like she was minutes away from evaporating into the night sky.

Noah was dead. 

The last piece of Beth that Krystal had, that the world had, had slipped right through her fingers with no warning or reason. He'd just gone out with a crew that spooked easy. Not to mention Tara, who was lying comatose in the infirmary with head trauma, on the precipice of following him. 

One lousy run was all it had taken to destroy so much. 

Krystal sat on the road for what might've been hours mulling that over. Or minutes, she didn't pay enough attention to know. When a tap on her shoulder brought her back to reality, though, she could feel that the cold had settled firmly into her bones. 

She startled at the contact, turning her head with an awful crack of the neck to see a woman nervously standing behind her— the one who'd taken their guns the day they'd arrived at Alexandria. Olivia? Krystal was gonna go with Olivia. 

"I'm sorry," Olivia said. "I— I said your name, you didn't hear me?"

After a glance up and down, which unsettled the woman all the more if the clasping of her hands meant anything, Krystal shook her head. 

"Oh. Well, um... just, how about we get you home? Your friends are looking for you, they seem really worried."

What? Why would they be—

Oh. Right. Last time she'd wandered off after a loss like this she'd hung herself. Silly of her to assume she wasn’t still on suicide watch. 

Krystal nodded, and Olivia offered her a hand, helping her to her feet and then hissing through her teeth. 

"Ooh, ouch, are you okay?" 

She followed Olivia's eyes down to her own knees, finding her jeans torn, stained with blood. Huh.

"'M fine."

Olivia looked like she wanted to say more about it, but she refrained. 

____

The walk back was a different, far more awkward story. Krystal didn't say a word, and Olivia tried half-heartedly to fill the silence with chatter about whatever came to mind: her job, her breakfast, her parents, and even Enid, who was apparently living with her.

She'd tapered off by the time they neared the group's street, and the two of them soon bumped into Abraham. 

He cracked a small, relieved smile. 

"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes." To Olivia, he said, "Thank you for the assist, ma'am, I'll take 'er from here."

"Oh, okay. Yeah. Um, goodnight."

"Night." 

She began to walk away, and Abraham gave Krystal a solid thump on the back. It was a friendly gesture— intended to be comforting, even— but he packed it with enough force to bowl over a rhino. Neither of them commented on her stumble, though his lips did seem to twitch into a frown. 

As they started towards the house, he pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. "This is Ford, package has been located."

From the other end crackled Michonne's voice, "Is she alright?"

"Yup, fit as a fiddle, we're on our way back."

"Okay, we'll meet you."

"10-4."

He replaced the walkie. The guilt began to creep in, then, as Krystal realized how much trouble she'd caused everyone. But it wasn't really her fault, right? She hadn’t asked them to check in on her. She'd been fine. 

Relatively, anyway. 

After a moment passed, Abe whistled. "It has been one shitstorm of a day, huh?"

She barely had the energy to nod.

____

When Krystal walked through the door, Abraham holding it open for her, it was to many anxious faces awaiting her arrival.

"There you are!" Much to her surprise, Merle pulled her into a side hug with his handless arm, mindful of the cast around his other. "You worried the hell outta me, girl, you've been gone damn near five hours."

That... was a long time. Longer than she'd thought— when she'd described herself as sitting on that road 'for hours' she'd meant it in a more metaphorical sense. 

She rested her forehead on his shoulder, feeling something old, something childish unclench at the faint scent of smoke and gasoline etched into his jacket. She was supposed to be mad at him, she knew, but right now she just couldn’t stomach it; she wanted her dad. 

She sniffled, squeezing her welling eyes shut. God, she was so tired. 

____

The next morning, she moved on autopilot. Get up, get dressed, get Luke ready, leave for class. 

As soon as Emile saw her, his face shifted. 

“You don’t need to be working today.” 

She walked in anyway, moving straight to organizing worksheets. “I’m fine.”

“No, hey, listen to me—“ he turned her by the shoulder, and while she didn’t turn away again, she shrugged his hand off. “You shouldn’t be here. Okay? For you or for them. You and Luke both need to go home, take a few days to recover.” 

Krystal looked over to Luke, who shrugged, then back to Emile. 

Reluctantly, “Okay.”

“Okay,” the man echoed. “And, hey— if you ever need to talk outside of work, I’m here. You can come by whenever you want.”

She nodded. 

____

Later, she sat on the front porch, smoking a cigarette she’d stolen from a pack sitting unattended on the kitchen counter. Behind her the door opened, and out walked Maggie, who stopped mid-way down the steps when she saw Krystal.

“Your daddy know you took that?”

The girl exhaled, a plume of smoke passing her lips. “Probably not.”

Maggie sat beside her, and Krystal silently offered the cigarette to her. It stayed between them, smoldering, for a few seconds, before Maggie gave in and grabbed it, taking a long drag. 

“I don’t know what to do without him,” the teen admitted eventually. “I had a way to… honor her, I guess. Taking care of him. Now he’s gone, and I just… I just keep thinkin’, what was the point of her gettin’ herself killed?”

Maggie passed the cigarette back as she contemplated her response.

Then, “She got us here.”

“Hm?”

“Without Noah, we never would’a come up to Virginia. Never would’a found this place.” 

Oh. 

Maggie set a hand on her shoulder, and Krystal looked over at the woman’s watery smile, returning one of her own. 

And then the shattering of glass reached their ears. Both of them perked up, concerned, only further so by the shouting that followed. Krystal threw her cigarette down on the concrete and stomped it out, standing quickly behind Maggie and following her towards the commotion. 

They joined an already gathering crowd, finding the source of the issue to be Pete and Rick, the former on top of the latter, hands wrapped around his throat. Krystal rushed forward on autopilot, but Rosita caught her arm, and when Krystal looked over at her she shook her head.  

Instead, Jessie stepped in, trying to pull her husband off, and he shoved her backwards. It seemed to give Rick the advantage he needed, because he managed to roll them over, and then he was the one strangling, shoving Carl off when the boy tried to stop him. Krystal looked over to Rosita, to Maggie and Glenn, to Carl, whom Enid was helping to his feet. No-one moved until Pete was in a choke hold and Deanna finally arrived, demanding Rick stop. 

He did, after a hiss of something violent into Pete’s ear. Whatever the fuck happened between them Krystal didn’t know, but it had to have been something bad. 

Glenn, Tobin, and Nicholas moved towards him now that the action was over, and then Rick stopped them in their tracks by whipping out a gun.

“Or what? You gonna kick me out?”

Deanna’s eyes were saucers. “Put that gun down, Rick.”

“You still don’t get it.” He turned to look around the crowd, and Krystal could see his face was covered in blood. “None of you do!”

Rosita pulled Krystal back a bit, placing the younger girl behind her. It struck Krystal as an unnecessary precaution— Rick would never hurt them. 

Would he?

She was brought back to that night after the farm fell, when he’d spat out his declaration of leadership with venom, been a little too careless with the muzzle of his gun. This time wasn’t carelessness, though— this was a threat. 

“You— you just sit, and plan, and hesitate! You pretend like you know, when you don’t!”

Muffled gunshots went off in the background— whoever was in the tower, no doubt, taking out something that needed taking out. Hopefully walkers. 

“You wish things weren’t what they are. Well, you wanna live? You want this place to stay standing? Your way of doing things is done! Things don’t get better because you— you want them to. Starting right now, we have to live in the real world. We have to control who lives here.” 

Something steeled in Deanna’s expression. “That’s never been more clear to me than it is right now.”

“Me? Me? You—“ he began to laugh— “You mean me? Your way is gonna destroy this place. It’s gonna get people killed— it’s already gotten people killed.” 

Oh. He was talking about Noah. And Aiden, but Krystal didn’t think he really cared about Aiden. 

“And I’m not gonna stand by and just let it happen! If you don’t fight, you die. I’m not just gonna stand by—“

Michonne hit him hard across the back of the head, and he was out like a light.

Chapter Text

Safe to say, Deanna was furious, even after Michonne helped move Rick to a makeshift jail— though personally, Krystal was a little angry right back at her. After a brief discussion, it had been revealed that the only reason Rick had attacked Pete was because he was beating his wife, which Deanna had known and had taken no action to prevent. Pete was their only surgeon, after all. 

Now that things had boiled over on that front, and Jessie was in more danger than ever, Pete had been forcibly moved into the house Krystal's group weren't using. It was good to have him close, so they could keep an eye on him— though currently Krystal was not doing that, instead sitting in the infirmary beside the patient he was angrily neglecting. Rosita sat opposite her, on Tara's left, reading some sort of mystery book; she seemed to have taken up a vigil since Pete's true nature was revealed. 

Neither of them spoke, Krystal too lost in her own thoughts to even try to initiate a conversation. The whole situation was bringing back memories of the farm, after they'd cracked the barn open and Beth had gone catatonic. Granted, everything seemed to remind her of Beth nowadays, but this comparison was stark enough to prey on her mind. 

The infirmary door opened, and both women looked up at Carol as she entered. 

"How is she?" She asked, coming to stand by Krystal, and the teen responded.

"No clue."

"Pete still hasn't been in?" 

"Nope," Rosita answered this time, her tone filled to the brim with annoyance. 

Carol's expression darkened. "This is ridiculous." 

She turned to exit again, this time with intent, and Krystal jokingly called after her, "Don't come back with a hostage."

She cringed after the words had left her mouth— she had been thinking about the farm, it probably wouldn't land for anyone else. After a second of pausing to consider, though, Carol gave a sort of surprised chuckle.

"You don't go crashing any cars." 

And then she was gone.

Rosita tilted her head a bit, confused. "Is that some kind of inside joke?"

"Kinda. It's, uh— it's a long story."

She shrugged in an 'I've got time' sort of way. 

"Alright. So, towards the start we— uh, some of us, anyway, we wound up at Maggie's farm. Now, since it was so early on, Maggie's dad, he thought that there was still somethin' to walkers, they could be saved. So he rounded a bunch of 'em up, put 'em in his barn, wife and stepson included. I, uh—" 

Krystal paused, realizing suddenly that despite being at her funeral, Rosita had never met Beth. 

"B— Beth and Maggie are half-sisters, I don't know if you know that." 

Rosita shook her head.

"Anyway. Uh, Hersh— Maggie's dad, he loses his mind for a little while, disappears, runs off to drink without anyone realizin'. He'd been sober all Maggie's life, so, y'know, he didn't keep anything in the house. And Beth... I still don't really know what happened, she went into shock, I guess. Just collapsed, wouldn't move, or talk, or nothin'. Like, uh... like this."

She motioned at Tara.

"Everyone's freaking out trying to find Maggie’s dad, and eventually Rick and Glenn go after him. And then they don't come back, so Lori— uh, Carl's mom and I go after them... get into a car wreck, so Daryl and another guy have to come out lookin' for us, it's a—" a laugh, wet but genuine, leaves her— "It was kind of a mess. They drag our asses back, 'cause I'm beat to hell, Lori's pregnant, everyone's all mad at everyone... and then the next day Rick, Glenn, and Hershel roll up with—"

"With a hostage?" Rosita finishes with her, her tone humorous, and Krystal nods.

"Yeah. God, that asshole caused so much trouble..."

"You didn't kill him?"

"Nah. I mean, one of us did, but... I— it was a whole thing."

She nodded in understanding. Then, "Is that where you got the..." 

She motioned to her own face, around where the burn scars were on Krystal's. "The wreck, I mean?"

"Oh, no, nah, that was a while after. I scalded myself."

"Yikes. Y'know, this guy we were on the road with did that once. With motor oil."

Krystal sucked in air through her teeth.

"Yeah. We got caught up in a herd, hid under some cars. He— for some reason he thought they wouldn't smell him if he covered himself in oil from the truck we'd just parked, which... was even more stupid than it sounds, because they wouldn't have smelled him anyway. They definitely heard him screaming, though." 

"Oh, wow. Did he make it?"

"Abraham and another guy fought their way to him, got him inside the car, but... no, he died a few weeks later. We didn't have a doctor, and it got infected..." she trailed off with a shrug.

"Damn."

"Yeah. He was a dick, but he didn't deserve to go out like that."

A pause, somber in tone.

"I got lucky," Krystal said eventually. "Maggie's dad was still with us when I burnt myself. He— uh, he was a vet."

"Like, veteran, or veterinarian?"

"Veterinarian. He knew enough to get us by, though."

Rosita nodded. 

____

A while after that, once they had swapped some more war stories— apparently Rosita had killed someone on the exact stretch of road JFK was assassinated— Krystal left for the meeting that would decide Rick's, and consequently the entire group's, fate. 

The sun had just set when she arrived, and Barbara motioned her over to where her and her husband were sitting on some fold-out chairs. Krystal's people seemed fairly spread out anyway, so she obliged. 

"Hi," Barbara said with a smile, like she couldn't believe she'd gotten the opportunity. It made something churn in Krystal's gut.

"Hey," the teen replied, and then gave a quick two-figured wave to her... stepdad, she supposed, which he returned. "Where're the kids?"

"Oh, Anna's watching her brother. They don't need to hear all this, y'know?"

She did know, Carl was currently watching over Luke and Judith. 

She nodded in response, then felt her seat shift as someone sat beside her. Much to her surprise, when she turned her head to see who it was, she found Merle, looking the most uncomfortable she'd ever seen him. He gave a single nod to both Barbara and Marek, and then looked resolutely forward at the fire in front of them all.

____

When the meeting began, things went about as Krystal expected— up until Rick arrived late, covered in foul-smelling sludge, a dead walker slung over his shoulder. Krystal rose to her feet with the rest of the crowd, ready to spring into action if this went the way it seemed like it might. Rick had mentioned being willing to take the place before, and, while it wasn't the desired outcome, if it had to happen, it had to happen. She was prepared.

Instead of giving that order, he dropped the corpse onto the ground. 

"There wasn't a guard on the gate. It was open," he said.

 Deanna and Reg both looked at their son, who paled like a child caught playing hooky. 

"I asked Gabriel to close it."

Deanna snapped at him under her breath, and he ran off, no doubt to return to his post.

Rick began to speak again, and this time, Krystal could hear the leader that had gotten his people through some impossibly hard times. His words were harsh, no question, but the Alexandrians needed to hear them— because if they didn't, and didn't take them into their hearts, memorize them, live by them, these people wouldn't survive. 

Krystal really wanted them to survive. 

"You're not ready, but you have to be. Right now, you have to be. Luck runs out," he closed with. 

From behind him, angry muttering began to approach. Pete was stomping up to the meeting, something long in his hand— was that a sword? Shit. Michonne's sword, she'd hung it up in the house they'd moved him to. How had no-one thought of that?

Krystal reached for her knife, the hairs on the back of her neck raising.

"You're not one of us!" Pete's muttering crescendoed into as he advanced towards Rick. 

Reg stepped in front of him, and there was some aggressive back-and-forth between them, before Pete shoved him away, the sharp edge of Michonne's sword way too close to the other man's throat—

Reg gargled horribly as he stumbled backwards, a wave of blood pouring down his chest. Deanna cried out in horror, barely managing to catch her husband as he fell. Abraham had Pete pinned in seconds, but the damage was done; Reg faded fast in Deanna's arms.

Krystal didn't feel as much about that as she would've liked.

"Rick?" Deanna said, her voice trembling. Rick looked at her, and a coldness came over her face. "Do it."

He did. With no hesitation, he pulled yet another gun that he wasn't supposed to have from his waistband, and Pete's head was nothing but splatter on the pavement. 

Then a new voice spoke up. The group collectively looked over at the source— a man Krystal didn't recognize, flanked by Daryl and a wide-eyed Aaron. Rick seemed to know him, though, because for the first time all night his posture changed, softened into something one might call surprised. 

Krystal didn't much care about that reunion. She instead locked eyes with her uncle, and jogged to meet him halfway as the three newcomers finally crossed the threshold into the gathered crowd's space, throwing her arms around his chest. His crossbow was slung over his shoulder, so instead of clasping her hands around his back, she grabbed on to the bow wherever her fingers found room. 

He returned the gesture, one hand between her shoulders, the other resting on the back of her head. His gaze lingered on the night’s carnage. 

Chapter Text

It wasn't long before Rick was escorting Morgan away, motioning with his head for his right-hand man to follow. Daryl gave a quick nod in return, then separated himself from his niece, resting a hand on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. There was a gentleness to it, and in his expression that said he'd realized she was more fragile than she had been when he'd left— though wether or not he assumed it was because of the crime scene at their feet, she didn't know.

"I'll meet you at the house, alright?" 

"'Kay," she replied, her voice cracking so bad around the 'o' that it wasn't audible. 

The hand at her shoulder retreated with a pat. As Daryl moved to leave, though, Merle whistled, catching his attention long enough to jog to his side.

"What am I, chopped liver?" He groused as the two began to walk again, following behind Rick. He continued after that, but they were too far off for Krystal to make it out by that point.

She glanced around, unsure what to do with herself— the idea of returning home right now didn't sit well with her. Abraham was already handling Pete's body, and Eric and Barbara were trying to coax Deanna away from Reg before he turned, which left behind one more item in need of expunging: the walker Rick had turned into a statement. 

Moving it was more of a challenge than she was anticipating— the thing was heavy, sure, and she was still touched by the weakness of malnourishment, but it was also awkward, falling apart in a way that meant she couldn't lug it up in a fireman carry like she'd planned. Instead, she grabbed it by the armpits and started to drag it backwards. It left a smear of blackish ooze behind in a stripe. 

She got as far as to escape the fire's light before Aaron ran up to her.

"Hey, let me do that—"

"I got it," she said with a bit more aggression than intended.

"I know. Just— how about I help, then? It would go faster. Plus, y'know, it would suck to have to clean up the trail it's making."

She stopped, huffed, looked up at him through narrowed brows, and then met an expression much more sincere than she was expecting. Her own softened, and she gave a small nod, which prompted him to grab the walker by the knees. 

He was right, of course, it did go faster; though for once she didn't take that as a blow to her ego, she just appreciated the help. When they arrived at the gate, Spencer greeted them, which made them both stiffen.

He'd been sent away before things had gotten bloody— he didn't know his father was dead.

At their silence, he said, "Uh, hello? You guys okay?"

"Y— yeah," Aaron replied. "Yeah. I... look, you... uh..."

"Pete killed Reg," Krystal cut in. There was no use in dancing around it, it wouldn't soften the blow.

Spencer paled. "What?" 

Aaron shot Krystal a look, which she shrugged at, before turning his attention back to the other man. "You should be with your mom. I'll— I'll take over your shift."

He was off without much more acknowledgment. 

Aaron sighed, setting his end of the walker down to swipe a hand across his sweaty forehead. “You got this thing if I—?"

"Yeah."

He moved over to the gate, unlatching it and sliding it open just enough for her to fit through. He stood by the opening as she dragged the corpse outside Alexandria's walls, watching her back without prompting, which she appreciated. When she felt she was an acceptable distance away, she dropped her undead cargo, and then sprinted back inside, where he closed the gate behind her.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem. Uh— hey, if you're going back there, would you tell Eric where I am? I don't want him to come looking, he doesn't need to be on his feet more than he has to."

"I can take over. You— I mean, you just got back, an' all."

"Oh, no, it's okay, I got some sleep on the way here."

Well, she wasn't going to fight any harder than that. "Alright. Yeah, I'll tell him. 'Night." 

"Goodnight."

____

When Krystal made her way back to the meeting spot-turned-massacre site, she found that she wasn't the only one— Gabriel was standing before Deanna, staring down at her husband's now empty pool of blood in horror.

'Father Gabriel came to see me the day before yesterday,' she had said before everything went to shit, 'and he said our new arrivals can't be trusted.'

How could he do that? After they'd saved his life, forgiven his every act of ineptitude no matter how dangerous? 

Krystal was stomping up to him before she even registered her body moving. By the time he looked over at her, her fist was connecting with his jaw. He staggered back, surprised, but there was no accusation on his face when his eyes made their way back to hers— he knew he deserved it. She was too pissed off to leave well enough alone, though. 

"You put my family at risk again and I will fucking kill you, you hear me? That ain't an exaggeration, or a joke, you fuck up one more time and you're gone."

A pause. 

Then, rubbing at his cheek, his tone undeniably sad, he replied, "I understand."

She scoffed, and, once certain he wasn't swinging back, turned, searching until she spotted Eric so that she could fulfill her obligation.

____

Soon after, she started back home, ready to sleep for at least a decade— meaning about five hours, give or take. Even if she was lucky enough to avoid the nightmares, she could never manage to make it through the night. She'd just adjusted to being on the road, she supposed.

She entered the house, the only sound to be heard Maggie and Glenn talking in the kitchen. Krystal paused to do a double take when she saw them, because Glenn was looking significantly more like an old bar rag than he had that morning. 

"The hell happened to you?" She asked. Was that a bullet hole in his jacket?

He shrugged with one shoulder. "I went outside the walls." 

She chortled. That sounded about right.

When she moved towards the living room to grab her sleeping bag, rolled up and stuffed in the corner, Maggie stopped her.

"Oh, hey, Tara's awake."

Krystal whipped around, exhaustion disappearing in a blink. "Really? Is she okay?"

Maggie nodded. "Seems like it. We just came from there, she's probably still up if you wanna go see her."

"Yeah. Thanks."

She smiled in response, a quick thing that was gone in a second— not that Krystal saw it in her haste the leave.

____

The infirmary door flew open with the force of Krystal's speed, and four figures jumped: Rosita, Eugene, T-Dog, and Tara herself.

"Holy shit," it came out as an elated chuckle. There were no empty seats by the bed, so Krystal took to simply standing beside it. "You got some kinda timin', you know that?"

Tara laughed, but it was half-hearted, an underlying sadness etched into her face. "So I've been told."

"How are you feelin'?"

"Shitty. But, y'know, alive— thanks to him I hear." Tara motioned towards Eugene, who smiled bashfully, ducking his head. 

"Yep," T said, slapping a hand on the other man's shoulder, "Ol' Gene's a certified badass now."

____

Morgan— after a long tale about some new big bads that called themselves 'the Wolves'— was eventually settled, and his escorts returned to their house, entering quietly so as not to disturb the small network of humans on their living room floor. It was a lot less crowded than it had been when they'd first arrived, as some of the group had gotten comfortable enough to settle into their own beds— Rick included, which was why he bid Daryl and Merle goodnight, and then headed up the stairs, leaving the two men to their own devices. 

Daryl's eyes drifted over to Noah's untouched sleeping bag. 

"How'd it happen?" He asked as quietly as he could manage. He'd been told the boy was dead, but not much else.

Merle looked up at him, to the bag, and then back at him. "Went out on a run with the wrong guy. The, uh, the curly-haired one, at the gate when we first got here."

"Nicholas?"

"Yeah, him. From what I hear, they got stuck on different ends of a revolvin' door, and he got spooked, ran out, tossed the kid right into a pack 'a walkers." 

Daryl pressed his lips into a thin line. 

"Krys's real torn up about it," Merle continued after a moment. "Christ, when what was left 'a the group got back... it was like those first couple days after Grady all over again. I mean, she was out of it enough to want me around." 

Daryl cleared his throat, latching on to the opportunity for a change of subject. "She still pissed at you?" 

"Oh yeah." His brother graciously accepted the shift. "I mean, she ain't bein' outright ugly anymore, but her shoulder's still plenty chilly."

Daryl shrugged, slinging his crossbow off his back. "Can't blame 'er." 

As he leaned it against the wall, Merle said, "The hell I can't."

"Like you weren't worse at her age."

"But I ain't anymore, which means I got a practical view 'a this whole situation. I was tryin'a keep her safe, I don't see how that makes me the bad guy."

"It don't, it just makes you someone who pissed her off." 

Merle scoffed, "You know what I mean."

"You're not hearin' me."

"Speak my language, then."

Daryl sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "It don't matter wether or not you meant well, you broke her trust. Stop thinkin' about how to get her to like you again, and start thinkin' how to make up for that."

The condescending sneer ever-present on Merle's face seemed to briefly dip into real annoyance. "Ain't yer place to tell me how to parent, anyhow."

Daryl stiffened at the implications behind that, which struck a very tender nerve. "Man, seriously? I pitched into raisin' her just as much as you have. Remind me, who stayed up with her when she had colic? Or taught her how to swim? How to ride a bike? It sure as hell wasn't yer methed out ass."

He was whisper-yelling now, worried they might have to take this outside if the volume raised anymore— Merle certainly looked indignant enough for it. 

"You think I don't know that?" He hissed. "I did my best with what I had!”

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he deflated, faint horror spreading across his face. Daryl didn't need to point out that he sounded just like their father.

____

Krystal was out the infirmary door way, way later than she intended, eyelids begging to close and feet aching. 

"Uhg," she complained, leaning dramatically against T-Dog, who'd decided to head home with her. "Carry me."

He shrugged. "Alright."

"Wait, wh—" was all she managed to get out before T hauled her over his shoulder. She let out a surprised yelp when her feet left the ground, though it morphed into something more humorous. "I w— I was kiddin'!"

"You need to eat more, man, I carried rabbits heavier than this."

She resigned to her fate, letting her hands dangle with a sigh. 

"Trust me, I plan on eatin' double every calorie I lost out there.” A pause. “Hey, speakin’ of, you should make eggs again now that we got a real stove.”

“Ooh, I can get behind that.”

Chapter Text

There was a notable change in the community, after everything. Deanna was a ghost amongst the living, approving pretty much anything that came out of Rick's mouth, pointing anyone with questions in his direction— not that anyone seemed to have an issue with it. Reg and Pete's deaths, perhaps combined with the whispers of a human threat far too close for comfort, seemed to have cowed them. 

Except for Morgan, who, despite there clearly being a great deal of mutual respect between the two, would not stop questioning Rick. That wasn't as dangerous as it would've been out on the road— there weren't very many life-or-death, split-second decisions that the group needed to make as a cohesive system in order to survive in Alexandria— but it rubbed Krystal the wrong way regardless. If... hell, who was she kidding, when the time came, Morgan was liable to break rank, which was liable to get people she cared about killed. 

It surprised her, really, that he had managed to remain so pretentiously pacifistic out on his own. Maybe that was it, though? He had no-one to protect, no-one to prioritize above his morals. Hopefully he would make the right choice in the heat of the moment, with people relying on him— and she had a feeling they would be soon.

____

Okay, so, turned out she was wrong about Morgan being the only exception. Krystal had been invited to stay for dinner at the Jacek house, and it was... uncomfortable. 

Marek was clearly agitated, but Krystal couldn't pinpoint why until he capped a sentence with a muttered, "Of course, if things keep going like they are, there's not going to be many of us left."

She stiffened, straightening in her seat. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" It wasn't really a question, she knew what it meant. It was a challenge. Tense silence was all that took up the next few seconds, so she continued, "You have a problem with how last night went down?"

"There was no need for Pete to die."

She scoffed. "If we'd done it sooner Reg would still be alive."

"Or if someone had locked him up properly."

"Oh, you mean if y'all'd put more energy into keeping him contained than fussin' over Rick?" 

"He pulled a gun on people—!"

"Hey!" Barbara snapped. Both looked over to her. "Not at the table."

"What, do you agree?" Krystal asked, because she'd never heard the word 'deescalation' in her life. 

"I didn't say that."

"Yer also not sayin' no. So..."

The woman sighed. "I... think the whole situation could've been handled better."

"Wow. Thanks for the input, Switzerland."

That got a stifled snort from Anna, at least. 

"Is it that hard to believe her viewpoint isn't black and white?" Marek countered with none of his daughter's humor. He said it with a tone Krystal was used to hearing— a sort of 'listen up, caveman.' Clearly the days of class division were not over like she'd previously thought.

"There's not room for much else in this world."

"You know, you people keep saying that. The world's an awful place, we don't get it, you've been through so much, and you know what? No-one has elaborated. No-one's tried to explain. I'm sure it would be a lot easier to digest if you just talked to us—"

"Because it's not nice shit!" She curled her hands into fists on her lap in an attempt to hide their sudden tremor. "It's been a non-stop horror show for months, you could populate a city with all the people we've had to bury, prolly another with the ones there's wasn't enough left of... Trust me, you don't wanna know."

Her vision was blurring. She blinked hard, hoping no-one had noticed, but judging by the way Marek paled, and the way Barbara was glaring at him, they had. Krystal rubbed at the lower half of her face, and then stood, trying vainly to swallow down the lump in her drying throat as she made for the front door. 

Outside, she poured off the porch, knocking hard and shoulder first into a section of the exterior wall. She felt... hm, well, she felt. A concerning amount. What, exactly, she couldn't pinpoint, but there was certainly a large amount of it pressed up against her rib cage, making her breath come in shaky gasps. She searched her jacket a bit frantically, hands probing along the crumb-filled interiors of pockets, hoping to find a stray cigarette crammed in the bottom or something. No such luck, of course. Probably for the best in the long run, if she smoked every time she was stressed out she'd be dead by twenty— though in all reality that would be a mercy. 

The door opened behind her, and she tensed like a bowstring, whirling around and getting as far as to grab the hilt of her knife before she recognized Barbara. There was a guilty, pitying sort of look on her face, a hint of annoyance beneath it all, and she only approached when Krystal released the blade.

"I'm... sorry about him," the woman said, coming to stand beside her daughter. "He's just scared. We all are. I know you're probably more accustomed to this sort of thing than you should be, but it's all new to us."

"Y'all're gonna die," Krystal blurted. It wasn't said with any malice; rather, the words practically dripped with dread, with grief. At Barbara's startled face, the teen continued, "If you— if you keep thinking like that. Like him. You're all gonna die."

"I don't think that's n—"

"Do you know why we were so worried about comin' here?"

A pause. A few seconds at most. 

"No," Barbara said, like she was thumbing at bait on a fishing hook.

"Because the last community we went to wanted to kill us for meat."

Another pause, this time as Barbara processed that new information. 

"Oh, my God..."

"We ain't just tryin'a scare you when we say it's bad out there. It's bad. It's... so much worse than you could possibly imagine. Truth be told, when shit hits the fan here— which... it will— I don't know if it'll be worth survivin' for. I mean, I— I hope it is, but every time I've thought I was at the start of somethin' like peace, it's gone tits up, so..." Krystal wiped at her traitorously wet face. "So I can't say you should even want to live. But you— y'all all need to know how."

A hand came to rest on the teen's shoulder. She looked up at her mother, finally catching her gaze, and there was that pity again. 

"Is it okay if I hug you?" She asked. 

Krystal hesitated for a moment, surprised by the offer and by the intensity in the other woman's expression, before she nodded, and Barbara's arms enveloped her. It wasn't a gesture that expected reciprocation— as a matter of fact, with the way she was being held, Krystal wasn't sure she could even if she wanted— so she just let her chin fall on Barbara's shoulder, sniffling, sniveling.

"We're gonna be just fine," the woman assured gently, a hand running up and down Krystal's back. The tone reminded her vaguely of Lori. "Everyone's gonna be okay. You're gonna show us all how to survive, right? So we'll be ready for whatever comes our way. You don't have to be scared anymore."

She said it with so much sincerity that Krystal could almost bring herself to believe it. 

They stood like that for a while— Barbara murmuring idealistic comforts, swaying infinitesimally, until Krystal's eyes were nothing but damp and sore, and she felt some of the ice leave her bones. 

The moment she shifted backwards, Barbara released her, wiping a bit at her own eyes in a way far from discreet. 

"Sorry," Krystal said to the woman's stomach.

"No, honey, you don't need to be sorry. I, um... I understand if you want to go home, I'll wrap up your plate if you do, but you're still welcome to finish it here."

"I... would like that."

"Yeah?" 

Krystal nodded.

____

Naturally, not even a full twenty-four hours later Rick and Morgan reported a giant herd closed up in a nearby quarry. They wouldn't stay there for much longer, which meant something had to be done, and fast. 

Krystal was out with a crew, laying their last remaining boards for the foundation of some walls intended to keep the herd moving in the right direction, when Abraham approached her.

"Hey, lay 'em like this," He said, bending down to flip the board she'd just placed. 

"What's the difference?"

"Well, I guess it don't matter much, bein' that this is all temporary, but—" he lifted the thing, showing her the end and running a finger along the growth rings. "See this sorta rainbow shape? You wanna put that sucker right side up, helps with splinterin'."

"Huh. Good to know."

He gave her a firm pat on the shoulder, then handed the board back as he walked off. 

____

A knock at the door drew Krystal's attention. A few heads picked up in the living room, too, but standing in the threshold of the kitchen she was the closest, so she moved to answer it. A crack, at first, and then all the way once she saw who it was.

"Emile," she greeted.

"Hi! Uh— just wanted to... check in, I guess. Make sure you were okay, bring you this." He held up a casserole dish wrapped in aluminum foil. 

"Oh," she said, accepting it. 

"It's samosa. I mean— kind of, I— I had to substitute a lot. Stereotypical, I know, like... how's food gonna make you any less sad? But I figured it couldn't hurt, especially now that most of you guys are working out there. Probably aren't getting too many hot meals." He chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably. 

That was because she hadn't replied, she realized, he was trying to fill the silence. 

"Thank you," she said, giving the warmest smile she could manage. It wasn't much, but it seemed to ease his nerves. 

"Yeah, no problem. I would've made it sooner, but— y'know, we were pretty much out of flour. Heath's group brought some back, though, so... tada." A pause. "Oh! I also brought this."

He fished around in a bag slung over his shoulder, retrieving a small stack of paper folded in on itself to the point of squareness. He moved as if to give it to her, and then, seeing her hands full, set them on top of the aluminum foil. 

"Notes. From the last couple lessons, for Luke."

"We still banned from the classroom?" She asked with a bit of a teasing lilt. 

"Till the walls are done, yes. I mean— Luke's welcome by to learn, but I'm not gonna be the guy putting a teenager through two jobs."

She huffed a laugh. "Fair enough. Uh... thanks for the food. Do you wanna come in, or—?"

"Oh, no, no, I've got some lesson planning to do. Thank you though! Have a good night, I'll see you... well, sometime."

"Alright. Yeah, you too, man."

With a wave, he was gone. She pushed the door closed with her foot, then turned to the living room crowd, extending the samosa. 

"Food."

The people willing to get up for it were already doing so before she spoke, so she led the charge into the kitchen.

____

The next day, she was back on the construction site, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her gloved hand. Footsteps approached behind her, and she turned, finding herself face to face with... Nicholas. 

"Get away from me." 

It already took a significant amount of restraint not to swing the claw of the hammer in her hand towards his face, she couldn't guarantee he would remain in one piece if he opened his mouth. 

"Just— just give me a chance to talk, please?" He said, sounding surprisingly... fragile was the word that came to mind, but she hesitated to use it.

She eyed him warily, focusing on the bandage stuck to his cheek. "What happened with you and Glenn out there?"

The animosity between the two men had almost disappeared since they'd shown up together the night of Reg and Pete's deaths, both beat to hell. Glenn had deflected when she'd tried to ask, and she smelled something fishy.

Nicholas seemed hesitant for a moment, glancing around, before relenting with a sigh. "I tried to kill him."

Her knuckles went white around the hammer.

"And I shouldn't have," he added hastily. "He— he got the better of me, and he should've killed me, after everything, but he didn't. It made me realize he wasn't all talk, he was right about me. I— I'm a coward, I mean, I never could've done that. I can't take back what I did to him, or to... to Noah... but I want to be better. That's why I wanted to talk to you, to apologize. I know he meant a lot to you— I... saw you, after we got back that day." 

She shuddered internally. She didn't want to think about what she'd looked like then, stumbling numbly through Alexandria's streets. She barely remembered how she ended up where Olivia had found her. 

"If I had had the guts to tell Deanna I wasn't ready to go on runs, he would still be alive. What happened to him was all my fault, and I'm... so sorry."

Krystal didn't speak for long enough that it visibly unsettled him, pondering the words.

Eventually, "You told her any of this?"

"I told her what really happened at the warehouse. If... if she knew what happened after, though..." She'd banish him. Or kill him, if Rick gave his input. Nicholas didn't say it, but Krystal heard him loud and clear; either way, if this got out, he was a goner. 

She nodded. Then, "If yer lookin' for forgiveness yer in the wrong place. Someone I care about a whole lot died to make sure Noah got a chance, and you squandered that. The only mercy I have to give you is lettin' you walk away right now."

He didn't seem shocked by the answer. 

"Alright," he said, resigned. 

She caught his attention just after he turned away from her. "So you know, this conversation's gon' stay between us because that's obviously what Glenn wants. Not for you. If he decides to speak up, I'll put the bullet in you myself."

____

"Carter, heads up," Rick said, and Krystal whirled around to see what the warning applied to. 

It didn't take her long to find— a few walkers were stumbling out of the forest, right into a small group of workers. Krystal noted Marek among them. She drew her knife, hustling towards the action, joined by a small flock of her people, but Rick held a hand out to stop them. They obeyed, lining up anxiously on his sides, waiting for the go-ahead. It didn't come. 

Instead, he called to the now-panicking Alexandrians, "Use your shovels. The guns will draw more."

Carter looked over at him, eyes the size of saucers. "Help us!"

"You can do this. You need to, all of you."

Krystal threw an uncertain look Rick’s way. One of the men at the front of the group was empty-handed, kicking approaching corpses away, while the rest stood uncertainly behind him. Another had a gun drawn, some sort of instinct clearly screaming at him to keep it raised— all it would take was one squeeze, and there would be dozen upon them, not to mention the chances of the guy accidentally hitting someone. 

More of the dead spilled out of the woods, driving the kicker back, drawing closer and closer to the uncertain workers, and—

“Morgan, don’t!” 

Ironically, when Morgan actually did disobey Rick’s orders on the field, Krystal was grateful for it. He ran for the crowd, staff in hand, and the rest of them— Rick included— rushed into the fray.

Krystal planted herself in front of her stepfather, slamming the walker extending its rotting fingers his way into the unfinished wall, driving her knife through the back of its neck. It slumped, and she turned to intercept another, only for Sasha to bayonet it. With all of them present, that was as long as it took to wipe the small herd out, and as she caught her breath, Krystal looked over to Rick. 

He and Morgan stared at each other. The latter was probably the most angry she’d ever seen him.

“You said you don’t take chances anymore.”

Rick didn’t have much of a response to that. There was a prolonged stretch of silence as he wiped his knife on his shirt, refusing to break the eye contact, before he said to the crowd, “Get back to work.”

____

They made up fast, it seemed, because Morgan was joining them on the living room floor by nightfall. He was quickly offered the couch, though he declined, insisting Maggie take it for some reason. They exchanged a meaningful look after he said it, but Krystal couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. 

Chapter Text

A day after the walker path was complete, Krystal and Luke showed up to Emile's garage bright and early. 

He pulled a face when he saw them, more playful than annoyed. "What are you doing here?"

"You said as soon as the walls were done, right? We finished 'em up yesterday, they're headin' out to do a dry run now."

He made a show of sighing, putting his hands on his hips. It make Luke smile. 

"Alright," he drug the word out. "I guess that was technically our arrangement." 

With less theatrics, he added, "If you would please pin that diagram up where the whole room can see it?"

____

Truthfully, the thing Krystal had missed most about school days was walking Anna home. They'd still seen each other outside of that, of course, but it was usually with the younger girl's entire family present. Very different from their one-on-one time, however brief. 

"I'm way better at drawing backgrounds than people," Anna was saying, hands in her hoodie pockets, "but dad says if it's ever gonna go anywhere I can't have blind spots."

Krystal tilted her head a bit. "What do you mean, 'go anywhere?'"

"Y'know, like, when stuff goes back to normal. I mean, I know it's not gonna go back exactly the same, but like... when we start trading for stuff again, that kinda thing."

"Oh. Do you want it to... go anywhere, or d'you just want to keep it a hobby?"

"I don't know. I mean, I know I get burnt out really fast, but I'm not that great at much else."

"Well, you can change that."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Matter of fact, I've been meanin' to ask yer parents if I can teach you an' Elijah to shoot sometime. I noticed y'all ain't been comin' to target practice."

Anna stiffened a bit. "Yeah... I don't know, they've never really been super pro-gun. They have one in a safe somewhere, I think, but its been in there so long I don't know if either of them remember the code." 

"Well that ain't gonna do shit to keep you safe. Not sayin' you gotta sleep with one under yer pillow, but y'all gotta know the basics, at least." 

She held her hands up. "Hey, not me you've gotta convince."

A pause. 

Then Krystal chuckled, a fond memory drifting to the forefront of her mind. 

"My daddy used to take me shootin' all the time. One time we didn't go far enough out into the woods, and we accidentally hit one 'a our neighbors' trailers..." she whistled. "Hoo boy was he mad. 'Course, I don't think that man was ever happy with us." 

"How come?" 

"Oh, my daddy's a trouble maker. How d'you think he lost his hand?"

"Someone cut it off?" 

"No, he cut it off, but he wouldn't'a had to if he'd kept his mouth shut."

"You can't just say that and not explain." Anna winced, then, the mischief leaving her eyes. "I— I mean, unless it's... like, sensitive. Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"No, yer good. It all worked out okay in the end. But, uh, basically, at the start 'a all this, Daddy went out into the city with a scoutin' crew. They got stuck, and he popped off, and one 'a them had to cuff him up on a rooftop to keep him from causin' more trouble. Problem was, the buildin' they were in got overrun, and they had to leave 'fore they could get to him to get 'em out. He was stuck up there for a while, and by the time someone came back for him, all they found was his hand, sittin' under the cuffs."

"Holy crap. Real life Saw trap."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, it's a— it's a movie. There's this guy who puts people in these, like, do-or-die traps, and one of his victims has to cut off his leg to escape a chain."

"Well damn. Yeah, real life Saw trap."

____

They made their way back to Anna's house, where the teen promptly ushered her sister inside, insistent on showing her some artwork. Krystal was left small-talking with Marek about the soup he was making as Anna searched for her sketchbook.

When she returned, the two of them sat at the kitchen island, going over some frankly impressive landscapes. 

A loud thump from the rear side of the house interrupted the younger girl mid-sentence, startling all three of them— though Marek immediately groaned, moving for the screen door. 

"If that boy kicks that ball into my house one more time..." he muttered to himself. 

He slid the door open just enough to poke his head out, mouth open to yell at said boy, when a knife sank into his throat. 

Krystal sat bolt upright in shock, hand flying to the hilt of her own as he gargled for a moment, reaching up to his neck, before spilling out the door. There was hardly a second to stand before a dirty figure clothed in black leapt over him, sprinting into the house.

"Anna, run!" 

She barely had time to get out before a loud siren began to blare from who knew where, and the stranger was upon her, grabbing her by the face, trying to shove thumbs in her eyes. She stabbed blindly at where she assumed his stomach to be. He howled in pain, his grip faltering just long enough for her to pull away, and, sensing that she wouldn't have time to retrieve her blade, she instead bolted into the living room, aiming for a fire poker—

He caught up to her fast, tackling her from what would've been behind if she hadn't turned at the last second. She landed hard on her back, knocking the air right from her lungs, but there was no time to focus on her body refusing to breathe when there were actual hands around her throat. 

A choked, wheezy squeal of panic left her, and she kicked, scratched, barely managed to jostle the knife sticking out of him to buy herself a scrap of freedom. She clawed her way back a few inches before he was on top of her again, though, just enough for her fingers to brush the bottom of Atlas's choke chain if she stretched. 

Her ears were ringing, vision spotting; she was starting to think the end might finally be here when a clank rang through the house, and the pressure let up. There was no time to try to process what was happening, she just threw herself backwards, tugging hard on the leash until she pulled the whole thing off the wall, nail and all. 

She swung it hard chain-first, only barely managing to make out the man reaching for something— someone?— to her left when it struck him. He flinched away, and Krystal took the split-second opportunity to lunge, slipping the chain around his neck, tugging with her full body weight, pinning his elbows down with her knees. 

He writhed beneath her, red-faced, cussing, foaming at the mouth, and as she tauntingly gasped for air above him, the scar on his forehead became clearer. A giant, ugly 'w.' 

He was one of those Wolves Morgan had mentioned. 

Krystal didn't dare let up to attempt to reach for her knife, to do this more efficiently, least she provide the Wolf an escape. She just rode it out until her arms ached, until long after the color drained from his face and he went limp. Just in case. When she was confident he was dead, she released the chain, spilling sideways off the man.

"Bad dog," she panted, half under her breath. 

As she plucked her knife from the corpse, she finally looked up at her savior, finding Anna standing frozen still, a pan clutched tightly in her hands.

"Thank you," Krystal said hoarsely, driving her knife through the Wolf's brain stem. It kind of hurt to speak, but not unbearably— lucky that siren had stopped, shouting over it would suck. "We need to split, there's no tellin' how many 'a these guys are here."

She stood, weapon at the ready. Anna didn't move. 

"Hey. Look at me." Krystal put a hand on the girl's shoulder, and she obeyed. "We can't stay here. There's guns at my house, prolly more people, we'll be safe." 

Not to mention the fact that Luke was most likely still there— alone or not, alive or not, she didn't know, she needed to find him. 

"My... my dad..."

"I know. I'm sorry, but there's no time, we're sitting ducks right here." Still, she didn't budge. "Dammit, Anna, come on! He wouldn't want you to die!"

She sniffled, blinking hard a few times. Then, "I— I have to get Atlas. Dad locks him up in my room when he cooks."

"Alright, fine, do it fast."

Krystal pulled the leash from around the dead Wolf's neck, handing it to Anna, who hurried off. 

She then entered the kitchen, turning off the stove and moving the pot off of the glowing eye it sat on. A moment of hesitation, a moment to steel herself, and she walked over to where Marek lay in the doorway. Pressing her fingers to his carotid pulse point told her what she really already knew; he was gone. It wouldn't be long before his corpse awoke. 

She pulled the hunting knife free from his neck, and, just as she had the Wolf, drove it into the back of his head. She tried to be gentler with him than she had then, but there was very little that could be done to mask the brutality of the act. Passingly, it crossed her mind how glad she was she hadn't had to do this to Beth.

Nope. No time for sentiments, she was in danger. 

Standing, she wiped the blade off on her pant leg as best she could. That pan of Anna's might've worked spur of the moment, but it wouldn't in the long-term; her arms would get tired, or she wouldn't have enough space to swing, something. 

Anna returned not too long after Krystal had righted herself, Atlas in tow. The dog's ears were flat against his head, his tail low, and his eyes flitted anxiously across the room— he clearly understood what had just happened. Krystal offered her sister the knife. 

"Hold on to this."

If she knew where it had come from, she gave no indication.

____

The streets were utter chaos. Bodies strewn about, reanimated but with too little left on their bones to stand or even crawl; screaming, lone splatters of blood, gunfire... safe to say Krystal and her charges stuck close together. Thankfully there wasn't much distance between the Jacek house and Krystal's own, so they made it fast, blissfully uninterrupted. 

Anna reached for the back door's handle, Krystal watching her six: the thing did nothing more than jiggle. 

"It's locked," the younger of the two said. That was probably a good sign, but it wasn't impossible it was a Wolf's doing, or that the house had been compromised some other way. "Do I... knock?"

"No. We—"

The blinds shifted. 

Krystal dipped abruptly to the side of the door, knife raised in an ice pick grip as it creaked open...

"Come on."

Carl ushered them in with a nod of the head, and they quickly entered, allowing him to lock the door before following him into the living room. Luke was holding Judith, sitting on the floor, with a knife-wielding Enid beside him. His eyes lit up when he spotted Krystal.

"Oh, thank god," she said, crouching in front of him to check him briefly over for injuries. He seemed unharmed, if a little frightened. She placed a relieved kiss on what would've been his head had his beanie not been in the way.

Carl sat opposite Enid, back-to-back with the kids between them— smart. 

"Stay with them," she directed Anna, before jogging upstairs to grab her Ladysmith. What a damn fool she was not to keep it on her. Deanna had just seemed so hesitant, and with things so tense Krystal hadn't wanted to push it...

Lot of good that did her.

____

When she dashed back downstairs, she moved immediately for the door.

"Where are you going?" Anna asked, and Krystal paused with her hand on the knob. 

Should she stay? These were just a bunch of children at the end of the day— but that was surely discrediting them. Carl, at least, armed with an assault rifle and a tenacity like his father's. Luke had a ways to go before she was certain he could hold his own, but he wasn't useless, and while she didn't know Enid the girl seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. 

They would be fine. There were unarmed, untrained people outside who weren't going to stand a chance on their own.

"I gotta go help, see if I can't find Elijah and yer mom." Anna didn't try to correct the slip up like she might've done on a normal day. "Yer as safe with Carl as y'are with me, alright?" 

"That's not what I... what about you?"

Oh. Right. 

"I'll be fine, I made it through worse than this. Luke, you got yer knife?" 

He nodded, twisting slightly and reaching a hand towards his waistline, where the hilt protruded.

"Good boy. I'll knock three times when I'm back, someone lock the door behind me." 

____

The first person she spotted was a Wolf, whom she shot twice as they ran at her; first in the thigh, and then in the head. The second and third were Eric and T-Dog, the latter of which she nearly bowled over.

In the confusion she drew her gun on him, only to quickly lower it, breathing a small sigh of relief.

"Krys! Damn, am I glad to see you."

"Ditto," she said. The roughness of her voice made his face twitch briefly into concern, but he didn't mention it— Christ, strangulated was probably a tone he recognized on her by now. "Either 'a y'all packin'?"

"Nope. They ain't either, though, most I've seen 'em with is knives."

"Well that was fuckin' stupid."

Had they assumed Alexandria was poorly armed, or were they just that sure of themselves? Maybe there some big secret weapon they were hiding? A tank coming in to roll the neighborhood's walls down, a herd on their heels? Either way there was nothing Krystal could do besides clear out any intruders she found, but she was feeling less sure of herself by the minute.

She looked over at Eric, who was clearly nervous, holding T's knife. Given that T was holding a fire axe, she was assuming they'd switched weapons at some point to better suit their strengths. Was he ready for this? He'd been out on the road more than his peers, sure, but from what she knew he'd never had to kill, nor had he been on an active battlefield. He might've proved more of a hindrance than a help. 

After a brief pause of hesitation, she said to him, "The kids are safe, Carl an' Enid've got our house locked down. If you wanna hide out there with 'em, we ain't gonna blame you."

"What? No, my people need help."

Well, that was that.

"Alright, then. I say we make a break for the armory, see if we can't start handin' out guns. I'm low on ammo anyway."

"That's where we were headed," T-Dog said.

____

They were surrounded by a group of six before they got very far. Krystal took two out before her gun clicked at her, so she spun it to hold it by the barrel, turning and whacking one of the remaining four across the temple as he approached behind her. He dropped immediately, and T's axe came down hard over his head. Another's scream of rage was cut off as he pulled the axe up, bashing the butt end into the Wolf's jugular.

The split-second break from enemies allowed Krystal to draw her knife, which she used to finish off the one clutching their throat, stabbing through the underside of their mandible. She whirled around to see Eric as T launched himself at someone else, finding the blond's knife hand caught in an iron grip, arms trembling with the effort of keeping the blade from turning his way. He was going to lose that battle.

Krystal, too far to immediately stab, instead threw her gun into the Wolf's spine hard enough to make an audible impact, which shocked her enough to slacken her grip. The knife was in her eye before she could recover.

Eric swallowed harshly as she took a shocked step back, then another, pulling herself off the blade and toppling unceremoniously over without its support. A glance T's way showed Krystal he'd dealt with the last one, which meant they were good to press forward. 

She bent down to scoop her gun off the road— there were a few scratches from it's hard landing, but it seemed otherwise in working order. 

____

Carol ran up to them, a large sack in her hands. Apparently she’d had the same idea, because when she let it sag open Krystal could see a giant stockpile of guns. She traded Krystal's Ladysmith with a Sig P232 after hearing the former was empty, tossing it in the bottom of her bag, and— once all were armed— took off again, presumably to keep passing out weapons.

____

It was over pretty soon after that. The gunfire, the screaming, it all died down, leaving behind a ghostly silence. 

Krystal slumped onto a nearby set of steps alongside her companions, aching and exhausted and yet still filled with the burning need to do more. There was so much she was uncertain of, so many people she cared about that might've been dead or dying, and she just... couldn't bring herself to stand.

Chapter Text

Krystal entered the infirmary hesitantly, only to want to turn right back around when she saw how crowded it was. She knew her injuries weren't life-threatening, and their new sort-of-doctor was probably overwhelmed enough, there was no need for Krystal to get her achy back looked over. She'd only sought help in the first place on the insistence of her family.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't hear you come in," Denise said, looking indeed overwhelmed, and there went Krystal's chance to flee. The ex-med student peeled a set of bloody latex gloves off of her hands, dropped them in a small trash can, then continued, "What happened to you?"

"Uh. Got thrown around a lot, guy jabbed at my eyes, choked me a little. I'm probably fine, I mean—" 

"Well, you're here. So. Lemme look you over."

Krystal held her hands up in surrender.  "Yes ma'am." 

____

When she returned to the house, she found— to her surprise— Anna sitting on the railing of the front porch, watching people move bodies with glazed eyes. 

"Hey," the older of the two said carefully, coming to stand nearby, leaning over the railing herself. "Where's yer— uh, Barbara?"

A few hours ago, Tara had walked what was left of the Jaceks up the very driveway both girls were looking down now, all three worse for wear. Tara herself hadn't stayed long, zipping off after a few brief words, but the family had stuck around for a while.

"She's at our house," Anna said, monotone. She didn't look up at Krystal, and the older girl's resting frown grew.

"It's cleared out already?"

"Yeah. I, um... I— I don't... wanna go back there." Her voice shook a bit with that.

Krystal's chest twinged. 

"You don't gotta. Stay here long as you like. Prolly closer quarters than yer used to, but..." 

A pause. 

Then, "How do..." Anna trailed off, uncertain, and her sister raised a prompting brow. "You... this is what you meant? The, um... the 'not nice shit?'" 

Krystal swallowed hard. Her voice was a bit strained when she simply replied, "Yeah."

Anna contemplated that a moment before saying, "I'm sorry."

Krystal sighed. "Yeah, me, too."

____

With that information, Krystal sought her mother out, only checking that Luke and Elijah were safe with T-Dog before leaving. 

Barbara was indeed in her house, though she didn't answer when Krystal knocked, too busy scrubbing fruitlessly at the blood on her living room floor.

"Barbara?" Krystal announced her presence with, and the red-head finally looked up.

Her eyes were bloodshot, face flushed with emotion and with the effort she was putting into cleaning.

"Hey," she returned weakly.

"That's..." Krystal hesitated a moment. She crouched beside her mother. "That wasn't him."

Barbara nodded, sniffling. "I know. I w— I was here, when they, um... well, I saw."

"I'm sorry," Krystal said. Her eyes flickered between Barbara and the bloodstain for a moment before she continued, "I, uh... I know what it's like. To have to see someone you love... someone you're in love with, like that. That shit hollows you out. If you wanna talk about it, I'm here."

The words visibly hit Barbara. She let out a shuddering breath, head bowed so that her hair hid her expression— she was crying, and she didn't want Krystal to see it. The teen let a hand rest on her back, running it up and down.

"What was his name?" Barbara asked after a moment, voice small. She seemed hesitant to make the request.

Krystal had to fight tooth and nail against the lump in her throat to answer. "Her name was Beth. Beth Greene. She, uh... she... died a little over a month ago. Another group got hold of 'er."

She blinked heavily in an attempt to clear her blurring vision, though only served to push a tear down her cheek. She wiped it furiously away.

Without warning, Barbara pulled her into a hug. It was with speed that made the younger girl flinch, though when Barbara began to back off, apology no doubt on her tongue, Krystal squeezed her back, allowing the older woman to weep into her shoulder.