Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Growing up it had always been the two of us - my father and I. Mother was always out of the picture, and I had trouble growing up without her. It just felt different, you know? My friends had their mothers explaining them how it was like to be a woman, how to deal with period pains, how to cook, how to braid their hair, but I didn’t. My father was the one who taught me all those things, and I couldn’t be more thankful. He raised me and he was a father and a mother at the same time.

I honestly have no idea why mother left us. My dad was the most beautiful and kind man I had ever met in my entire life. Why would she abandon her newborn daughter and her wonderful husband? The thoughts about my mother leaving and why she would do that to me still haunt me but I suppose she had a good reason. At least that's the thought that keeps me going everyday.

Dad always had little to say about her and when he did say something, he was very careful with his words. It looked like he didn’t want me to hate my mother. He told me nice things about her, how she used to make him breakfast in the morning, how much she loved her job and the way her eyes lit up when I was born and she held me for the first time ever – and probably the last. He described her curly brown hair and her pale skin almost in a magical way, he could talk about her soft hands and about her gorgeous smile for hours, but that was all. He never mentioned her name and when I asked, he always told me to stay away from adult’s business, that I shouldn’t be bothering myself so much about something that was now out of my life forever. But deep down, he just knew how much I needed my mother. So he dug deep under his bed, where he once buried everything about my birth giver, and he gave me a picture of her. I was 10 when he got me that picture. I always carried it with me in my wallet; it was the most beautiful picture I had ever seen. I was just a baby and my beloved mother was holding me on her arms, trying to get me to sleep. She was so beautiful, but she looked so tired. She also looked so full of love and light while looking at me.

Why would she leave me?

When I questioned grandma about the mysterious woman in the picture, she simply told me that she had only been a bump on my father’s road and that he was over her. My grandmother didn’t like mother very much; not at all, I mean. And at the age of 8, I hadn’t been able to understand the meaning of being a bump on someone’s road, but I never questioned. I simply shrugged my shoulders and went back to playing with my dolls without a caring in the goddamn world. I loved my dad, and that was enough at the time.

Even though it was only the two of us struggling to understand each other, I loved my little family dearly. Despite being a single father, my father was the best on the entire world. He was my superhero and, in a way, one of the town’s heroes: he was a firefighter and everyone respected him thanks to that. After all, he was risking his life to protect the citizens and their belongings. On career day at school, he was always the first one to arrive and the last one to leave. He was the type of person that made the world better: he was all smiles and hugs, impressive speeches and encouraging words which just made you want to be a better person. And every time he arrived home covered in dust, with sweat on his forehead and his cool firefighter hat on his hand, fuck, I felt safe. I felt that our little reality was untouchable because I had a superhero to protect me.

Nevertheless, I eventually grew up and I started realizing things; I realized that people actually lost their lives while fighting fires, I realized that my father’s life was in danger every time he was called to be the town’s hero, I realized that we weren’t untouchable – actually, we were way too exposed to the cruel world outside.

I still remember when I started fearing for his life. It was summer time and the world was literally on fire due to the rising of temperatures. I just couldn’t stand the thought of him risking his life out there and leaving me; leaving me alone just like my mother did. I’ve always been a nervous kid and all these disasters didn't calm me down. I was at my grandma’s when she received a call from my father’s work. He was at the hospital. There had been a car explosion, and he was too near of the explosion not to be harmed. There were burns all over his body and I thought I was going to see my father dying in my arms on a hospital bed, covered in gauze and in pain. But he was strong and he eventually went through it, and he started working again. I didn’t react well, I had a mental breakdown and my father decided I needed a break. He, the one who was risking his life, didn’t need a break – I was the one who needed it. I was sent away to a summer camp away from home and it was hell on earth. I didn’t fit in, I hated it and all the radio transmissions about fires and fire fighters burning to death scared the shit out of me. I just didn’t find his job amusing nor heroic in any way anymore.

I was 13 when I realized that I just wanted his career to be over.  

Now, at the age of 19, I just want his person to be over.

He used to come up to me covered in dust, dirt and sweat; he used to hold me tightly onto him and then invite me for a tea party with all my dolls; those were the days. Nowadays, you don’t see my father covered in dust anymore. He’s somehow always covered in fresh and dry blood, depending on his mood, brains and body parts all over his clothes. He doesn’t carry his fire fighter hat on his hands anymore; instead, he carries that damn fucking bat wrapped in wire, and he treats it like it’s his fucking adopted daughter.

The world has gone mad.

My father has gone mad.

I’m going mad.

My father used to be known as the town’s hero.

Now, he’s known a brutal, smart, ferocious, dangerous and frightening psychopath.

Now, my loving father is known as Negan – both a leader and a killer.

He’s not, however, known as the father of a 19-year-old girl; that should be me. 

Chapter Text

I wasn’t sure.

And I needed to be sure before I made a move.

You couldn't hear a sound near these walls; no walker groans, no human breathing nor talking, not even gunshots, and believe me, these were pretty usual around here. But the house being silent didn't mean he wasn’t around. That was what scared me the most about him, about this new person he has become; he used to be a loud person, his eyes used to lit up and his voice used to get a pitch higher at the thought of talking about something he loved; his presence used to be loud and clumsy, but now he has the skills of a hunter: he’s silent, dangerous, and he’s probably carrying the damn thing around the house, dragging it on the floor ready to use it on someone. I know he won’t hit me, try to hurt me or even yell at me, but he’ll ask questions. And Negan asking questions will lead to me answering them and Jesus getting into trouble. And I can’t afford him getting into trouble, not after what he’s been to me.

It’s been three years since the outbreak and two years since dad turned into a psychopath. I try to keep up with time as much as I can in order not to lose my mind, but it's hard. If it's hard for a normal person who's out there to keep up with the years, it's even harder for me. It's even harder because I tend not to think about the years I spend locked in this house. It's not like I've never been outside these walls; I have, of course, but I haven't seen the sunlight for like, what? 6 months, 7 months? Basically since everything started getting even more dangerous and I started getting really afraid of him, my father locked me up in this house like Rapunzel’s stepmother did.

We used to enjoy reading Rapunzel together. He read it to me every night before I went to bed and he watched the movie with me every weekend, even when I reached my teenage years. I guess I now know where he got his idea of locking me from.

I never expected my father to stay the same hero, the same great man with ethic and values he once had been, but I didn’t also expect him to name a baseball bat, wrap it in wire and bash people’s heads with it either. I just expected something saner. After all, there’s enough insanity outside these walls.

He’s not like the Prince in Rapunzel anymore, ready to save the day. I realize I don’t remember the Prince’s name anymore, but I do remember the evil stepmother’s name. He looks so much like her it hurts.

The stepmother had daughters that envied Rapunzel – my father has endless wives that make me sick to the gut, every single one of them. He used to be so shy and he was definitely an introvert, but now he's just fucking around - literally just fucking them around. They’re not even women he goes to bed with often; no, they’re actually mentioned as his fucking wives by everyone. The other men aren't allowed to talk to them, touch them or even look at them; they're my father's property. That's what I don't understand, and that's what makes me sick: they're human beings, they're not an object. Just the thought of this whole nonsense makes me want to puke.

As I silently walk down the dark corridors, trying not to bump into something and end up causing a noise, I don’t expect anyone to barge in and murder me or something. That's what makes it safe to sleep at night and maybe that's why I can still live here - I'm protected. I know for a fact that my father would give his life for me and he would die for me. That's what makes me feel safe. All the doors are locked in order to keep The Saviors and walkers away. I’ve never been around any of the men who work for my father. I mean, I’ve heard them of course, and I’ve seen them while looking through the windows, but I never talked to them and if they see me then they just pretend I don't exist. I don’t even know their names, how much of them there are or why they call themselves Saviors. I just know that they’re the worst kind; I know that they kill, rape, murder, torture, mistreat, vilify. And I know that my dad is the leader, so he’s a part of this – hell, he’s the fucking leader.

When I finally reach the front door, I’m not scared anymore. He’s not here - he can’t, otherwise his wives would all be throwing themselves at him, and I know for a fact that they aren't. Actually, I could hear their annoying high-pitched voices talking to each other from upstairs. He was gone, again. He didn’t tell me anything but honestly, I'm used to it. It would be better for me if he died out there. It's absolutely disgusting for a daughter to say something like that about her father, but I have my reasons. At least innocent people would finally stop dying.

When I hear him unlocking the door, I gasp. I knew that he was coming, but I didn’t expect him to come so soon. I had no idea how he always made it towards the building, but he always did and he never failed a single day. And he had the fucking key! How was my father, my smart father, so damn reckless? How did Jesus get the key?

When Jesus’ head peeked through the wooden door, I immediately threw myself into his arms. He chuckled and hugged me tight, getting inside the building as soon as he could since it was dangerous outside; it was great to hug someone because I wanted to, and not because I had to – I felt that so many times with my father. I had to hug him so he wouldn't notice that something was wrong. I would hug him and his body would stain my whole clothes with blood, both walker’s and people’s. I would pretend everything was fine, that he was my hero, that I was okay, when I wasn't; when I wanted to fucking stab him in the chest. I was done with it, but it was all coming to an end.

The young man closed the door silently and I thanked the fact that all the windows were closed and covered with cement. There was no way he would be seen out here by any of the Saviors. We should be fine.

‘I’m so glad to see you!’ I whispered, holding onto his bright eyes. Paul was more than a friend to me. He played the role of my big brother and my anchor – the only thing that kept me sane on a world like this. If only my dad knew... he would kill him, so we needed to be careful every time we met. ‘How did it go?’

The smile plastered on his face showed me everything that I wanted: it went well. I was going to be free; I was going to be okay and my father’s dictatorship would finally be over. It wouldn’t solve the disease nor the dead roaming the earth nor the fact that I was lost on such a fucked up world, but it would solve 70% of my problems.

Okay, maybe 60%. Or something.

Paul kept his voice low while he talked to me.

‘They’re good people. They’ve been through a lot together, but they have rules, a plan, and they said they don’t mind ending all of this. They’re on our side now.’ I smiled even widely, and Jesus hugged me tight again. Even though I was his worst enemy's daughter, I grew on him - and he grew in my heart as well. He was the one I felt I could trust. ‘We’re going to win this fight, but you can’t stay here. They’re going to blow this entire thing down to ashes.’

I swallowed the lump on my throat; it had been there for a long time, but I suppose I only became aware of it when I actually understood the meaning of a fight. Bullets, knives, blood, all of that... I wasn't familiar with that. I did not like that, not at all.
I knew what had to be done and I wanted it to be done, but there was so much to handle in so little time. I wanted Negan, the ruthless monster and killer to be gone, but I wanted to go through the apocalypse with my dad - my caring, beautiful and charming dad who would do anything to protect me. But I couldn’t have both. And I had made a choice.

‘How am I supposed to get out?’ I wasn't going to make it, I knew that for sure. The whole building was full of his wives, who loved to spy me and the whole fucking perimeter was guarded by Saviors. I tried not to think about Lucille and Negan, though; that was the worst. He would bash my head in if I tried to escape. ‘There’s people everywhere. How are you even able to get close to this building? I'm fucked. I won't make it. Oh god, Jesus, I'm going to fuck this whole thing up. People are going to die because of me.’

Jesus shook his head in disbelief and grabbed my hands in order to calm me down. It didn't work, though; I was still shaking and freaking out. Why had I been so weak all this time? I couldn't even use a gun. I couldn't protect myself. Oh god. This whole thing was going to go so bad.

‘The bathroom, Mathilda!' Jesus was looking around frantically, probably scared that someone would come out and find us. He shook me by the shoulders, as if all the shaking would calm me down and make me think better. It didn't, though. 'Use your head! Isn't there something in the bathroom that you could use?'

Good. Fucking good. Now he was talking on charades.

'What am I supposed to do? Flush myself down the fucking toilet?!'

Paul actually chuckled and shook his head.

'You're a lost cause, I swear to god.' I knew he was joking, but he was right though. My chances of surviving out there were none. 'You told me there's a bathroom on the first floor of this building, right? You drew a map and everything. A shitty one, but yeah.' I nodded my head and chuckled at Jesus' words. 'Great. I've done my research - and I know this is going to sound really gross -, but there's a manhole cover in there.'

I raised my eyebrows.

'A manhole cover for...?'

He sighed.

'For the sanitary sewer.' I was about to reply, disgusted, when he interrupted me. 'Look, we don't have much time. I know it's gross, it is, but it's your only safe way out. You’re tiny, you can fit through there and not raise any suspicion.'

I gulped; I would have time to think about the disgusting thing that would be happening out there on the fucking sewer for the rest of the night. The rats man. The fucking rats. And there's going to be shit - literal shit - all around the place, and...

And I needed to escape. It wasn't the time to act like a child. I could do it.

'Is it safe?'

'Cleared from walkers, I checked it.' He assured, and I nodded my head a little less concerned. At least I wouldn't have to fight those monsters... at least not yet. 'I drew you a map.' He handed me a dirty piece of paper, and I opened it while it was in my hands. ‘We don’t have much time, so I’ll be really quick on explaining you everything.’ I nodded and I got closer to him in order to hear his now even lower voice. He was pointing towards the buildings and places he drew in the map, showing me directions. ‘Negan is going to visit Hilltop tomorrow at 3 o’clock, so he’s going to be out for a long time since it’s a two hour drive. This is the perfect time for you to get out.’

'What if the Saviors get me?’ I bit my lip. ‘I don't know, I'm not sure about this Jesus. Maybe we should wait, and...'

‘Mathilda, listen to me!’ He snapped, his voice covered in urgency and worry. ‘We don’t have time nor room to discuss this. You have to find out a way, be silent and be quick. The Saviors aren’t that smart, but they’re armed to the teeth and they’re scared to death of your father. You need to leave Mathilda, you really do. Things are going to get worse out here as soon as Negan finds out you left. He's going to freak out.'

'Okay, let's imagine I can actually get out which is, honestly, not going to happen...' I whispered the last part, so Jesus couldn't hear me. 'Where do I find you?'

‘There’s a road you’re going to have to find, it’s right here, right next to the exit.’ He pointed all the way south to a road right next to a river. ‘You go all the way down to South and as soon as you find this road, you wait for someone to show up. They’re probably driving a bright orange Jeep, you’ll know it’s them when you see it. Just tell them you’re Mathilda, the one Jesus told them about, and they’ll take you with them.’

What in the actual fuck?

‘Take me with them?! I thought I was staying with you?’

Jesus shook his head. My world went grey.

‘Look, Mathilda, as soon as you disappear, Negan is going to go nuts. He might even blow up this place by himself, what do you think he’ll try to do to Hilltop? He's going to think we kidnapped you or something. If these people want to destroy him and save us from his torture, they need something to manipulate him with - his sacred treasure.'

‘I’m like a bait, then?’

Jesus sighed, and I saw hurt on his eyes. I honestly didn’t mean to hurt him; it was a legit question. I just wanted to know my role on all of this.

‘They respect you for what you’re trying to do even though he’s your father, Mathilda. I can’t give you further information, you’re going to have to trust me.' He grabbed me by the shoulders and we looked each other right in the eye. I didn't break eye contact, and he didn't either. I felt like I was home while looking into his beautiful eyes. ‘Do you trust me, Mathilda?'

He was my brother, he was the only person I cared about on the entire earth.

‘Of course I do.’

I was then embraced by his strong figure; he put his arms around me and I rested my head on his chest.

‘Then do as I told. We’ve been talking about this for weeks and now it’s time to do what we’re supposed to do. You can do this, Mathilda. You know you can.’

I nodded my head frantically, and I gulped in fear. I could do it. I surely could.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Will you visit me while I’m with them?’

‘I will as soon as Negan leaves Hilltop. It’s a one hour drive from Hilltop to there, so we’ll meet sooner than you expect.’

I nodded, and we both heard something happening on the second floor. Maybe my father's wives were arguing or something. The voices were a trigger to both of us. Jesus reacted immediately and opened the exit door. He looked both ways before leaving, and then glanced by his shoulder.

'I'll see you tomorrow, okay? You can do this.'

I nodded.

I would have to make it. I had no training whatsoever, I was weak, I was scared, but fuck off, I was Negan's daughter.

I had psychopath's blood in my bloodstream.

➳

'Where's my baby girl?'

His voice scared the shit out of me. I could tell it was late out there since it was pretty dark and I could see the moon and the stars up in the sky from my bedroom window, which was reinforced with bars and double glass – I really was a prisoner, just like Rapunzel. I dropped the old book that I was reading when I heard this voice; at first I thought he was talking to one of his disgusting wives, but he wasn't. He was talking to me.

I swallowed, hard, and I prayed to god that he wasn't drunk; he was the worst when he was drunk. He would turn into another whole different person and I didn't know which one was the worst. He would start crying, he would start talking about my mother and that she shouldn't have left him, he would go outside, kill someone with Lucille, come back inside and fuck one of his wives. It was weird. It was too fucking weird for me to deal with.

He knocked on my bedroom's door, and I cleared my throat in order to let my voice sound a little more clear and less emotional. I felt like I was wearing a mask whenever I was with him.

'Yes?'

He opened the door slightly, his head peeked through the old wood. I tried to smile at him and he smiled back at me. It honestly looked genuine, and I felt happy to see him.

I could see why people were afraid of him. He was a good looking man, his expressions hard as stone and his jaw always tensed; he was muscular, broad-shouldered, and the thought of imagining his calloused hands wrapped around someone's neck sent shivers down my spine.

Everytime I was around my father, I felt like there was an angel and a demon on both my shoulders. The angel was telling me that I needed to get out, help the other group and save all these innocent people, while the demon was telling me that he was my father - he was my blood, he had created an empire that I should manage with him, he had created something to help me survive. Negan was trying to create something while the world out there was burning down to ashes. Killing a man strong enough to stand up to a natural disaster wasn’t the right thing to do, and it was a sin. It's funny though, a demon talking about being a sinner. The world really has changed.

'Hey dad.' I said, closing the book and standing up in order to go and hug him. I didn't know how I was still able to hug him, kiss him and tell him I loved him; I guess I'm just a really good actress. 'How was your day?'

He entered the room and closed the door behind him and before I could hug him, I saw it.
He was covered in blood, from his head to his toes; his leather jacket was covered in tiny drops of that red substance while his jeans were completely soaked. His shoes were messing my bedroom's floor, and I noticed they were leaving tracks of a substance that looked like smashed brains behind.

He murdered someone.

And there he was, with a smile plastered on his face, with his arms wide open to his daughter after taking the life out of someone, after bashing someone's skull, after probably murdering the father of someone's child.

I hated him with all my heart.

And I hated him even more when I noticed that he was still holding Lucille and that the bat was also soaked in blood and it was dripping into my bedroom floor.

I felt dirty. I felt invaded. I felt like I was responsible for someone's death.

But I couldn't just let my father know my fears, could I? It would make me weaker, it could make me a target. Instead of crying, I giggled.

'Dad, c'mon, you're all dirty. Go take a shower and then I'll hug you.'

He looked at himself and he giggled along like we were sharing a fucking joke. I was in the verge of tears. He was a monster. He had become a monster and the only thing I could do to stop him was to join another group and let them do the dirty work.

'You're right, Princess.' He shook his head while looking down again at himself and opened the door again. 'I'm a mess. I'm going to take a shower, and then you can tell me all about your day, yeah?'

I cringed. What was I supposed to tell him? That I was going to run away in the next afternoon and that he was going to be killed? Oh well. But I nodded and I smiled.

'Sure, dad. Are you okay, though? There's a lot of blood...' It wasn't like I actually cared, but I needed to know what happened. He shrugged his shoulders.

'It's not mine sweetheart, no need to be worried about your old man.' He smiled in the sweetest way and my heart ached. I missed my dad. I wanted him back. 'It was just a... a misunderstanding that is now completely solved.' He smirked.

He was evil.

I swallowed, and I nodded. I felt sick. I needed him to get out so I could cry; cry for hours like the Princesses in fairytales do.

They always get a happy ending, though.

'I'm glad you're not hurt, dad. I love you.' That was all I managed to say.

'I love you too, sweetheart. You're everything I have.'

He glanced at me for one last time and then he closed the door.

He was gone. And so was my sanity.

Chapter Text

‘Oh my god, look at those!' My high-pitched giggles echoed through the walls in amusement at my dad's words of appreciation. 'Such art! Such fabulous painting skills! My daughter is way too talented!' I giggled again, my 3' 3'' feet figure comically jumping around his huge legs, helplessly trying to jump into his lap. I was a tiny kid, I had always been small. My father finally gave up on teasing me and while laughing, he picked me up and held me in his arms, still looking at my most recent drawings. He kissed me on the forehead, leaving a trail of dust and dirt behind. 'Look at this, you're such a talented girl! Why is this horse pink, though? Does it belong to a beautiful princess like you?'

I covered my face with my little baby hands, trying to hide my shame for my father's little knowledge about art.

'It's a dragon daddy, it's not a horsey!'

'Oh...' He looked like he was about to burst into laughter. He knew his statement had been stupid. Or maybe my drawings were shit back then. 'Well, is it a pink dragon that belongs to a princess?'

I nodded frantically; that was what I loved the most about him. He would always come home before work, exhausted and wanting to lie down, but he would always spend time with me talking about the "art" I made while he was gone.

He was a great man, my father.

He analyzed the drawing again, turning it upside down and making me laugh again. He furrowed his eyebrows in order to inspect the piece of art better. 'Oh, and there's a princess in here... I know who this princess is!' He laughed out loud, kissing me in the cheek and still holding me onto his arms. ‘But she looks so clean and beautiful here... What a nice dress she has! However...’ He quickly glanced at me and I showed him my tongue, knowing what was coming. 'Mathilda, darling...' I tried to let go of him, trying to set myself free of his strong grip. Laughing out loud, he put me on the ground and I started backing away, smirking and grinning. I loved him. 'It's 6 o'clock. What do we do at 6 o'clock?' I stopped dead on my tracks, staring at my little toddler toes; I knew what was coming, of course I did. 'IT'S BATH TIME!'

I burst into laughter again and I started running around the house; dad was also laughing and chasing me, knocking over some chairs and even lamps in the process. He never caught me, though; he didn't even try.

So I kept on running, and running, and running, while Negan chased me.

I guess things now are just like they used to be back then.

➳

I was running. My legs were in flames and my heart wanted to crawl its way up to my mouth and set itself free; when Jesus told me that I had to go all the way down to South, I didn't expected "all the way" to mean "you have to cross the whole fucking country to get there." I had no idea how I was able to get out though. When Negan left I waited about 30 minutes just to be sure that he wouldn't come back for something. He didn't. So I was quick on doing what I had to do: I put all my belongings on my backpack, I stole some resources from my private food shelves and I prayed to God that I wouldn't need the knife that I had in my pocket at that moment. I didn't know how to use it and I would rather not have to.

The journey on the sewers was... well, it was more than disgusting. It wasn't easy to avoid nasty and dirty stuff since it's a sanitary sewer, but at least I wasn't too disgusted of the rats around there. I mean, they looked like they hadn't eaten in days and that they wanted to murder me, but who doesn't want to murder you nowadays?

I had a few scratches on my arms and legs due to the fact that I was a clumsy person running on the middle of the woods, but I was fine. All the running and escaping didn’t give me much time to think though. I avoid thinking about how things were going to be after I joined this new group of people; this new group of people I was blindingly trusting, this new group of people that are going to murder my father. Just like a normal person trying to survive the apocalypse, I had my expectations. I’m hoping for a nice community with nice women, sweet children and men capable of protecting their community and capable of loving each other dearly, and kind elders who remind me of my grandparents.

But again, as I stand here on the woods, all by myself and with only a knife in my pocket, I finally realize how things changed – I had been locked up for months, and when I had been set free, I felt like I had burnt down to ashes, and that I had risen again just like a phoenix. Even though the tall trees and all the animal traps scared the shit out of me, I felt like the woods were my home. I felt free for the first time in my life; maybe I wouldn’t need anyone to protect me all that much. Maybe I could do it by myself.

I had always been an insecure person though. My father didn’t raise me like this, it simply has been there since I was a little child and I was never able to grow out of it. Maybe I'll grow some balls one day.

When I realized that my rambling and my deep thoughts wouldn’t help me find the road Jesus told me I needed to be at before 6 pm, I took the map out of my pocket. Everything written in the map literally screamed that I was going on the right direction, but I couldn’t see the road nor the river Jesus told me about.

Did I just manage to get myself lost?

At least there weren’t any walkers around. I didn’t know why though; I saw a few of them while walking my way here of course, but they all seemed oblivious of me. I was scared of them, but the fear didn’t stop me of being smart - throwing rocks or provoking random noises on the opposite direction of mine would send them away and I could continue my journey; but I was just being lucky, of course. I have seen bad times back on the compound and the bad times are really bad. Last time everything went to shit – like 1 year ago – it was really hard to wash away the smell of rotten bodies and blood. Sometimes I still felt like I was crushing pieces of brains and guts with my sneakers while I walked down the endless corridors of the building. Those were bad times.

I was too lost on my own thoughts and over-analyzing the map to notice that someone was eventually coming closer and closer to me. I only reacted and clumsily took the knife out of my pocket when I heard a branch snapping behind me, and I turned around in the same spot.

Oh god, how am I going to put up a fight with a walker? Or even worse, with a human being?

Yet, when I turned around there was nothing ready to chop a piece of flesh out of my body. I raised my eyebrow and I looked around, not sure if I was properly holding the knife, but everything was silent again. Everything looked the same, expect... I'm not sure if there was a "S" carved in that tree when I first arrived here.

Raising my eyebrows, I approached the tree carefully. I only realized I was standing on a cliff when I was passing my fingers through the "S" messily and deeply carved on the tree's skin. Biting my lip, I looked down to the cliff; the way down was all about animal traps, dirt, broken branches and trees all over the place. It was a long way down into the unknown.

My heart was beating too fast in my chest. What did "S" stand for? And why would they carve it on a tree while I was around? The once absolutely healthy and beautiful tree had now been damaged and harmed by someone.

Someone who was still around.

Someone who eventually pushed me down the cliff, making me fall into an inevitable death.

➳

When I hit the cement with a loud bang I almost started crying in happiness. At least I was still alive. I had no idea why, though; the way down the cliff was fucking terrible. I hit my head several times and there were bruises all over the fucking place: in my legs, arms, stomach, and probably also in my face. My shirt had several holes on it and I was literally covered in dirt everywhere. My whole body was sore and I was still confused about what happened.

Did I break an arm? A leg? I'm pretty fucking bad ass, I'm still alive. I thought that only happened in movies.

But what about the "S" carved in the tree and about the person who pushed me? Was I being chased by someone? What if the Saviors had found me? But they wouldn't try to kill me, would they? My father would kill them first. And since I've never been out of the compound, I didn't have enemies outside.

I didn't have time to ramble about the subject, though. I let it go; I'm good at letting things go. Maybe it was also a kid who was just too scared of facing me and scared I would kill them, so they just pushed me off; or maybe it was a walker who accidentally pushed me. I guess I was lucky enough to fall without hitting my head on a rock and kill myself. I was always thinking on the bright side, ever since I left the compound. I mean, that was hell on earth, things out here couldn't get any worse, could they? And falling wasn't that bad - at least I took a shortcut.

The first thing I noticed was that I had lost my knife, the second thing was that I was covered in blood, dirt and I was a mess, and the third thing was that a bright orange jeep was parked on the middle of the road.

I found them.

They didn't hear me falling down the fucking cliff because I had fallen way too far away from them. Even though my vision was shitty, I could see three men armed to the teeth. I hated guns, but I shouldn't be afraid of them. I should be afraid of the men carrying them; they're the ones who pull the trigger, after all.

I breathed in and out, trying to calm myself down. They were Jesus' friends and we were supposed to meet. They wouldn't hurt me. There was this kind of excitement in my chest, though. I was meeting new people! I felt like a first grade student meeting their mates on the first day of class; I felt awkward, but extremely happy at the same time. I was naive, though. My future self, in a few weeks, would tell me to fuck off and get the hell out of there as soon as I could. But I'm not my future self yet, and I'm still naive, and I'm still a scared little girl, I haven’t been through hell yet; so I swallow, hard, and I get on my feet as soon as I can. At least I had the opportunity to see them first, at least they hadn't noticed me yet - see? I'm always on the bright side.

My knees were bleeding and my arms were scratched all over the place; it looked like a really mad cat had attacked me, but I was fine and that was what mattered. I brought my hands into my pockets; even though I didn't have a weapon anymore, I still had my most sacred object. I've looked to the picture for years hoping it would change; hoping that my mother would face the camera and stare at me smiling, but it never changed. I keep staring, though. I was looking for some encouragement to meet these three new men; I was looking for something I could hold onto on that picture, but I couldn't seem to...

'HEY!'

A deep voice made me jump in my own spot. I guess the guys saw me before I could announce my arrival. I swallowed, hard, as soon as I saw the gun pointing towards me. Okay, calm the fuck down, it’s just a gun and they mean no harm. Adrenaline started running through my veins; not because I was scared, but because this was a whole new situation to me. I felt alive, for the first time in my life. When I left the compound I felt like I was starting again, when I fell off the cliff I realized that starting again and living on this new world isn’t that easy anymore, and now, right now, while I’m here with my hands up in the air, begging this man not to pull the trigger, I realize that this is living. I mean, it is until he pulls the trigger. I hope he doesn’t.

Jesus told me they weren’t dangerous. And I know I should be saying something, something that makes him realize that I’m the girl they’re waiting for, but my tongue is glued to my mouth.

'Get the fuck out of here!' I ended up raising my eyebrows not understanding what the fuck he meant. We were supposed to meet, right? I was about to say Jesus’ name, I was about to scream something on his direction, but he yelled at me again. So he didn’t hear me. 'ANSWER ME!’ My arms were still stupidly raised in the air, like I was ready to show them a fucking white flag. I took a few steps closer, hoping their heads would click and they could recognize me since I had gone fucking mute for now, it seemed; I was staring into the bearded man's eyes, hoping that he would do something.

And I saw something.

I saw a glimpse of recognition and understanding coming from him.

That is, until I heard a gunshot and I was thrown into the ground.

➳

I felt my back hitting the cement – fucking again -, making me scream in agony this time. I was already sore. I suppose I was lucky enough to land on my back before hitting my head on the ground, it would be much worse and I would lose conscience – fucking bright side again. I didn't lose conscience, though. I was still wide awake when I heard the three men running towards me, shouting at each other like it was the end of the world.

The bullet's sound was still ringing in my ears, and I thought I was going deaf; nice, I had gone mute and now I was deaf. There’s no bright side on this anymore.

I couldn't see their boots or their heads, not even their faces, but I heard the sounds of them yelling and the head of one of them on my chest, wrists and neck, probably searching for a heartbeat. When the ringing in my ears stopped, I became aware of the surroundings around me and my vision was fine instantly.

I then rolled myself on my side and threw up on someone’s boots.

Oops.

I heard a few cringing sounds and the men backed out instantly – I chose him well, he was the one who tried to shoot me dead. The world was spinning and it smelled like vomit everywhere.

‘Did ya just wast a fuckin’ bullet on someone ya weren’t supposed to?’

The voices were loud echoing through my ears and I could recognize some strong accents in between. My vision was still shitty; nevertheless, I eventually sat down, avoiding looking at all the vomit and looked at the people in front of me.

There were three strong, broad-shouldered and scary men looking down at me. They looked dangerous, but not dangerous and strong enough to kill my father. Maybe Jesus hadn’t chosen that well. My father would beat the fuck out of them in a blink of an eye.

'Hey hey, easy on you.' The bearded man stated, kneeling in front of me. He looked scary honestly, and there was something on his eyes - maybe a bit of insanity - that made me flinch. He raised his eyebrows but backed away a bit from me. ‘Were you shot? Scratched? Bitten?’

I didn't know. I had no idea how it felt to be shot, scratched, bitten by a walker; I mean, how was I supposed to know? But I looked fine, if you don’t look at the scratches and the dirt on my clothes. And well, the vomit.

'I'm fine, I just fell of a damn cliff.' I replied, my tongue finally letting itself move. I swallowed and my mouth taste like cardboard. 'Jesus told me to meet you guys here. He told me you were friendly. I didn't expect you to shoot me, though.' I wasn't going to straight away introduce myself as Negan's daughter. They knew who I was, they didn't need me to clarify that. I wasn’t proud of being his daughter, not at all. I glanced at the guy who tried to kill me. ‘You’re not the first person who tried to kill me today, but I’m glad I puked on you. You deserved it.’

'Fuckin' prick.' The big haired dude muttered under his breath. His accent was rather funny, but he didn't sound like a funny person, not at all. 'Always fuckin’ everythin’ up. Ya wanna tell people in China where you are? ‘Cuz I’m pretty fuckin’ sure they heard that bullet.’

He was right though. Walkers must have heard the shot, but his yelling wasn’t helping much with the situation. 

'Can you stand up?' The bearded man questioned me. He was a weird person. It looked like he wanted to be nice to people, with his calm voice and his slow movements, but at the same time he had this coldness, this distance in his voice that sounded so much like my father. He had probably been through a lot. Jesus said they went through hell, so I'm afraid they might be a little unbalanced as human beings. But they were human beings and even though one of them tried to kill me, I guess it wasn’t on purpose and he didn’t know who I was. I tried to stand up, which I successfully did. Well, it would be awkward if I didn't. My head was still spinning but I managed to keep my balance the best I could.

'We should get going. It’s gonna be dark soon and we need to figure things out between us.’ The guy with the beard said and he was right; we really needed to talk about our plans, about killing my father.

That was when I remembered. When I raised my arms to show the imaginary white flag to the prick who almost shoot me, I had my mother's picture on my hand. However, it wasn’t there anymore. I couldn't lose it.

'Oh fuck.' I gasped, looking around like a mad person, Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can't lose it, it's the only thing I have left of her; of us. It’s my only memory from the normal world. I searched in my pockets frantically, even though it would be impossible for it to be there. I then kneeled on the ground. It had to be there, it was right there before I fell.

'What's going on?' The bearded man asked, kneeling next to me. He was nice. He seemed nice. And he wasn’t freaking the fuck out with me yet and dragging me by my hair to the jeep.

'My picture, my mother's picture, I... - I was stumbling on my own words. - It was in my hand, but I-'

Before I could finish panicking and before I could finish my sentence, I felt something resting on my skull.

Fuck.

I looked at the bearded man, my eyes wide open like a stupid fish, and I saw him as much surprised as I was. The gun felt cold in my skull, and I felt terrified for the first time in my life.

There you go, meet the third person who tried to kill me today.

I had never been so confused in my entire life. I thought they needed me to defeat my father’s dictatorship.

'Care to fuckin' explain?' The big haired guy growled, his gun pressuring farther into my skull and making me groan in pain. I was still sore from the two falls. Was he going to pull the trigger? And what was I supposed to explain? That was when he showed me what he was holding on his right hand: my mother's picture! But my heart ached when I looked at it. You could still see my mother's beautiful face, her beautiful eyes and her beautiful smile, but you couldn't see me; my tiny frame as a baby being held wasn’t in the picture anymore; that piece of the picture had been ripped apart by a bullet wound, the edges still fuming.

'Oh my god!' I cried out in pain trying to reach for the picture, but he didn't let me. 'Give me my picture, you monster!' I growled. I couldn't believe that my biggest treasure had been harmed. I didn't deserve being in such mess. I just left the compound and I had fallen two times, people tried to kill me three times and now this.

'Not until ya fuckin' explain me why Carol is in this fuckin' picture and why ya have it!' He growled back, and the bearded man raised his eyebrows.

'What? What are you talking about, Daryl?' He questioned, taking a look at the picture. Who were they talking about? Carol? Who the fuck was Carol? That was my mother in the picture, not some random woman named Carol.

Rick growled.

'Is this a fucking plan to ruin our fucking lives? Is Jesus fucking with us? Why do you have a picture of Carol with you!?'

Nice. Now they were both mad at me. And now I had two weapons pointed to my head. My life was definitely a roller coaster. Three hours ago I was literally sleeping with the angels in my beautiful and peaceful room; now I was kneeling on a fucking road sore as fuck with three strangers and two weapons ready to blow my brains. How lovely.

'I don't fucking know what you're talking about!' I yelled back, trying to get the bigger guy to stop hurting my arms with his huge hands. 'My father gave me that picture when I was 10. He said it was my mother.’

I could hear Daryl growling behind me.

'Rick, do somethin'. Otherwise Imma fuckin' lose it.'

Rick pressed the bridge of his nose with both his fingers and exhaled hard. He seemed to be even so tired, so done with everything and so fucking mad at the world and at things. Was this man mentally able to take down Negan? I don’t think so.

He then kneeled next to me. And I was scared.

'What was your mother's name?' His voice was a little gentler, but I was still scared. And I didn’t feel like trusting these people.

'I don't know.' I replied, in the verge of tears. 'My father never told me her name. That's the only memory I have from her. Just give it back to me, please. You've already done enough damage.'

'I can't take you with me if you're a danger to my people.' Rick stated, and I felt scared. I felt scared because he looked like he actually cared about his people, and when a leader cares about his people, he'll go through everything to protect them; he’ll do everything to keep them safe, fed and happy. Being a leader was my father’s death. 'You're Negan's daughter, you come to us and you have a picture of our friend with you. How do you think we're going to react to that?'

'Please, I've already told you. I have no idea who Carol is and I've never met my mother. If you don't want to take me, just let me go. And give me my picture.'

Rick sighed, and he stood up. Daryl hadn't lost his grip on me, and my skull was already hurt enough.

'What do I do, Daryl?'

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. Rick sounded tired, and Daryl sounded like he didn't care.

'Ya want me to shoot her? We could give her head to her papa wrapped in wire. Maybe he would use it as a bat as well.'

Maybe father was right, after all. Maybe there are no more innocent, caring people outside. Maybe he's doing the best for the world. These are the first people I've met and they look and act like monsters. Dad does act like a monster, but he's nice, caring and gentle to me.

Maybe father was right. Maybe I should be like him.

'Are you serious right now?' I spat out, finally growing some balls. I really don't know where that came from, but I felt like I needed to say something in order to save my ass. 'You're mad 'cuz my dad's a killer, but you're planning on fucking kill me?' I shook my head in disbelief. 'Fucking hypocrites.'

Daryl's grip hardened, but I didn't give a shit. He could go to hell for all I cared. People out here are different, and tough, and dangerous, and lethal; so I might try to act as tough, as dangerous and as lethal as them. Again, I'm a really good actress.

'You're in no position to act smart.' Rick stated dryly. Autch. He's right, though, so I didn't say anything much. I simply shrugged my shoulders and waited for it. There was nothing beautiful on a world like this anymore, so fuck it.

'You gotta make a decision right fucking now.' The guy who (almost) shot me stated, and that's when I heard it again. The moans, the groans, the fucking smell. They were coming.

'Daryl...' Rick was literally begging for his friend's help.

'I don't fuckin' now! It's yer call man. It's always yer call.'

Rick looked around; they were closer now.

Fuck, they would leave me out there alone, and those monsters were already smelling us from the distance.

I swallowed hard and I tried to find a way to escape these men and the beasts. There was no way.

Rick glanced at me one last time, and probably at my shitty state right now. Something crossed his eyes, though. I saw the glimpse. He muttered something in the lines of 'fuck it' under his breath, and a second after, I was being dragged by the arm to the bright orange jeep.

How nice it is to make friends in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.

Chapter Text

After what happened back at the road, I expected to be locked up in a dungeon and starved to death - yet, that didn't happen. The car ride back home was awkward, uncomfortable and I was scared to death, but as soon as we arrived Alexandria - that was the community's name according to what was written on the walls around there -, I found the place comfortable.
I mean, really comfortable. It seemed safe as well. They had traps to kill walkers, huge walls and guards armed to the teeth on every corner. It looked like a military base from the outside, but when the gates opened and we entered the community, running away from all the walkers who were starting to corner our car, I was surprised.

I was surprised to see kids running and playing around, women and men helping each other with domestic tasks and houses, man - they had clean, perfect and beautiful houses like we had before all of this happened. Everything looked so perfect.

People noticed I was new in the community, but I don't think they knew I was his daughter. I was welcomed by smiles and curious glances; yet, I didn't have much time to check and look around since Rick dragged me to a house at the end of a street. It was new, nicely decorated and there were pictures all over the place. But again, I didn't have time to check because I was then locked up in a room.

I had been there for the past two hours hearing people chatting and laughing outside. Even though they weren't the nicest people, I felt safe. It wasn't heaven on earth of course, but at least I wasn't locked up in some dungeon with rats. People looked comfortable, cozy in here; I guess that's why Rick was so scared of taking me with them. His community looked untouchable, heavenly; he was just afraid I would screw up everything he fought so hard to accomplish. I would never do that to someone, let alone someone who never harmed me in any way. Back at the compound everyone was ready to slit each other's throats; it was nice to meet a community where things were different.

While we were on our way here, Rick didn't say much to me. He exchanged some glances with Daryl, muttered something under his breath and then locked me up in tjhat room. When Jesus told me they were nice people I actually believed him. It's not that I don't believe it now; it's just difficult to trust someone as tough as Rick, someone as scary and well-built as Daryl and someone as stupid as the guy who almost shot me.

I tried to make myself at home, anyway. Jesus would be arriving soon with news about my father and I would tell him everything that happened. Maybe we could find a way to sneak me out to Hilltop and I would be able to stay with him. That would be fucking great, even though I doubted it would happen.

I wasn't allowed to take a shower. I mean, at least nobody said I could use the bathroom and since I didn't want to cross the line with these people, I didn't. I had taken a shower in the morning, but the way down to the cliff until I hit the road was a little disgusting and messy, so I decided to exchange into some new clothes. I put my bag in the old, empty wardrobe and to make my fear go away, I also put my mother's picture on the nightstand.

Who was Carol? I had so many questions to ask these people but I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer. And again, would it matter? Carol didn't matter. She wasn't my mother, they were just confused; everybody looks like everybody in a world like this. The first time I saw a walker, I panicked and I thought he was my father. He wasn't, obviously. So they were probably hallucinating. My mother was gone and that was it. I was still sad about the picture being destroyed, though; it was my only memory.

There was a knock on the door; I didn't jump nor flinch, I just waited for someone to barge in and grab me by the hair and try to kill me again. It didn't happen, though. There was another knock on the door, and I decided to answer.

'You can come in.' I claimed to whoever that was knocking.

The door swung open and suddenly a boy was standing in my room. He was dressed casually on some clean jeans and a dark shirt. The kid was a bit younger than I was – he was probably 15, but all the stress of living like this ages people. He was carrying a gun on his hand, he had a funny looking sheriff's hat covering his big hair and he looked like a pirate due to the eye patch covering his right eye. I bit my lip; things must be hard out here, for a kid to lose his eye.

'You're the new girl, right? The bad guy's daughter?' I rolled my eyes. 'My father told me you were here.' Even though he looked young, his voice was strong and he was all confidence - he sounded like a leader and he surely didn't seem afraid. His eyes, his posture and his behavior told me only one thing: his father was certainly Rick. Only Rick was like that as well.

I raised my eyebrows, staring at him uncomfortably. What was I supposed to say?

'Yeah, I suppose.' I muttered; I wouldn't lie, I was happy to see someone near my age, even though he was holding a gun and he could shoot me whenever he wanted. 'Who's your father?'

'Rick.' He replied drily, and I nodded; yeah, you could see that by their eyes: they were the same beautiful shade of blue. 'My father is handling something out there and Daryl's the one in charge right now. He didn't want to come here, so he sent me.' I was glad Daryl didn't come though. He would scare the shit out of me. 'There's someone who wants to meet you.'

Two minutes later, my head was buried on Jesus' chest and he was caressing my hair.

'Daryl was just telling me that you were almost shot. Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry.' He whispered to my hair, hugging me tight against him. 'But this was for the best. Things are going to get messy at Negan's and you need to be protected.'

It wasn't like I cared about my father, but he was my father; he's my own blood.

'Did you get to see him?' I whispered, not really wanting other people to hear me. I left him behind, I made my choice; there was no running back, even though I was starting to think that these people were no better than him nor the Saviors. 'How was he?'

'The same old psychopath. He smashed a few of our resources and threatened to burn the whole place down to ashes, but we should be fine. He doesn't know you're gone yet.'

I nodded, swallowing hard. You made your choice, Mathilda. Deal with it.

But there was something; there was something in my stomach. It wasn't a knot, it was worse than that. I was scared, I was so fucking scared. I left the compound a few hours ago and I already faced death so many times. And these people... they're evil. They're crazy. At least dad respected me, even though he didn't respect the others.

'Mathilda, look at me.' Jesus must have felt my bad energies. He was the only one I could still trust. Not my father, not Rick, not Daryl, not Rick's kid; it was him, it has always been him. I looked up at my brother and he embraced my face with both his hands. While closing my eyes and feeling his warmness spreading around my body, I sighed. 'I know that you feel unprotected and that you've already been through a lot, but you couldn't stay inside those walls for the rest of your life, could you?' He was right. I nodded and he smiled. 'These people are strong, maybe even stronger than your father. You're going to need their help, but you're going to have to help them as well. That's the only way you'll keep yourself strong.'

'How's that?' I raised my eyebrows. They would kill my father, and then what? They wouldn't need me anymore. I would be alone, all by myself. Jesus looked around but no one was listening.

'Listen, Mathilda, I'll be gone someday.'

'Stop.'

'No, let me finish!' He protested, holding my hands. 'Your dad will be gone someday - hopefully soon. But I'll be gone someday as well. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few hours, I have no idea; no one does, really, not in a world like this. You'll see the worst of this world sooner than you expect, and I need to be sure that you're protected.'

'Paul, I am not going to make it.' I muttered; I wasn't even sad, I was just stating the truth. How would I make it in a world like this? 'I don't know how to use a gun, I can't fight, I can't even-'

'That's exactly what you need to change, Mathilda!' He grabbed me harder. 'This is war. You're not living under your father's wing anymore. Everybody helps around here, even the younger kids. They fight Mathilda, and you need something to fight for. Something beautiful. And this is something, right? This is something, this is beautiful.' And it was, really. Most of these people probably wouldn't be friends if they hadn't been put in a situation like this one. 'You need to gain their trust and they'll teach you everything. You'll learn how to protect yourself, and I'll finally be able to sleep at night without worrying about your safety. This is how you live.'

'I'm their enemy's daughter, Paul!' I tried to knock some sense into him. I mean, why would they accept me as their family? ‘Do you really think they would share their secrets with me? You really think so? I might turn against them someday and use all the secrets they shared and all the fighting techniques to destroy them. They know that, they're not oblivious.'

'Would you do that?'

'No, I'd never do anything to put these people in danger.' Even though they were scary and mean, why would I do that? I wasn't my father. I would never hurt them to protect that psychopath. They were right, father wasn't; even though their cruelty seemed pretty familiar sometimes...
Jesus sighed.

'Rick and Daryl are great men, Mathilda. They're rather scary, yeah, but they're just trying to make it out alive with their family. And believe me, they would die for them. Make sure you get the chance to enter the family as well. It's your best shot on surviving.'

'How do I do that, Jesus?'

'Being who you are.'

Oh well, that's a great advice.

'I'm Negan's daughter.'

He smirked.

'No. You're Negan's only weakness. And believe me, that's the key to survival in a world like this.'

➳

'I really don't want you to go.'

The long haired man chuckled and rolled his eyes.

'And I really don't want you to die. I've already told you that I have to go. Negan has probably arrived home by this time, and he'll go mad when he finds out you left. He might even do something to Hilltop, so we need to be prepared.'

I hugged my own body with my thin arms.

'I don't want you to die either.'

'You silly thing, I'm not going to die.' Jesus rolled his eyes, but I feared. I feared that he would be gone, I feared that my father would seek for revenge and kill him, I feared that everything would go to shit. 'Negan is smart, but we were smarter right? We became friends right under his nose without him even noticing us. I should be fine. I'll come back as soon as I can.'

We were already out of the main building, right where Jesus had parked his car near the exit gates. There were people around, but they didn't seem to notice us. He opened the car's door, and I sighed when I heard walkers outside. There are so many threats outside; there's so much to think about. Sometimes I completely forget this is the zombie apocalypse since I have to put up with so much shit which is not at all related to the apocalypse itself. Sometimes I wish it was all about zombies and that I wouldn't have to be afraid of people.

'Be safe, okay? Just be safe.' That was my only wish.

'I will. See you really soon, okay? Stay safe, and try to make some friends!'

He said he would see me really soon.
He never mentioned when, though.

➳

'Mathilda?'

I swallowed, hard, and I stopped dead on my tracks. I turned around and faced him, trying to put a small on my face.

'Hey Rick.' I remembered what Jesus told me about; I needed to be nice, I needed to gain their trust if I wanted to survive. When I glanced at his clothes, which were soaked in blood and at his tired eyes, I raised my eyebrows. He wasn't like that before. 'Is everything okay?'

Rick nodded.

'Just a few problems with some walkers out there, nothing we can't handle.' It was my time to nod, and I noticed we were walking right next to each other, our shoulders touching. I guess that's a way to start a casual conversation. He wasn't that mad at my presence anymore, so I suppose he went out there and killed some walkers and put his bad energies into them and not into me. 'Where are you going?'

'Hmmm, I was just heading to my room.' I replied, not really sure if I was saying the right thing. 'I just finished talking to Jesus. He just left.'

Rick nodded in understanding.

'Jesus is a great man; Carl told me he was inside talking to you. You've met Carl, I suppose. He's my son.'

'Yeah, I did meet him.' I responded, staring at everything but Rick. It was still a little bit awkward, but his attitude towards me changed a little, which made me feel less anxious and made it easier to follow Jesus' plan. 'He seems like a smart kid. You taught him well.'

'Oh, I didn't teach him anything.' Rick shook his head. 'I actually screwed up a bit with him - and when I say a bit, I mean a whole fucking lot.' There was a glimpse of sadness invading Rick's eyes, but he brushed it off really quickly. These people scared me. 'He toughened up by himself. He's a strong kid, Carl. We've been through a lot.'

I wasn't being nice or listening to Rick because Jesus was telling me; I realized I was listening to Rick because he was nice, because he was caring and because he wasn't my father. I was listening to him because I wanted to, not because I had to. And even though it all started bad, I was out here. I wasn't trapped in a building with six other women; I was feeling the breeze on my hair, the sunlight was touching my face and I was finally free and the owner of my own decisions; I wasn't living in a moving nightmare anymore. I was free, living with new people and dealing with new things.

'I can't imagine what you've been through, Rick. I really can't.' I decided to be honest; Rick seemed like a very observant and smart man, he would know if I was lying. He didn't try to kill me - yet - or labeled me as the murderer's daughter; he wanted to get to know me and I should do the same. We could only do it together. 'It must be hard especially for you. You have the world in your shoulders.'

Rick chuckled; it wasn't a warm and a pleasant chuckle, though. It was a sad, ironic chuckle.

'I'm no different of your father Mathilda, and we both know that. We're both just trying to survive and keep our loved ones alive.'

I shook my head. I felt so confused about my father, about how I felt about him and about his behavior. I knew he was a bad man, but he was my father no matter what.

'He has killed innocent people, Rick. Just because it was funny.' I replied, shaking my head. Even though I wasn't sure, I knew Rick wasn't like my father.

'Jesus has told me all about him. My group and I, we've defeated someone as bad as he is. It wasn't easy and we lost a lot of people, but he's gone now. And we're still here.' He looked at me. 'I know how you feel, you know? I know you're different; I know you want to help these people and I know you want Jesus safe, but deep down you're not sure if you can trust us. And you don't want to kill your own blood either. After all, he's your only family.'

There was nothing much to add. Rick was right; damn, he had never been so right before. I simply nodded, trying to hold back the tears.

'Yeah, something like that...' I muttered. 'I know he's mean, but he wasn't like this before and... and it's just so confusing. He's my blood, and I love him, and I think he loves me too but... just because he loves me, it doesn't make it right, does it? It doesn't make it right for him to kill all these people just because he feels like it.'

Rick shook his head no.

'It certainly doesn't. It's not fair for you to handle this but honestly - and I'm telling you this from experience -, it only gets worse.'

I raised my eyebrows.

'What are you talking about?'

'It only gets worse; your dad will go mad when he finds out you left. And now that you're on our side, you'll see the worst of him. That's the real him. The real him isn't the mask he wears every time he's with you. What really defines us in the end of the world is the way we fight; the way our eyes light up every time our best friend gets killed, the way we slaughter someone innocent or the way we decide to let someone go. It's a mad world out here, Mathilda; our life out here is like a chess game, and we're only the pawns. If he finds out, if he kills a dozen of us and if he escapes, don't you bother thinking he won't come back; because he will, and he will burn this entire thing down to ashes. And he may not even recognize you, and let you burn with the whole place.'

I didn't know what to say. Rick was definitely an educated and a lived man, I was in no position to argue with that. I simply nodded.

'You're right Rick. I'll take that in account.' I really would. I didn't have much more to say though.

'There's one last thing I want to talk to you about, so we can get on good terms.' I looked at him, my eyebrows raised, and he tried to crack a smile. 'This is no therapy group, and believe me, I've grown not to care about anyone, but I need you, and you need me. And we need to get to know each other if we want this to work and to make both communities survive.' I nodded my
head. 'This is the way Jesus lives, Mathilda: we work together. I'm going to tell you something personal and you'll do the same with me. This is the way we bound; this is the way we start trusting each other. Is that okay?'

There wasn't nothing secret in my life, so I nodded my head yes.

'Okay, I'll start then.' I waited. I was eager to hear everything about Rick, honestly. He seemed to have gone through so much with his family. 'You've already met my son Carl... But I have another kid; a daughter, actually. She's 2.' I almost let an "aww" leave my mouth, but I didn't let it slip. I simply smiled at the thought of a baby in Alexandria. I didn't love babies, but babies are so precious nowadays. Precious and dangerous, but mostly precious. Rick was smiling as well, and he looked like a different man. 'Her name's Judith, and... and there's a lot of story into it. She's not my really daughter, not really my blood... I was married to Lori, my ex-wife, when it happened. She had an affair with my best friend and she got pregnant... And then Judith was born.' Well, that escalated fucking quickly. Rick was taking care of the living proof of an affair; he would look at Judith and he would remember his wife and his best friend together, literally fucking behind his back. But he seemed pretty much chill about it; like it was in the past. 'It's a pretty long story though; it's all behind my back now. My life is new, I'm happy now... Things changed, you know? My wife died while giving birth to Judith. Carl shot her in the head. He was 13 back at the time.' I swallowed the lump in my throat in order not to cry. Carl had to take down his own mother by himself. His own fucking mother. I felt numb all of a sudden. These people had really gone through a lot, but they didn't seem too affected by it. They were changed, yes, but not completely ruthless nor heartless. 'And my best friend, my fucking best friend, tried to steal my own family from me; he then tried to kill me. I stabbed him. He came back to life and Carl shot him in the head, again. He was 12.' And with those words, I felt instant sympathy for these people. Even for Daryl and for the guy who shot me; they all went through a lot. I keep complaining but I was safe back at the compound. And these people have been out there for so long, struggling, fighting, suffering... It isn't fair. I sounded like a spoiler brat.

'Rick, I don't even know what to say in a situation like this.' I tried to be honest and to say something nice, but I was speechless. 'I'm so sorry you and Carl had to go through that. And you're really brave, you know? For raising Judith like she's your own daughter. That makes me really think about the kind of people you are.'

Rick smiled.

'She's my sunshine. When I look at her, I don't see him, I don't even see Lori; I see a beautiful kid who didn't ask to be born and needs to be loved dearly; she deserves that, I owe her that. You know what matters in the end?' I shook my head. 'What you really are as a person. Judith is the cutest kid on the entire earth. She's always smiling; she's always happy, she's always hugging her brother... She's not vicious as her father nor a liar as her mother. She has nothing to do with both of them even though she has their blood.' And then it clicked in my head. 'You know what I'm saying, Mathilda? It doesn't matter where you come from, not anymore, not in a world like this. I don't care if you're his daughter; as long as you make good choices, as long as you are respectful to this family, you're one of us. I hope you picked the right side when you chose us.'

I swallowed.

'I know I did, Rick. Thank you. For everything, really. I'll make myself useful and a part of the family. I promise you.'

Rick nodded, and my heart warmed.

'I'm glad we're on the same boat. But don't expect everyone to trust you right away, especially Daryl; he's kinda hard to deal with.' Yes he fucking is. 'He was really mad when he saw Carol's picture. I don't expect you to tell me everything about the picture today, but I surely want you to tell me when you're ready. I told you my secret, and I hope you find the right time to tell me yours.'

There was no secret. I didn't know who the fuck Carol was, but I simply nodded and smiled at Rick. I didn't smile because I wanted to be a part of the family; I smiled because he inspired me - he was a great man.

'You could have dinner at our place tonight; this is the way we welcome new people here.' I was really surprised at his request, but my eyes immediately lit up in happiness. 'It's not too crowded, though. Carl's there and you'll get to meet Judith and Michonne. I bet Michonne wants to talk to you about some business stuff, and Carl surely needs some company.'

I smiled widely. Well, I wasn't expecting that.

'That seems great, Rick. Thank you very much. Really.'

Rick tried to crack a smile.

'I'm not always this nice, Mathilda. I just want you to know that, okay? I always put my family first on everything. And if things go to hell, you need to be able to pick up which side are you in. I hope you can do that when the time comes.'

Rick surely hoped a lot of things. And so did I.

'Same here, Rick.' I sighed. 'Same here.'

'Let's get some dinner, then.'

And they walked together, side by side; and while the bad guy's daughter and the town's leader walked together towards home in order to get some dinner, they surely did not notice a hole in the strong, untouchable walls of Alexandria.

Chapter Text

'These books are huge, how am I supposed to learn everything?'

I bit my lip; these books must be seven thousand pages long or maybe even more. Denise chuckled while checking on the medicine Alexandria still had left. She was writing down an inventory or something for Rick.

'I had to read those a thousand times, but I'm obviously not going to ask you that.' I sat down on the ground while she wrote the name of the available medicine. 'I'm just trying to teach you something in case you get hurt or if I need help. Or even if something happens to me; Alexandria needs more doctors.'

I didn't think that would be happening, though. I wasn't properly scared or disgusted by blood nor by needles or anything, but my dream was surely not to be a doctor - especially in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.

'You're going to be just fine, Denise; there's no need to have more doctors in Alexandria.' I replied, smiling fondly at her; after dinner at Rick's - which was even better than I expected -, I found out that I was living in Denise's house along with Tara, her girlfriend. They were both really friendly and nice, they let me take a shower and they asked me to talk more about myself. I lied the whole conversation - Rick told me to, so that was what I did. I told them I had lost my parents on a car accident two years before the outbreak and that I ended up living with my grandfather. He didn't make it through the apocalypse and I was out there by myself until Daryl found me. They believed me and they didn't ask me many questions which was really good. I wasn't prepared for that. 'Also, I have some doubts on the stitching thing. How do I take them off?'

It's been four days since I left my father's compound. I've been talking to Jesus and hanging out with him for a few minutes. He told me that my father has no idea I left because he hasn't been home for a few days. He couldn't give me much details, but there was a problem on the West compound and he had to go there. I remember staying alone for one or two weeks back at the compound, eventually accepting his death; but he would always come back home, covered in blood and hurt, but fine. I was thankful that he hadn't noticed my disappearance yet. I wanted to get used to Alexandria first.

I heard someone coming in; it was Spencer. He had hurt his arm a weeks ago and Denise stitched him up; now it was my time to take the stitches off. Denise showed me how to do it and taught me, I just needed to practice.

'Hey ladies,' Spencer greeted us, nodding his head at both of us. He was one of the people who protected the walls, so he was very respected. We smiled at him and he sat down on a chair next to mine. 'I need to get these damn stitches off, I can't shoot properly anymore.'

Denise chuckled and started preparing her medical equipment.

'You've always been terrible at shooting Spencer, this isn't about the stitches.' They both chuckled and Spencer rolled his eyes. 'Anyways, relax; little doctor over here is going to take your stitches off.' Denise said, while pointing at me. I cringed at the mention of my name; "little doctor" my ass, I was terrible at this.

Suddenly, it looked like Spencer had remembered something. He face-palmed himself.

'Oh fuck, I completely forgot!' He muttered under his breath and then looked at me. 'Rick wants to talk to you as soon as possible. He just told me to tell you it's important.'

Important? Maybe Jesus was here to visit. I nodded, and I glanced at Denise in order to be excused.

'I'll see you later then. Maybe you can take Margaret's stitches off tomorrow, what do you think? Just so you can tell me what you can't understand.' I nodded again, wanting to get the fuck out of there. As soon as I could, I was out. It wasn't like I didn't like Denise; she was amazing and so was Tara, but I did not want to be a doctor. When Rick gave me the idea of helping her, I didn't think she would be teaching me how to do her job and I surely didn't think I would have to read those damn huge books. It was a waste of time, I could be dead by tomorrow. It was just books. But I needed to stay there, do something and be something to this community, so I was only going with the flow.

I saw Rick and Daryl leaning against an old, dusty, black car they used to go out on runs with. When Daryl saw me, he muttered something to Rick and left, entering one of the guard's towers near Alexandria's gates. Or maybe I was just being stupid; this wasn't all about me. He probably didn't even care enough to avoid me, he was just a man with a busy life. Rick smiled when I leaned against the car next to him.

'How are you handling things with Denise?'

I shrugged my shoulders.

'Well, I'm going really well... I'm her best student, after all...' Rick chuckled at my lame joke. 'But seriously, there's a lot to it, a lot more than I thought. It's great, but I'm still learning a lot of things.'

Rick nodded and looked around; he had finally shaved his beard and he looked like another man. He looked way cleaner, way friendlier and definitely way younger - and happier.

'She's been telling me that you're going well, you just need a little bit more of practice. And you definitely need to read those huge books.' I laughed out loud; just the thought of reading the books... But at least I didn't have homework like Carl did. 'Anyway, I called you here because I wanted to tell you something.' My posture changed - I crossed my arms on my chest and looked at Rick attentively since his facial expression changed as well and he became more serious. 'We're going to Hilltop today; just for a few business matters, but we'll may not be back until tomorrow since it's getting dark. I'm going with Daryl so Michonne and T-dog are the ones on lead. If you need something, you go talk to them. I just wanted to warn you, that's all.'

Rick was going to Hilltop! I hadn't seen Jesus in two days, so I really did want to see him. I missed him so much, and even though Rick, Michonne and all the others were great, I wanted my brother with me.

'You have to take me with you!' I immediately begged, even though I knew Rick wouldn't let me go. 'I haven't seen Jesus in ages and he would be really happy to see me.'

Rick raised his eyebrows and sighed.

'That's definitely not a good idea. You can be seen or recognized by someone at Hilltop and we don't want problems with your father, not until we are able to handle him. Stay here with Denise, learn something, do something useful... I'll talk to Jesus and I'll tell him you miss him. Is that alright to you?'

No, it's not!

That was what I wanted to scream, but I didn't. I silently growled, not really happy with the fact that I had to put up with this bullshit, and I shrugged my shoulders.

'I just miss him a lot, and I really wanted to go out these walls. I've spent so many time locked up in a building...' Now I was playing the pity card. Rick rolled his eyes and chuckled.

'Stop looking at me with those puppy eyes. You know I can't take you there, it's too risky. You stay here, you study and you help Denise. That's our deal.'

I knew I had a deal with them, but I didn't want to feel like they were trapping me, which was exactly what they were doing. I bit my lip, but I nodded.

'Okay, it's fine. Just tell Jesus I miss him a lot and see if he can visit.'

Carl's father nodded in agreement.

'That's okay. Now get back to your anatomy books. We'll talk later.'

Rick eventually left and entered the same building as Daryl; they were probably packing things up for the visit to Hilltop. I sighed in defeat; there was no way I would be able to convince Daryl to let me go with them; he barely looked at me anyway.

Sighing, I decided I didn't want to go back to the anatomy books; it was too much to study anyway and I wasn't in the mood. So instead of burying my head in those books, I decided to take a walk around Alexandria. Everything was so beautiful.

I still couldn't call this place home, but I knew I would someday. There were birds flying around, kids playing, women chatting with each other, men laughing together... It was too good to be true. I loved that place.

As I walked on the grass, I noticed that the kids had been planting trees again. I smiled at the sight of the new trees which had been planted yesterday, and I approached myself to get a better view.

That is, until I saw that one of the oldest trees was damaged.

A S carved in the tree.

The last time I saw a S carved in a tree, I ended up falling off a cliff with bruises all over myself. I took a few steps back, looking around unsurely. What the fuck was going on? I recalled the accident by the cliff, and the bruises still hurt so much; whoever pushed me down that cliff, they did it with a purpose. And they surely weren't happy with the fact that I was staying in Alexandria.

I swallowed.

Someone at Alexandria wanted me dead.

I should have gone and talked to Rick, or maybe with Daryl, or maybe with someone who could help me; hell, I could have begged for Michonne's help.

I didn't.

I was in danger, and there was only one person on the entire earth who could protect me: Jesus.

It was stupid and it was reckless, but nobody was seeing me. Nobody could stop me.

They wouldn't take me to Hilltop, so I would have to get there by myself.

With a little help of Daryl's car, of course.

➳ 

'What the fuck are ya doin' here?'

I took three steps back; nice one Mathilda, you just got busted. I swallowed and took a few more steps back. Daryl has always scared me but now I was terrified of him - especially because I wasn't supposed to be here, but I was. I had been looking for Jesus for the past 30 minutes. He was nowhere to be seen, and I was just running around Hilltop like a mad person. People would raise their eyebrows at me, but they didn't ask questions. I tried to avoid Rick and Daryl as much as I could - especially Daryl -, but it came to a point where I was completely lost and I had to stop by the barn. And Daryl eventually found me; a really exhausted and confused Daryl found me. I was terrified of him, honestly. Everything about him screamed danger and death. And I've already had enough of that in my life.

'I-I just wanted to see Paul, but, hm...' I tried my best to avoid his gaze; everything about Daryl was awkward. His eyebrows arched and I bit my lip. 'B-but I can't find him.'

Daryl looked at me for a few seconds.

He then snapped.

'Were ya in the fuckin' trunk? I knew ya were there, Rick told me I was imagining things.' He scoffed. 'Imagining things my ass...'

I almost let a smirk draw itself in my lips. I suffered a bit locked up on the damn trunk, but I made it through and they barely noticed it.

'I'm sorry about that, I'll apologize to Rick later. Can you just tell me where I can find Paul, and...'

'What the fuck?!'

Wait, what?

'What is happeni- HEY, LEAVE ME ALONE!' I was literally being dragged by the elbow by Daryl Dixon a second later. Daryl's tight grip would probably bruise my arm later, and I tripped a few times while he was taking me with him to the barn. What the fuck was going on?! Was he going nuts?

'Shut yer fuckin' mouth.' He muttered on my ear, and soon enough we were inside the barn. What the hell was going on? There was a dusty window which gave us a not so perfect view of what was happening on the yard, and Daryl looked outside. I noticed his body tensing and his biceps hardening. 'Do ya recognize those cars?'

I looked through the window. For a few seconds, I remembered those times back at the compound when I had to sit inside a building and watch everything happening from the inside.

But now, oh fuck.

I did recognize the cars.

'The Saviors...' I muttered, immediately hugging myself in fear. We were fucked. I definitely shouldn't have come here today. Right when I decided to escape to avoid being killed at Alexandria, I would end up being killed at Hilltop. Fucking nice. 'What do you think they want here?'

'Those fuckers ain't the main problem...' Daryl muttered back, and he tried to clean the window with his vest. It didn't do anything to improve our vision from the inside though. He furrowed his eyebrows and muttered something under his breath again. 'That Negan?'

A baseball bat on his hand. A fearless look on his face. Broad-shouldered. Looking for revenge.

Yeah.

That was definitely my father.

Oh fuck.

➳

Negan didn't need to ask them to open the gates for him. They were already opened when three cars entered Hilltop. Daryl was holding tight onto his crossbow, and I was holding tight onto myself. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that we were going to die, but I got a grip of myself.

Dozens of Saviors armed to the teeth left the two biggest jeeps I've seen in my entire life and started looking around, their weapons pointed at everyone and everything. Those men sent shivers down my spine and by the way they were searching the place, I knew right there and then we would be fucked right in the ass. My dad was looking around smirking.

'They're lookin' for ya.' Daryl whispered, and I leaned against him. I never expected to do that, though. Me, looking for perfection from Daryl? That's new. He dragged me by the elbow again as quick as he could. 'We need to get the fuck out of here.'

'What? No!' I whispered back, trying to get out of his grip. 'We can't leave Rick here and Jesus is going to be in trouble! Do something!'

'I ain't leavin' Rick.' He growled; I was actually happy he was replying instead of ignoring me. I hated being ignored. 'Climb that ladder upstairs, they'll check this entire fuckin' place.'

I climbed the ladder as silently and quickly as I could; at least I still knew how to climb a fucking ladder. Daryl climbed right behind me and I crawled in the direction of the biggest window up here. The glass was broken, so we could hear the conversation and see everything pretty easily. Daryl was on the right side of the window while I was on the left side. We exchanged a glance, and I realized that he was the only one who had a weapon. It's not like I could actually use a weapon to do anything, but I would feel safer if I had something on me. The Saviors were still outside; they hadn't searched the main buildings, the barn nor the houses yet. They were just randomly pointing the guns to people.

'He likes this.'

'What?' Daryl growled.

'He likes this.' I repeated, looking to the scene outside and avoiding Daryl's glances. When I talk to people, I usually stare at their noses or something. It's less awkward. Staring right in the eyes is way too awkward, but when it comes to Daryl I usually avoid looking at him in general. I wasn't even aware of his eye color yet. 'He's just trying to make them shit their pants; it's psychological horror, that's all.'

Daryl didn't respond.

My father was still leaning against one of the jeeps, smirking devilishly on his own spot. And for the first time in my life, I took a step back away from him; for the first time in my life, I realized I was looking at the devil himself. Negan looked fucking pissed - he looked dangerous. And for the first time in my life I felt scared of him. He didn't bring me a peaceful sensation anymore nor a safety feeling; Instead, I felt like leaning towards Daryl - again-, so he could protect me. I was tired of leaning on everybody for protection.

'That really yer father?' He whispered, and I simply nodded. 'What the fuck is that on his hand? Is that the fuckin' baseball bat?'

I nodded; this was sick. My cheeks were burning and I felt some damn secondhand embarrassment; this was ridiculous. I heard from Jesus that the baseball bat was kind of a myth around people – Negan had turned into a local legend and everybody talked about the baseball bat, but the ones that actually saw it always ended up dying at his mercy and not live to tell the story.

‘Yes, he really kills people with that. I've never seen it, but I've heard from his wives that he bashes people's heads with it. He calls it... Lucille. As a girl, you know.'

Daryl scoffed when I finished my explanation. I heard him mutter a "to hell with everythin'" under his breath and suddenly, his crossbow was aiming right towards my father's head.

'Daryl?! What the fuck?!' I squealed, putting myself in front of the aim. 'What do you think you're doing?!'

'I'mma end this fuckin' thing right now.' He growled and pushed me aside, making me almost fall on my back. 'I kill the fuckin' guy and this all ends here.'

'Are you fucking stupid?!' I felt something in my heart; it was ridiculous, but I didn't want my father dying in front of me, not like this. I wanted to say goodbye first. I wanted to tell him all the things he did wrong and why he did them wrong. I wanted to be the last person to see him alive. And I needed answers! I needed answers about whoever Carol was, I needed answers about my mother, and I needed to know why he became like this; I needed to know what changed him, what turned him into a monster. But Daryl was strong, and smart, and he wouldn't surely let me try to talk him out of it. 'What if you miss? What if you fuck the whole plan up?'

'I never miss.'

'What if you do this time?' I was a stubborn little bitch, yeah. But my dad couldn't die. Not like this, not today. 'You kill him and the Saviors blow this entire thing down to ashes. We don't want that, so chill the fuck out. We're all in danger right now, including Jesus!'

Daryl growled under his breath; I could hear a lot of cussing coming out of his mouth, but it wasn't like I cared. I took another glance outside, and I noticed that my hands were shaking. My dad exchanged a look with the Saviors, and they nodded.

'I want every fucking soul on this shitty community right here, right in front of me.' He yelled, and I felt like the world was opening under my feet and swallowing me whole. I had been so blind, ignoring all the signs and the deaths around me; thinking that he was a good person, that all the shit talk about him were nothing but rumors... but they weren't. He was a bad person. He wasn't my father.

Paul soon appeared in front of him, and my heart ached. A few other people from the community were soon reunited near Negan, and I noticed some kids among them. This was even worse that I thought. I was in the verge of tears, and then I heard Daryl behind me.

'Don't make a fuckin' noise if something happens.' He growled; I only realized his crossbow was resting on my shoulder when I felt his voice so close to my ear. 'Ya make a noise, I shoot him in the fuckin' head. And I don't care if he kills yer little boyfriend.'

I really wanted to punch him in the face, but I didn't want to get my hands dirty.

'Sir?' I heard Jesus asking, his eyebrows raised and his hair everywhere. He looked confused, and mostly really scared and not really understanding what was going on. 'Was there anything wrong with what we sent you yesterday? We sent you everything, didn't we?''

'Of course you fucking did.' I was frozen in my spot when Negan started caressing Lucille with his left hand. I felt like throwing up. 'You've been such a fucking good boy Paul, I want to give your family a reward for everything you've done for us!' He smirked, and Paul grew smaller on his spot. I couldn't believe that monster was my father. 'I want all your fucking friends kneeling in front of me; we need to have a fucking chat. It's gonna be so much fucking fun, you don't wanna fucking miss it for nothing.'

I glanced at Daryl; a sob came out of my mouth.

'We need to do something. We can't just stay here and watch!'

'Ya move, I kill him and yer little boyfriend. I'm not fuckin' joking Mathilda. This ain't a motherfuckin' game.'

Daryl was the worst person I've ever met. I tried to hold back the tears, knowing there was no way I could stop what was about to happen. Maybe Rick would figure something out, he was smart enough to trick my father into one of his plans. But maybe I was hoping for too much.

I could see Jesus' forehead covered in sweat and dust; he kneeled down, looking like a 5 year old. Negan looked so powerful, he looked like the king of the world right now. And maybe he was. Maybe he liked that feeling, the feeling of being on top of everyone and everything. He was never like that in the past.

‘Paul, my dear Paul...' He started, bouncing Lucille on his hands. I was shaking, and adrenaline was pumping through my veins; I needed to do something, I wanted to do something - but Daryl was holding me tight with a damn crossbow on his hand. There was nothing I could do to help him. And it destroyed me; it destroyed because I wouldn't be able to help someone who literally saved my life. 'I'm here to request your fucking help. Not because I fucking want to, but because I feel like you might be the only one who knows how to help me.'

Jesus swallowed hard.

'How so, sir?'

Negan chuckled.

'I think your fucking community has something that belongs to me.' He knew. Fuck. I took a step back, but Daryl's body wouldn't let me move. Jesus was taken back by Negan's statement. But he had always been fearless. And he never knew when he was supposed to bite his tongue.

'What do you mean? We didn't steal anything for you. Don't you think you've already stolen enough from us?'

He had crossed the line.

'Listen to me, you fucking fag.' Lucille was soon resting on Jesus' chin, making him stare into my dad's dangerous eyes. Negan was on fire. 'You don't fucking mess with me or my people. You cross the line one time, we make sure you and your people wish you were all fucking dead. Did I make myself fucking clear?'

Jesus gulped. I could see the drops of sweat running through his face down his forehead.

He knew he had fucked up.

'Yes, sir. I'm sorry.' Negan smirked. 'But what was that thing that was stolen from you?'

There were a few seconds of silence.

'My fucking daughter.' He growled, and Daryl's body tensed behind me. My body tensed as well just by hearing him talking about me. 'And I'm pretty sure that one of your men fucking stole her from me. I'm gonna find him and I'm gonna eat his hands for breakfast.'

I could feel Daryl's slow breaths somewhere around my neck; I, on the other side, couldn't breathe; I just wanted things to be over. Negan had finally realized that I was gone, and he was more than crazy: he was fucking insane. Jesus nodded frantically.

'You have my word that we'll find your daughter, sir. I'm really sorry about what happened to you.'

Negan laughed out loud, sending shivers down my spine.

'You can fucking bet your people's heads that I'm going to be here tomorrow looking for her. I'm gonna shit all over this fucking place if I fucking have to.'

Paul nodded again while his people were shaking on their knees. I could hear some children crying and some women whimpering in fear.

'We'll do anything to find her, sir. I bet she's okay.'

'I'm really fucking glad we sorted this whole shit out.' Negan laughed again, sounding like a damn maniac, and I breathed in relief. But I felt kind of... weird? He wouldn't let things go that easily. I thought he would go nuts once he found out I wasn't there. He looked way too calm, and Lucille looked way too clean...'Now, Paul, I'm going to ask you the most important question of your entire life. You might screw up everything, so be fucking careful with your words.'

Jesus' hair was falling onto his face, covering his whole expression. Was he crying? Was he calm? I could barely see it.

'Do you think you can be fucking honest with your leader?'

'Yes.'

'Yes fucking what?'

Negan growled, and I screamed internally; my father was rubbing Lucille on Jesus' face gently, without letting her cut him. This was just another of his games. This would be fine. We should be fine.

'Yes, sir.' Jesus was finally able to say it.

Negan laughed out loud, showing his teeth.

'I'm going to ask the question... Are y'all fucking ready?!' He yelled, and the children cried more and the women whimpered more; I leaned towards Daryl again. 'Do you pricks have anything to do with my daughter's disappearance? 'Cuz if you have... oh man...' He chuckled darkly on the end of the sentence, and right there and then, I knew we were fucked.

'I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I'm sorry.' Jesus was a terrible liar. Daryl was growling in my ear, and I knew that dad hadn't fallen for that one. He chuckled again, and he rubbed Lucille one more time.

'Okie dokie...' He chuckled. 'I'm going to ask you one more fucking time, and you can bet your ass this is the last time I'm going to ask you...' He kneeled in front of Jesus, and I closed my eyes in fear. 'Where did you hide my fucking daughter?'

'I had no idea you had a daughter, sir.' Jesus replied even more calmly, even though Lucille was right next to his face again. 'But I promise you we'll do our best to find her.'

They exchanged glances again. My father got up on his knees. I breathed out in relief.

'That was a good answer, Paul... That was a hell of a fucking answer... You won the battle, man, you really did...'

Father had his back turned to us; he glanced at the Saviors.

'Steal everything you can find and burn this whole thing down to ashes.' The Saviors cheered happily, and I could almost hear the screams of everybody at Hilltop. Daryl got up on his knees, ready to get the fuck out of there, but I stayed there at the window. We needed to help Jesus and Rick, but I was paralyzed.

'Mathilda!' He yelled at me over the sound of the screams and the walker groans. 'We need to fuckin' leave! Move ya ass!'

Negan, who was kneeling in front of a really sad Jesus, laughed out loud.

'You know what, you fucking moron?' Jesus looked at him, and even though I could see his eyes, I knew he was crying. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could definitely see my father's maniac eyes. 'I know what you fucking did. You took the only thing I had left away from me; you took my fucking daughter, didn't you?' Jesus shook his head. Negan didn't believe it. And I didn't believe that that man was my father. 'You took everything I had away me, you little fucker.' He spitted on Jesus' face, and then he laughed out loud. 'Now get the fuck out of my way, you fucking loser.'

Daryl covered my mouth, muffling my screams, knowing what was coming.

I was seeing red.

I wasn't seeing red because I was mad.

I was seeing red because my father was smashing Jesus' head right in front of me,

and the blood was red,

the floor was red,

Jesus' head was red,

Lucille was red,

and my fucking tears tasted red.

Chapter Text

Back at school - when there was still a government that made kids go to school -, she always felt like people were whispering behind her back; she never understood why they would that to her. She had always been nice to everyone, she had always smiled on the right times and comforted people on the right moments. Hell, she was a good person. Why would people whisper about her? Why would everyone talk shit behind each other's backs?
The middle of the apocalypse was no different from school, though - Rick and Daryl were indeed talking shit about her behind her back. But it didn't matter, not anymore - she was too dead to listen, too numb to react, and her brain was too fair away to understand what was going on.
When Jesus died, she died with him. She couldn’t be the narrator of her own story anymore – it didn’t belong to her, not anymore, not after what she witnessed.

The two men whispering on the middle of the road had no idea how gone she already was.

'He just started a riot, he killed their leader in front of them.' Rick stated, rubbing his forehead and glancing at the broken girl sitting inside the car; she indeed looked insane, and she definitely had a reason to. Negan was indeed powerful, and it reminded Rick of the Governor and his inspirational speeches. But there was something about Negan, something that brought him into a whole new level of insanity and danger, something that Rick feared. Negan’s girl was way different than he expected – she sounded, looked and acted younger than she actually was. She was still innocent, she was still naïve, and she still lived in a fairytale world. Rick felt for her. 'We can't control these people, they barely respected us before all of this. Now they think we're weak and that we can't protect them.'

'Ya think they got the balls to attack Alexandria?'

Daryl lit up a cigarette and leaned against the car. He knew Rick feared Negan, but Daryl had always been different. He had never been afraid of a guy on a leather jacket before, why would he be now?   He couldn't help but feel that he was the one to blame. He could have ended everything by killing him on the spot, but the girl asked him not to. And even though he didn't give a shit about her feelings or about her wishes, he didn't want to kill her father in front of her either. That would have been much better than watching Jesus being beaten to death, but Daryl was no fortune teller. There was no way he would know that would happen in front of their eyes.
He wasn't scared of this Negan guy before, but after watching him bash Jesus' head to the ground, he should be scared - damn, he knew he should be shitting his pants, but he wasn't. Negan wasn't as tough as he wanted people to believe him. He was just a smart guy who always had the right words and this aura of leadership surrounding him, something that made people fear him and want to be on his side. His tough words, his rough voice and his bad ass posture - it was all an act to cover up the real piece of shit of a coward that he was. But Daryl wasn't buying that shit. Fuck no. He had dealt with people like Negan for years of his life before the apocalypse and they all ended up getting killed after crushing weaker people behind their shoes; after all, karma's a bitch.
Besides, Daryl wasn't scared of dying; there was no point on living anymore anyway.

'They don't have the resources nor the strength so we should be fine. But if we want a deal with them, we need to have them on our side. We don't want them joining Negan and burning Alexandria to the ground. They know too much about us.'

Daryl raised his eyebrows, exhaling the constricted smoke out of his lungs.

'Ya want to kill 'em all? They're all pussies, the guy shows up with his bat again and they all melt into the ground. They ain't keepin' their mouths shut.'

Rick rubbed his forehead again and glanced at the girl sitting inside the car.
What if it was Carl inside that car, broken inside because Rick had just been killed?
But that could happen everyday, every hour, even in the normal world. You could get hit by a car, you could have a heart attack and bam - you would be gone. Today was no different.
But at the same time, it was different. And Rick didn't know what to do.

When Jesus told him that he was friends with Negan's daughter, the sheriff thought that she would be a spoiled little brat with an attitude problem and that she would get them all killed, but she was exactly the opposite. She was quiet, nice, weak, and she was always ready to help Denise and the others around her. But she was also conflicted. She reminded him of himself a few years ago when Shane and Lori were still alive. He loved his best friend to death, but deep down Rick knew he deserved to be dead after everything he had done. At first, the sheriff thought that he was no God, he couldn't decide whether people should live or die, but God had left them all alone by themselves. So he was the one to make the call. And when he did make the call and he stabbed Shane, he knew right there and then that he would never be the same man - but he would be alive. They couldn't both live on a world like this anymore. And Mathilda knew that Negan should be dead, but the thought of having her father dead scared her to death. Daryl had told him what happened back at the farm when he tried to shoot Negan - she begged him not to. She was confused, she was scared, but mostly, she was scarred.

'We can't shut their mouths either, Daryl.' Rick responded. 'These people aren't bad; they're just scared and they want to save their ass. But they saw us; they know who she is and they can do a lot with that information. They can mess our whole plan up.'

Daryl was tired of making decisions. And the problems never seemed to end.

'What's the point on keepin' the girl, anyway?' He shrugged. 'We had a fuckin' deal. Maggie would be on charge of Alexandria if somethin' happened to Jesus. He's gone, their shit is our shit now. No point on killin' the guy and gettin' into trouble anymore.'

Rick felt conflicted; Daryl was right though. Their deal was to kill Negan, keep Hilltop safe and then they would share resources. But Jesus was dead, Maggie literally owned Hilltop and Negan had already found out that the girl was missing. Yet, he also knew that Hilltop had something to do with it - and if Hilltop's shit was Alexandria's shit, then they were buried in shit to the neck.

'He said he would be back.' Rick replied. 'What if he comes back and he kills Maggie? He already killed one leader, he might kill another.'

'That's why we should fuckin' drive the girl down there and leave her with her ol' man. That's where she fuckin' belongs.'

Rick seemed to disagree; just because they were best friends and both good leaders it didn't mean they couldn't disagree. They did disagree in a lot of things and this subject was no different. While Daryl didn't feel anything towards the girl, Rick did feel something; pity, maybe, but there was something. Mathilda deserved better.

'Why?'

Daryl raised his eyebrow and scoffed; he knew Rick had something on his mind.

'Cuz he's her fuckin' father, that's all. His daughter, his damn problem.'

And Daryl knew, right there and then, that he had fucked up. Rick's eyes were on flames.

'Do you think that Judith belongs with Shane just because she's his daughter?'

Daryl choked on the smoke he still had on his lungs and he started coughing like a mad man. His eyes were soon full of tears due to the smoke.

'Christ, what the fuck? We ain't talkin' 'bout Lil' Ass Kicker. Ya'll full of shit.'

'It's a legit question, Daryl. Do you think Judith is growing up to be like Shane? Do you think that Judith was Shane's problem?' Rick wouldn't let Daryl interrupt him and talk, though. Rick wanted to stand up for his beliefs. 'Then why did you help her in the first place, when I was insane? You were the first one to step up and save her.'

Rick knew that Judith's was one of Daryl's weaknesses. He loved the little girl to death, and maybe she would be a great point of comparison between Mathilda's reality and Judith's reality. They were the same, after all.

'She's a baby, for fuck’s sake.' Daryl scoffed darkly, his fringe falling into his eyes. He was covered in sweat, he was hungry and the conversation wasn't helping. 'And Shane wasn't carryin' a bat wrapped in wire around, he was jus' a little bitch.'

'And I had to kill the little bitch.' Rick replied. 'But I refused to kill his daughter, because blood does not mean love.' He rubbed his forehead again, and he looked up to the sky. Sometimes he really hated to be a leader. 'Daryl, we can't turn her in. She's just like Judith, man.'

'Judith's a baby, and last time I checked she ain't no baby. She ain't even a child in a world like this.'

Daryl was so cold. Rick had noticed that he grew colder ever since that had happened. But it was getting out of limits. His attitude, his dark voice, the fact that he refused to own a house in Alexandria... Daryl was losing control of himself.

'She's a person Daryl, get a fucking grip!' Rick raised his voice a little bit, but he regretted it immediately; he didn't want Mathilda to hear them, not after she lost someone so important to her. Rick was a roller coaster of feelings and thoughts; on the beginning of the apocalypse, he cared a whole damn lot about people's dignity, about feelings, about life like it used to be; after he killed his best friend and lost Lori, he became a killer machine. His life was all about ups and downs, but after so much shit he learned how to handle the downs and how to be happy with the ups. That's what life was about: ups and downs, crying, laughing - surviving. Dying for the ones we love; that seemed a good way to go, on Rick Grimes' opinion. Rick wouldn't let this kid alone, not after what she just saw. She deserved better than a world surrounded by her psychopath of a father. But he was running out of options to persuade Daryl, so he did the expected. 'Don't forget that she's Carol's kid, Daryl. Carol would want you to protect her at all costs.'

It hit Daryl; Rick could see it on his eyes that it had hit him. He knew it would. He threw a glance at him, raising his eyebrow, and scoffed; now he was mad.

'Carol ain't here right now. And we don't even know if that's fuckin' true.' Rick was about to reply - again -, when Daryl snapped. 'Look, I'll do whatever the fuck ya want me to. Jus' ask away. I don't give a flyin' fuck anymore anyway.'

Rick was sad; he was sad that his best friend had grew to be this heartless, tired and depressed man, but he couldn't do anything for him. He already had the world in his shoulders. Daryl would have to find a purpose to live by himself.

'I want you to take her with you. You protect her, you train her, you teach her something.' He knew he was crossing the line with the redneck; it would be rough for both of them, Rick knew that, but it was their only option of getting alive. 'She's completely clueless about the world outside and she's full of hatred right now. She wants revenge. She might leave Alexandria and get into trouble. And we need to keep her until the end - you saw the guy, she's his only weakness.'

Daryl got really quiet for a moment. It made sense, of course. She couldn't stay in Hilltop - her father would find her, or she would get killed by the dwellers; she couldn't stay in Alexandria either, it wasn't safe for her, nor for Judith, nor for the residents and it didn't make sense. Both Rick and Daryl knew Negan would visit Alexandria and try to make them surrender, and that there would be a hell of a fight. Mathilda was their treasure. And in a world like this, you can't be too proud or show off your treasures.

'How long?' He asked. Rick smiled internally; he had won.

'A few weeks, maybe. I'll meet you there regularly and I'll keep you updated. I was thinking about that cabin that Michonne found. It's not too far away, but it's secure and it's in a good place. There's lots of water around and there's a forest... you can hunt...'

'Stop tryin' to buy me, I'll do it.' Daryl rolled his eyes, and Rick chuckled. 'I don't even fuckin' care anymore. As long as she keeps her fuckin' mouth shut, I'll live with it.'

Rick chuckled.

'Thank you, Daryl. Really.' He stopped for a second, and both brothers looked at each other in the eye. 'It means a lot to me.'

'Ya don't have to save everyone, Rick.' Daryl said quietly. Rick knew there was something wrong with him, something he couldn't quite understand what. He wasn't... he wasn't Daryl. He was different. 'Ya think ya are responsible for everyone...' He shook his head. 'Ya ain't. She ain't nothin' to ya.'

Rick didn't reply. There was no point on replying, anyway. Daryl had agreed and that was it. There was no turning back now.

'We need to talk to her.' He looked up, and sighed. 'It's getting dark, you two should head out as soon as you can. I don't want her to come back to Alexandria today. I'll get your stuff tomorrow.'

Daryl nodded.

'I'm goin' with her, but I ain't doin' the talkin'. Good luck with that.'

Rick didn't know how to deal with grief. He has never been good at it, and the end of the world didn't help him at all. He thought it would, since he was used to watch people getting killed in front of him, but it had made things a lot worse. He glanced at the car again; she was still sitting on the same position, and Rick sighed at the view of dried tears covering her face. Her hands were covered in dirt, her arms were scratched and her hair was falling down into her face. She was a mess.
Rick slowly made his way towards the car door and opened it calmly not wanting to scare her. She didn't even move when Rick knelled next to her.

'Mathilda?' He called out softly, but she didn't answer. She didn't even move her head nor her body. He wasn't sure if she heard. 'How are you feeling?' There was no response, again.

Daryl rolled his eyes. What the fuck was Rick expecting? She just lost the only person in the world she cared about. She was still in shock. Daryl wasn't properly happy with the thought of having a ghost travelling and living with him, but at least she wasn't talking. It would be a lot worse if she was talking.

Rick glanced at him begging for help, but the long haired man shrugged his shoulders; Rick was the one with kids, the one who was capable of dealing with the youngsters. Daryl didn't care enough to be able to do it.

After a few minutes of silence, Mathilda finally talked. She wasn't properly talking; it was more like a groan mixed with a high pitched, dark voice.

'I want him dead.'

Rick swallowed hard, and eyed Daryl again. Daryl knew the feeling; he knew the feeling of wanting someone dead.

'Revenge makes you weak. You don't...'

'I'm going to kill him.' Again; a stoic, calm, deadly voice tone. She didn't look the same person. It hit Rick like a rock; her eyes looked empty, and she surely did look mad. Had she gone insane? What was he supposed to do? Suddenly, Rick had an idea. He sighed and looked at the girl right on the eye.

'You know something?' She didn't answer; she just stared. 'I used to feel sorry for kids that have to grow up now... in this. But I think I got it wrong. Growing up is getting used to the world. This is easier for them; for you.'

Maybe it was. Daryl had no idea, and neither did Mathilda. She didn't remember much of the world before all of this anyway, but she knew for sure that there hadn't been a knot on her stomach, a lump on her throat nor the feeling of wanting to be dead before.
She hadn't cried yet; she hadn't cried for hours yet because she was still in shock, the images repeating itselves without permission in her head. She didn't even try to block them; she needed to fully understand what happened. She needed to understand the monster her father was.

She lost him. She lost him forever, and he had gone the worst way possible. And it was all her fault. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but Rick wouldn't let her. He proceeded with his story after clearing his throat.

'When I was a kid... I asked my grandpa once if he ever killed any Germans in the war. He wouldn't answer. He said that was grown-up stuff.' Mathilda almost chuckled. Her dad used to tell her the same damn thing. She was so numb; too numb, but she was listening. 'So... so I asked if the Germans ever tried to kill him. But he got real quiet. He said he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory.' Mathilda was a smart girl; she had always been a romantic kid who loved deep thoughts and to engage in deep conversations. She knew where that was going. Oh damn, she surely did. Rick carried on. 'And then after a few years of pretending he was dead... he made it out alive. That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do and then, we get to live. But no matter what you find on your way, I know we'll be okay; I know you will be okay. Because this is how we survive. We tell ourselves... that we are the walking dead.' He swallowed hard. 'But we aren't; we don't have to be. We can be different. But if you want to survive, you need to pretend you're like them.'

'I don't think I will get to live enough time to learn how to pretend to be like them.' That was all she managed to mutter out, holding back the tears. 'After what he has done... I'm not... I-I can't go back to him. Ple-please, don't make me. I-I don't want to. Rick, please.'

Now she was on the verge of freaking out. Rick held her strongly by the elbows, and Daryl thought how the fuck he would be able to handle a fucking teenager for a few weeks by himself.

'Hey, hey, calm down!' Rick held her tightly and locked her eyes with hers. 'You're not going back to him. You can't stay on Hilltop, but you aren't staying on Alexandria either. You're going with Daryl somewhere... somewhere safer, somewhere where you can learn how to protect yourself. Somewhere where you can learn how to pretend.'

She gripped her shirt harder.

'There's no point on protecting myself. He's dead. There's no point.' Rick didn't answer. There was no point on answering. He gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm and got up on his feet. He dragged Daryl by the elbow away from the car, so they could have a more private conversation.

'I'm going back to Hilltop. You can take this car, I'll just ask for another. Do you think you can make it?'

Daryl shrugged.

'It's jus' for a few days. We'll be jus' fine.'

Rick dragged Daryl into an unexpected hug.

'You're more than my best friend, man. You're my brother, and I owe you my life.'

'Ya don't owe me shit.' Daryl replied, and took a cigarette out of his pocket. 'Make sure ya'll make it out alive. That's all I'm askin'.'

However, Rick and Daryl weren't aware of the fact that a shadow was hearing their conversation hiding in the forest. The only clue it left behind was a S carved in the nearest tree.

➳

Daryl drove. He was driving as fast as he could in order to get out of the fucking car as soon as possible.

It was awkward. He had been travelling with Rick for so many years that it stopped being awkward; it wasn't awkward with Michonne, it wasn't awkward with Aaron, hell, it wasn't awkward when he was by himself. But it was surely awkward being on a car with a teenage girl who had just lost someone, who was weak and who had no idea about the pile of shit that the world was out there.
It wasn't like he knew everything; fuck, he had no idea about what the hell was going on sometimes either, but he made an effort. He made an effort to grow stronger with the years, and he surely did.

People made Daryl weaker; having to protect people made him weaker, and she would surely make him weaker. He was a survivor, he wasn't a teacher. Surviving isn't something you can teach - you just survive. It's not written in books.

'Just tell me... What now?'

Her voice came out muffled, high-pitched and emotional. Daryl wasn't expecting it - he was aware of her presence, but he certainly didn't expect her to talk to him. But she did talk; he wished she hadn't. He looked behind carefully, but she wasn't looking at him. Her head was buried on her knees, her hair was everywhere and she was a mess, sitting on the backseat of a stranger's car.
For the first time on her life, she was alone. She was alone on someone's car, driving somewhere she had no idea where - she was thrown to a pile of shit. Daryl was no good with world nor feelings, but he did know what to say this time.

'Rest in peace - now get up, and go to war.'

And she did go to war.

➳

Carl Grimes heard screams.

And gunshots.

He wouldn't be surprised if he had heard the terrible sounds a few years ago, right before they found Alexandria. Everything was hopeless back then. But they had found Alexandria - they were safe.
At least that was what they thought.

Carl was outside when he saw them. People being eaten and bitten by them. People trying to run away from them.

Them.
Them.
Them, everywhere.

Carl cocked his gun and ran towards the unknown. He didn't make it in time, though - Alexandria had already been conquered by the dead.

Chapter Text

On the first day, Daryl Dixon didn’t complain.

            As he unlocked the door of the little cottage in the woods so secretly protected by a few traps, blocked doors and weekly vigilance of members of Alexandria - their secret safe house, as they called it – he realized the place was like paradise on earth, or at least a small paradise in the middle of an apocalypse. Daryl could count with his fingers how many people knew about the safe house: Rick, Carl, Daryl, Michonne, Maggie and Glenn were the ones who found it, the ones who checked on it whenever needed and the only ones that knew where they were supposed to run if Alexandria went to shit.

The cottage felt like home to him, if he could even trust something as a home in times like these.

So as they entered the house and she lied down on the sofa with a thud, remaining speechless for the rest of the evening, Daryl Dixon didn’t complain.

            On the second day, Daryl Dixon thought she was dead.

            She wasn’t moving – her body was still in the same position as yesterday, her muscles stiff and her eyes open, tears streaming down her face and leaving a wet trail on her cheeks. She hadn’t gotten up to go to the bathroom, to eat, to get some fresh air – she was just there, and Daryl had seen it before, the way people’s bodies shut down due to trauma.

Dixon growled. Kids were fucking entitled these days. When he was her age he couldn’t even lie down on the fucking ground to rest, let alone in the fucking sofa in the middle of the end of the world. He had to sleep with one eye open every single night, he had to pull his own weight from the day he was born and he had to earn a place in the family.

            ‘Lil’ girl,’ He growled in her direction, even though in a world like this – and probably before - she was no little girl; she surely acted like one though. ‘Get the fuck up. We got shit t’ do, ain’t got no time to be depressed n’ shit.’

            Mathilda didn’t answer Daryl; she had no strength to, but she also didn’t give a shit that they didn’t have time to be depressed, as Daryl said – what was the point of trying anyway? What was the point of “doing shit” when everything around them was utter shit?

Mathilda sighed and bit her tongue.

            ‘What shit do we got to do?’ The brunette growled back, closing her eyes just to make the man in front of her disappear; maybe if she closed her eyes really hard he would be gone.

            ‘Ya ain’t on vacation. Get the fuck up ‘fore I grab ya by the hair.’

            Daryl’s work with Aaron was supposed to make him a little better with people, but it really didn’t. He wasn’t living in the same hell that he once was, no; he wasn’t surviving anymore, but he wasn’t exactly living on a five star hotel either. He knew the peace they had in Alexandria could be turned into ashes with literally the sound of a bullet and he wouldn’t have any of the residents making his life more difficult – the times when he put his ass on the line for people who couldn’t fight were over. Now you fight, or you die. Nobody’s going to cover your ass anymore.

            Of course he would never grab a woman by the hair either, but he needed to make himself look dangerous, respectable, in her eyes. Daryl’s Dixon favorite hobby wasn’t teaching teenage girls with a loud mouth and a small brain how to survive, of course it wasn’t, but she was vital for their survival and Rick wanted him to do it. So that what he was going to do.

            ‘Why would I even care? I’m going to die anyways.’

            ‘I don’ fuckin’ care.’ Daryl growled, grabbing her by the elbow. Yeah, maybe not the hair but maybe the elbow. Mathilda jumped at his touched yet Daryl didn’t seem to care as his grasp tightened on her arm. He hated her. He knew why, but he hated her and he didn’t even know her. ‘Somebody’s gon’ get killed t’ save ya ass, and tha’ shit ain’t gonna happen on my watch. Move.’

            Mathilda eventually got up, her legs hurting from being laid to rest for so long and she followed the grown man outside. Daryl Dixon was tall and carried himself with confidence. He also carried himself like a man who had the world on his back. Mathilda realized she hated being around him; he talked about her dad carrying a wired bat but he didn’t even know he looked exactly the same while carrying that stupid crossbow; he didn’t even know he looked exactly like him, carrying people’s weight around.

When her boots touched the grass, she realized she was expecting everything but that. Daryl had a walker pinned to a tree with three arrows: one on his neck, the other one on both his legs. The hunter was obvious very proud of his teaching techniques: if she wanted to learn how to fight, she needed to learn how to fight the real thing. Jesus had told him that she had been stuck in that building like a damn fucking princess for the entire apocalypse and that it was important that she learned how to save her own ass. Maybe Jesus knew he would die and that Rick and his group didn’t really have the resources and were good enough on their heart to teach her.

            Mathilda wasn’t expecting to see a half-decapitated man, rotten body parts falling from him and hitting the ground, mouth wide open showing his yellow teeth and jawline snapping, arms trying to reach her and kill her right before breakfast. She had seen some walkers on her way to the woods, but they had been really far away and they didn’t look as bad as this one looked.

            So she did the only sane thing to do: she threw up.

            Daryl Dixon rolled his eyes and muttered a few curse words under his breath. He had never, ever, in his entire life, met such a lifeless, stupid and useless human being. As she deposited the contents of her stomach in the ground, he lit up a cigarette, looking amused.

            ‘Ya fuckin’ done yet? I’mma have ya workin’ on him, so grow sum balls.’

            ‘Why-’ Mathilda gasped, cleaning her mouth with the help of her shirt. ‘Why the fuck would you do that? That someone’s son, that could be someone’s father and-’

            Daryl closed his eyes, breathed in deeply. You can’t kill her.

            ‘Look at me not givin’ a shit girl. Jus’ kill the damn thin’.’

            As she looked at the walker strapped to the tree, groaning, moving and looking in her direction ready to take a bite, she wondered if she really wanted her father dead. Mathilda wondered if they would let him die a peaceful death – maybe a gunshot to the head or an arrow through his eye – or if they would torture him first. She wondered if they would open him up and let him die a slow death, his guts hanging from his body when he turned into one of those creatures.

            Mathilda tried to push those thoughts aside; Negan had killed Jesus, her brother, without any remorse, without any respect for his human life. Negan didn’t deserve a peaceful death. He didn’t deserve to be put down, he deserved to suffer just like everyone else did around him.

            Was it grieve talking? She didn’t know. Mathilda just knew that Daryl was growing impatient, the walker was growing hungrier and she didn’t know how to kill it.

            ‘I- I don’t know how.’ Mathilda admitted, the words stuck on her throat again. She could almost hear Daryl sighing next to her. The girl just hoped he was used to teaching people as dumb as she was. He grunted as he threw one of the knives he kept on his boots on her direction. She grabbed it from the ground, her hands shaking.

            ‘Aim for the head. ‘M waitin’, ain’t got all day left.’ He growled, obviously growing impatient at her. Mathilda gulped, feeling guilt sweeping through her pores as she held the knife of her hand. That had been someone’s son, maybe someone’s father. He could have been a doctor, a family man, that could have been someone that found human life sacred – and there she was, ready to kill him with a rusty knife. She wondered if his soul, wherever the hell it was, would find mercy on her act, would find some rest after finally being set free. Mathilda took two steps forward, the leaves snapping beneath her feet, and twisted the knife between her fingers, trying to get used to it.

            She accidentally dropped it in the floor.

            The girl could hear Daryl sighing behind her but he didn’t do anything to help her. He just stood there, smoking his cigarette and leaving her to kill a walker by herself. Her first walker.

            Mathilda was quick to grab the knife back. She wasn’t holding it properly but she grabbed it the best she could securing it between her hands. The monster was growling, groaning, snapping its dislocated jaw at her every step she took. The brunette tried to convince herself that she wasn’t scared – of course she wasn’t, she was brave. She had been around walkers before when she ran away but this time she was armed. It would be easier.

            Right?

            His hands started moving in her direction, the nails unusually long and dirty. She scrunched her nose at that and immediately regretted it. What if there was someone trapped inside that decaying body? What if she was hurting somebody’s feeli-

            ‘Ya want him ta open ya up like a turkey, hun?’ Daryl chuckled ironically, rolling his eyes, clearly bothered. ‘Avoid his fuckin’ arms. Go aroun’ if ya can.’

            Mathilda did whatever Daryl told her because with all honestly, he knew way better about surviving than she did and she was in no position to act like a smart ass. She tiptoed around the walker avoiding any of the roots growing from the tree so she wouldn’t trip and fall on her face or on the walker.

            She knew what she had to do. She knew she had to stab him and put him at ease. But it was easier said than done; his skull, even though rooting, green and emanating a putrid smell, was still a skull, a human skull at that matter. The only thing in her mind that allowed her to sink her knife close to his left ear was the thought that she would be probably sparing some humans lives – humans lives with beating hearts.

            She kept her eyes closed the entire time. She knew what she would see if she were to open them: someone’s son, someone’s father, dead, stabbed right on the brain by a little girl.

            Daryl was looking at her with his eyebrows raised but he took no notice to her suffering. He grabbed the knife back, cleaning it with his vest and handed it to her again.

‘We startin’ with knives. Can’t really do much ‘bout guns while we stayin’ here, but we’ll see what I can do.’ Mathilda really wanted to be able to hold a gun and shoot and actually aim at something, but guns attracted walkers – and people – and they couldn’t risk that while they were on the run. ‘Then we fightin’ so ya don’t get fuckin’ murdered out here. Got anythin’ to say?’

Mathilda shook her head; she was already sweating, probably because she was so nervous around walkers and around Daryl, and she thought she were to be dismissed; Daryl, however, was a man with a mission. He had a family back in Alexandria to protect and the only way he could protect them was by protecting this girl and teaching her the basics on survival.

‘Kay. Basics when ya killin’ a walker: stay away from those damn arms, thing’s stronger than they look. Aim for tha head, don’t get scratched. Ya will learn the rest along the way, need to find ya sum of these son of bitches daily.’ Mathilda nodded, listening to what Daryl was telling. He was smoking, keeping his distance and looking hella bored but at least he wasn’t yelling. He sounded like he had the whole speech planned on his head; he wasn’t a man of many words back in Alexandria. ‘Bout knives: when fightin’ with people, keep ya distance. Run if ya fuckin’ can. They aim for ya vital shit, so be careful with ya chest and head.’ Mathilda hoped that she would never have to be in a fight with someone with a fucking knife. ‘If ya both have knives, don’t go for the vital parts. Slice their fuckin’ hands first to they can’t hold the knife anymore, then kill.’ God. Now she just hoped she didn’t have to fucking kill. Daryl inhaled a lot of smoke into his lungs and released it, proceeding to throw what was left of his cigarette to the ground and smashed it with his boot. Mathilda saw his every movement as he walked to her. He grabbed her wrist and she grunted in pain. ‘Most important thin’ ‘bout knives: the grip.’ He took the knife away from her hands and showed her how to properly hold it, his hand finally letting go of her wrist. It was obvious that he was very good with knives and had a lot of experience around them as he showed her different slicing and stabbing techniques. She was growing smaller as she saw the way his strong arms moved, his tendons flexed as he worked with the knife as he was so used to. Mathilda tried to get most of the information in, but it was hard to concentrate as she saw Daryl Dixon working: he was definitely a man in a mission.

He seemed to be finished and handed her the knife again a few minutes later. ‘Now, ya practice that. Don’ fuckin’ go around slicing yaself. And ya better practice with both hands.’

Mathilda swallowed.

‘Why?’

‘The other one can get sliced off.’

Mathilda swallowed again. She wondered if she wasn’t better in the compound.

Daryl left leaving her by herself in the front yard. She wondered if he was trying to toughen her up, trying to get her stronger and she realized he was a good man for trying. She just wished she could be better.

She started practicing. God knows how much she would need it in a world like this. As she watched for her posture, her shoulders and the position of her feet as Daryl told her, as she gripped the knife the right way under her fingers and attacked and avoided her imaginary opponent, Mathilda couldn’t help but wonder if her imaginary opponent could be, one day, her father.

»»

‘Sir?’

He growled under his breath. He couldn’t have one fucking minute of peace, could he?

He had burnt everything to the ground – he had burnt every single thing he could find, from buildings to people, he had burnt everything to the fucking ground just so he could find her. He didn’t.

His most precious possession, his daughter, had been kidnapped. She had been taken away from him just like everything in his life had. He wondered what could have gone wrong: was it because he was away for so long? Was it because he didn’t pay her enough attention? He had done everything for her. He had protected her with his own life between those four walls because that’s what parents did, that’s what he did. That’s what he had done his entire life for her.

He built a home out of ashes for her because he had to. Because she was his daughter.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ Negan growled back, and he could hear Fat Joe’s breath quickening behind the officer’s door.

Fat Joe held his breath.

‘We- we didn’t find her, sir. I’m sorry.’

Negan grabbed Lucille. If they couldn’t fucking do anything, he would take the matter into his own fucking hands.

Again.

Chapter Text

The morning started early for Mathilda.

She was lucky to have a room, that she was sure of without a doubt. Ever since the beginning she always had a room, a mattress, somewhere to sleep other than the ground. Even though she didn’t know much about Daryl’s group, Denise and Tara had told them stories about winters struggling on the road, snow ruining their only food destined to help them go through a tough winter and people dying with infectious diseases. There was none of that back at the Compound with her father, at least not that she knew about. But as the girl lived more and more amongst people other than her father, the more she came to the realization that maybe he wasn’t that good of a person.

Denise and Tara also talked a lot about Daryl. They talked about being thankful of his hunts that apparently were always very successful; they talked about the fact that he was always the first one to wake up and the last to go to sleep and that he always went on runs that lasted days, being able to find supplies that would last them for months. They talked about Daryl like he was a blessing to their group.

Mathilda didn’t know Daryl; he definitely looked like someone that had already struggled a lot in his life, probably even before the apocalypse, and that had roughened up his edges. She felt for him: life wasn’t always fair.

Nevertheless, the girl already owed him a lot. He hadn’t killed her father when she asked him not to and even though he was a little impatient and grumpy, he didn’t make her life a living hell. If what Denise and Tara said was true, Daryl probably felt caged being locked in a house with her, away from his family and away from his responsibilities, but he was still there.

As Mathilda went down the stairs and entered the kitchen she realized she was alone. For a few moments she felt unsafe, wondering if something could happen to her; did she really want to die in a small cottage in the middle of the woods? But Daryl protected his family, and if he really wanted his family safe he would be protecting her too. She grabbed an apple from the counter and went outside.

The day was beautiful; the birds were chirping – Daryl would probably try to shoot them all with his crossbow so they could have dinner and he could have some silence – and the sun was already shining, thankfully not strong enough to burn her skin. She had the knife Daryl gave her with her, and she started practicing just like she did the day before.

She was getting better at it, but copying movements was really different from actually fighting someone and killing walkers. Mathilda had decided to live the moment Jesus died. If she wanted to honor her best friend’s memory, she needed to be strong and kill the person who killed him, even though that person was her father.

She remembered that Daryl told her she should train with both hands, so she switched the knife to her left hand, eager to be able to fight with both hands.

Five minutes later she was walking inside, her head low in shame and her right hand pressuring the wound in her left hand.

Daryl could smell the blood instantly. He was cleaning his crossbow inside after he had skinned a few squirrels and rolled his eyes as she walked up to him, her head low and her shirt pressuring her wound.

‘Where’s the first aid kit?’

Daryl sighed.

He knew damn well why he was accepting this so well. After all, she was Carol’s daughter and he owed Carol a lot. He couldn’t save her younger daughter, no, but he could save the older one.

‘Sit.’ The hunter growled, opening a few cabinets in order to find the first aid kit.

‘I can do that.’ Mathilda said quickly; not because she didn’t want Daryl to take care of her but because she didn’t want to be a bother more than she was already being. ‘Denise was teaching me a few things while I was in Alexandria.’

Daryl growled – again – and told her to uncover her wound. As her shaky little hand dropped to her side, Daryl scoffed; he had told her that someone could slice her hand off, not that she should do it herself. It wasn’t anything too worrying, but it would need stitches. When Mathilda looked at it from close, she cursed herself for thinking that Denise wasn’t trying to teach her something that she actually needed. She remembered her class on stitches and she had actually stitched someone up, but stitching herself up?

The slicing had hurt once it happened, yet she wasn’t freaked out because she was hurting – she was freaked out because the smell of blood would attract walkers and if they weren’t the ones to kill her, Daryl surely would.

Mathilda gasped as Daryl poured a shitload of antiseptic in her open wound. She cursed under her breath; what was up with him putting antiseptic in open wounds!? Didn’t he know anything about medical aid?

Feeling immediately guilty for thinking such thing of Daryl, a fucking survivor of an apocalypse with scars on his arms being the proof of that, she decided to shut her thoughts up. He probably knew a lot more about surviving and medical aid than she did. Mathilda decided to quit on being a smart-ass and gritted her teeth, feeling her cheeks burn up with the pain.

‘Ya know how ta stitch?’

No, she wanted to scream to the top of her lungs. She knew how to, she had tried it and she could do it on people, but she had so little training that she was sure she would fuck everything up. She nodded her head.

The medical tools at Alexandria weren’t the best, of course; some of them were rusty and old, but they were indeed medical tools. When Daryl handed her a sewing needle – for clothes, obviously – and black thread that she could use to stitch the hem of her jeans, she swallowed. What the fuck was she expecting at the end of the world, anyway?

Her wound was still bleeding and her hands were shaking like a little bitch when she grabbed the antiseptic so she could at least try to clean the utensils, as she wasn’t able to sterilize any of them. Mathilda was sure Daryl was following every step she took, every breath she took and she was sure he realized how much she was shaking. It didn’t help to put her nerves at ease.

As her shaky fingers grabbed the needle – and dropped it immediately – Daryl exhaled.

‘I’ll fuckin’ do it myself.’ He scoffed, making pressure with the gauze in her left hand. The girl flinched. ‘Can’t see shit if ya bleedin’. Hold this.’ Mathilda’s eyes were tearing up; she wasn’t crying because of the pain even though she was in a shitload of it, but because she could clearly see Daryl running out of patience with her useless ass. Daryl told her to take an analgesic for the pain even though they both knew it would only really start working after the stitching and she would have to go through it. Daryl moved with ease and Mathilda watched him in awe as he grabbed the needle and the thread and pierced her skin without any hesitation.

She bit her lip to get through the pain; it hurt, it hurt a lot more than she thought she could handle, but she gritted her teeth and let her eyes drown with tears as she watched Daryl work. He moved the needle with ease, piercing one side of the wound and then the other, joining them together, tighter, just like they had been before she fucked up. At every pierce more tears dwelled in her eyes, but she didn’t find the courage to complain; he was doing her job, after all.

‘S’ done.’ He muttered after a while, breaking the thread with his bare hands and leaving her hand sutured. She looked at it: it wasn’t bleeding anymore and the wound was contained and very, very tight. As she moved her hand, the stitches pulled a little but it was comfortable to move. ‘Ain’t got no antibiotics so we gonna have ta wait for Rick for that. Ya better pray ya don’t get an infection.’

‘Thank you, Daryl.’ She said, her voice shaking as she avoided his gaze. As he put things away, still enraged that he had to take care of a fucking teenager instead of taking care of his family back at home, he reminded himself that this girl was an important part of their plan and fuck, whether he liked it or not, she was probably Carol’s kid. He had let one of her kids die and he had promised himself that he wouldn’t let the older one followed the same path.

‘S’ okay, careful next time.’ He answered her in the same monotone voice he always did, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Now go outside. We gotta practice.’

Mathilda’s eyes widened. After what happened she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to touch a knife ever again, let alone practice more. Her hand was still hurting, her legs still shaking and she felt like everything was still moving around, but she got up.

‘What if I bust my stitches?’ She asked, hoping that Daryl would just drop it, but of course he didn’t.

‘What did I tell ya ‘bout usin’ ya other hand?’

Mathilda nodded and as Daryl went to the back of the house for whatever reason, she grabbed her knife and literally dragged herself to the front where she used to practice.

She missed Jesus. She didn’t have time to grieve because everything was so sudden in this new life, everything happened so fast; a few days with Daryl in the safe house felt like a month. But practicing was hard, she was weak and there were so many things out there that could go wrong at any moment. The rest of the world had embraced the apocalypse almost three years ago but there she was, not even able to grab a knife properly and fight for her life.

Mathilda froze in her spot when Daryl joined her in the yard.

He had stabbed a walker right in the chest with one of his arrows – one of the really sharp yet dented ones – and he was holding the walker through the arrow as she walked in her direction, her groans louder in her ear as she approached her. It was a woman this time, a really tall human that had decayed at less speed than the other walker she had seen before. This walker looked more human, shaking Mathilda to the core.

‘Sometimes ya gonna be hurt and ya still have to kill. Ya ready?’

Mathilda wasn’t ready and she had come to the realization that she would never be ready in a world like this. So might as well get shit done. So she nodded.

Daryl let his grip on the arrow loosen up a bit, just enough for the walker be able to reach her faster; the girl tried to remember everything he taught her, every movement and where she was supposed to attack. It was a walker so she had to kill him quickly and aim for the head. She also needed to avoid the arms.

Mathilda came to the realization that the arms weren’t the problem. How she was supposed to kill a walker so much bigger than she was?

The dead woman walking in her direction was taller than her – definitely a few inches taller. Mathilda freaked out for a moment; she could stay on her tiptoes and try to sink the knife in the middle of her forehead, but she was scared. She could grab her by the hair or worst – she could scratch her.

‘I- I don’t know if I can. She’s really tall, I can’t reach her head without her hurting me.’ Mathilda’s voice quivered, like she was just begging Daryl to just kill it and let her go for the day – and honestly, she was. He didn’t look very pleased as he rolled his eyes and did nothing to stop the walker. Mathilda took a few steps forward, almost running away from the dead woman.

‘Fuckin’ think.’ He muttered. ‘Ya don’ have nowhere to run ‘nd she gonna kill ya, ya gonna let yaself die?’

She was frozen in the same spot; the girl wanted to run away from Daryl straight into the arms of her father – he was a monster, definitely, but he would never put her in such a dangerous situation like this one.

The dead woman was breathing on her face when Daryl grunted.

Before Mathilda could even breathe, Daryl kicked the walker’s already rotten knees and she fell face to the ground with a thud. Mathilda screamed as the walker came tumbling down and her body crashed with hers. With another scream and in a reaction completely out of fear, she stabbed her right through the head.

And then she stayed there, lying in the grass and wishing she was back at the compound.

Daryl scoffed and lit up another cigarette.

‘If ya were out here like the rest of us, ya would have been dead for years, lil’ girl.’

Mathilda pushed the woman away from her body and got up, her clothes filled with walker blood and gunk. She was so furious that she actually stomped the woman’s head so she could get her knife back. She took a look at her stitches; they were still in place, thank god.

‘Thanks for nothing, Daryl.’ Mathilda spat out, anger clearly taking out the best of her. ‘You could have just said something to help me.’

‘Ya think that’s how it is outside?’ The hunter rolled his eyes, the cigarette on his lips lighting up. If he didn’t want to be killed by a walker he would surely be killed by lung cancer. ‘Outside it’s ya and yer own ass.’

‘Whatever, Daryl! I-I don’t even want to be with you!’ Mathilda realized she was raising her voice, but she didn’t care; Daryl Dixon could go to hell. ‘I just wish I could go back to my father!’

Daryl raised an eyebrow; that. That was his problem with people. He hated that back on the road Aaron saw the best in people. The problem with people is that they turn their backs on you when you least expect it; the problem with people is that they’re scared, and they’re weak, and Daryl Dixon took none of that shit. He was there locked up with her, like a princess in a damn castle, like fucking Snow White in the middle of the woods, and she had the fucking nerve to tell him that she would rather be with her daddy. Fuck her, then. He would take her straight to her daddy if she really wanted to.

‘Ya jus’ a coward. Sure as hell ain’t like ya mother.’

Mathilda was already walking towards the cottage again to get herself cleaned up and just be away from him, when he said that.

Her body trembled from head to toe as she remembered the first time they met; how he held her at gunpoint mumbling shit about some Carol and about her picture, like her mother was someone that he had known – or knows. He was nobody; he was a nobody and he had no fucking right of even thinking about her mother.

‘Fuck you, Daryl, you don’t know anything about my mother!’

‘Sure as hell know more than ya do!’ He wasn’t yelling probably due to the walkers, but he wasn’t keeping his voice down either. ‘Ya were raised by fuckin’ Satan himself, sure as hell ain’t like ya father either. Ya scared of your own damn shadow.’

Daryl Dixon hated her. He mostly hated her because she was Carol’s kid.

Mathilda didn’t answer; Daryl Dixon had a point. He knew her mother better than she did and Negan was, truly, Satan himself. And she was indeed scared of everything.

Mathilda marched inside, leaving only her tears behind.  

»»»

Negan always loved hearing them scream.

He always loved when they kneeled in front of him, their heads down and drowning on their own tears as they begged for mercy – for mercy that he would spare them from an inevitable and gruesome death.

Negan knew he was on the top of the world; he was on the top of the food chain and there was no way someone would just bring him down to nothing. He was the most powerful, the one with the most and better resources. He was their king and they were merely his servants, and he could kill them at any time he wanted, whenever he wanted to, because there would always be someone there eager to take their place, eager to serve Negan.

Some people weren’t made for this world. Some people weren’t made for this world but their abilities and their knowledge makes them essential in a world like this.

Denise was one of these people, but as he bludgeoned the doctor’s head until there was nothing left but his shaky arms, blood on his shirt, pieces of brain splattered around and decorating his boots and Tara screaming next to a now decapitated body, he let out a laugh.

He would raise hell if he had to.

Negan didn’t enjoy killing woman; damn, he had never killed a woman in his entire life, leaving the dirty work for someone else sometimes. Getting his hands dirty with women’s blood wasn’t something that got him off; the only thing that still mattered in his life was a woman, after all.

He didn’t like when women cried either, and as he realized the one next to him was crying as she looked at her friend’s body, he didn’t feel no shame for his acts – this was the woman that kidnapped his daughter; this was the woman that had helped his daughter to vanish in the middle of the apocalypse. This was the same woman that had taken the most important thing in his entire life away from him.

‘Alrighty then, now that we got our heads wrapped around the subject,’ He chuckled, caressing Lucille and shaking her around so the blood and the guts fell right into Tara’s head, ‘I’mma ask you one more time, you fucking bitch. Where the fuck is my daughter?’

Negan wasn’t yelling, no. He only yelled whenever it was strictly necessary, and it wasn’t strictly necessary to start yelling right now. He had made his point across with Tara when he smashed Denise’s head in.

‘I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

Perhaps not.

Negan rolled his eyes. It was too early in the morning for him to be awake, it was too fucking early for him to be smashing someone’s head in, but he would gladly do it again, without the blink of an eye, if he didn’t find anything about Mathilda. Days had passed and Negan didn’t find shit, and he was looking every-fucking-where. He would have to get more pricks from Alexandria, it seemed.

Jesus was a stupid fuck. He really thought his wives didn’t work for him, he really thought his wives didn’t seem him running to – and running from – the building every single week he went to find the Saviors. He really thought Negan was blind, that he was that stupid. He really thought that he would only protect his little, yet so precious, treasure with only four walls and a lock on the door.

But she still escaped; Mathilda still escaped and Negan was all alone. Again.

‘Where the fuck is my daughter?!’ He hit Tara across the face, his hand flying before he could stop it. Negan remembered that he didn’t hit women and that he found such act repulsive, yet he didn’t feel no remorse, no. He was fucking Negan, and fucking Negan would kill every man, woman and child he needed until he found his most prized possession.

Tara’s tears glued to his hand.

‘I-I don’t know, what’s her name?!’

As Mathilda’s name rolled from his tongue, earning another Tara a slap, her eyes lit up as her brain piped in the mention of the name.

She couldn’t do anything about Denise, but maybe, just maybe, she could still save herself.

Chapter Text

Daryl wondered about his brother.

Not about Merle, no – who the fuck knew where Merle was at this point, probably getting drunk or high on opioids in some cottage in the middle of the woods, and Daryl couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. No. He wondered about Rick.

Rick had told him that he would meet him in a few days – and a few days had passed. Five days, to be exact, that he had been stuck with that fucker’s daughter in a cottage in the middle of the fucking woods. Rick was still nowhere to be seen and Daryl had shit to do. He couldn’t wait.

Being next to her was slowly yet surely destroying Carol’s image on the hunter’s mind. Carol was tough and strong and a fucking badass, while this kid was… a kid. A weight on his shoulders. This kid was dangerous.

Daryl didn’t know shit about her fucking daddy but he wasn’t scared – he was just another lunatic like the Governador had been. He wasn’t scared of bashing people’s heads in, that was right, but Daryl wasn’t scared of bats either; he had been in too many street fights to be scared of a piece of wood wrapped in wire. He remembered how Negan’s voice shook while mentioning his daughter, while mentioning she had been kidnapped – she was his weak point, and you can’t have weak points in the apocalypse.

Mathilda was training right in front of him with an already dead walker strapped to a tree. He was teaching her how to properly slice, stab and kill a human being. After all, they could be more dangerous than walkers.

‘Mind ya feet.’ He barked and she immediately straightened her posture; she wanted to learn, that was for sure, but she was weak. She had no muscle, no quick thinking and she didn’t have no damn training on street fighting. She was fucking Rapunzel in the middle of a war. ‘Grab that fuckin’ knife properly, ya trynna stab yaself again?’

Mathilda sighed almost in desperation. The girl knew Daryl was just trying to help her, but she was growing tired of staying there. She was growing tired of the constant silence, of the dark, of the smell of walkers; she was tired of eating canned food, of hurting herself and training until her muscles went sore. As Daryl went inside to grab his pack of cigarettes and left her alone, she let her mind wonder to where she wasn’t supposed to: to her father.

Negan brought her another soup.

‘Daad, c’mon’ She whined, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve already eaten.’

Negan rolled his eye, mimicking his teenage daughter and handed her the chicken broth and the spoon in a tray. She sat on the bed carefully, moving her limps for the first time in some hours as she eagerly accepted the food – she had eaten, yes, but she loved daddy’s recipes.

‘How are you feeling?’ He asked in the sweetest voice, his hand in her forehead just to check her temperature. Her body temperature seemed to be a lot better, but he still worried as he felt her a little warm. She was his daughter, his only daughter, and the most important thing in his life.

‘I’m good, dad.’ Mathilda replied, holding on to his hand and grasping it. He smiled at her, his lips now replacing his hand as he kissed her forehead. ‘I should be studying though.’

Negan rolled his eyes as he put the spoon inside the soup, waiting for her to start eating.

‘You should be resting and eating, Mathilda. You’re sick. Everything else is being taken care of.’

Mathilda smiled a little, her eyes still puffy and red from her fever. She was worried that she might get her dad sick with the stupid Flu she had caught, but he was so strong and brave that she just knew that none of those options had crossed his mind.

‘Who’s going to take care of you now that I’m sick?’

She was suddenly smacked into the real world again; a world where she didn’t take care of her father anymore, where she didn’t have meals ready when he came home late anymore, a world where they didn’t spend some weekends curled up in the couch watching chick-flicks; she was smacked into the real world where she was living with a man she didn’t know in a cottage, the world where she was practicing to learn how to survive, the world where the dead walked, the real world where she had decided to kill her father.

Mathilda sighed; life was different and she hated different. Her hurt hand was feeling heavier than usual but she took no notice as she started practicing again, trying to properly hit the walker.

She stopped dead on her tracks when she noticed the letter S carved on its dead skin, covering up its entire stomach.

Mathilda took a step back. And then she took another, and another. Someone that had tried to kill her before was out there and they had been too close to her. What if they had gone inside? What if they tried to kill Daryl so they could get to her next?

‘Daryl?’ She whispered, taking so many steps back that she was now near the entrance of the cottage. She couldn’t hear a sound coming from the house. Mathilda gripped her knife harder as she looked around. She called out to him a little louder. ‘Daryl?’

The rumbling from inside the house made her heart skip a beat, but as the door was opened by a pissed off hunter, Mathilda was suddenly relieved.

‘What do ya want?’ He grumbled and raised his eyebrows at her small posture. Both were arms were tensed and her jaw was locked as she gripped her knife harder than he had ever seen her do, her stitched hand pointing forward. Daryl quickly reached her and his eyes followed her finger. ‘Fuck’s this?’

‘I-I don’t know.’ She stumbled as she talked, her eyes suddenly growing wider and wider as she took a few steps back. ‘I’ve seen it before I was thrown off that cliff.’

Alexandria would be turned to nothing without this girl. Without this girl Negan truly had nothing to lose. He needed to keep her away from whoever was trying to hurt her, to kill her, to scare her; if Daryl wanted to help his brother, he needed to keep her safe.

‘Lock yaself inside.’ He growled, his crossbow immediately pointing forward and lunched on his shoulder. Mathilda realized he had acquired a new posture: his jaw was tight, his crossbow was ready to shoot and his eyes looked everywhere, scanning the area around them. Perhaps for a clue, perhaps for movement, Mathilda didn’t know – she was no hunter. The girl ran inside, knife on her hand and shaky breaths coming out of her mouth. As she locked the doors with shaky hands and ran to the main room to lock herself in the closet, she curled into a ball and tried to think about her father; about a father that she had lost right after the apocalypse started.

Daryl’s senses had never been so awake, so ready to kill whoever crossed their paths. As he looked behind his back, he just hoped he was making the best decision by leaving her alone.

»»

Mathilda opened the lid of the canned beans easily, handing it to Daryl along with a fork. She then opened hers, sitting down on the chair across him. He didn’t look very interested in talking as he ate the beans and smoked a cigarette at the same time. She wondered how he was capable of that.

‘So, you didn’t find anything?’ Mathilda asked shyly; she knew he was pulling her weight, looking for people that were trying to murder her, but there was nothing she could do. She wasn’t getting any better at fighting, she was still scared and she was still weak. Mathilda wondered if she was ever going to get better, if she would be able to pull her own weight.

‘Nothin’.’ He muttered as he wiped his mouth with his hand. ‘Whoever fucker did that, they know what they doin’.’

Mathilda nodded. She didn’t know how many fuckers were trying to murder her – hell, she didn’t even know if any of the Saviors knew how she actually looked like – but she couldn’t die, not after Jesus’ sacrifice, not after what he did to save her life.

‘Thank you for looking after me.’

Daryl didn’t answer; he had nothing to answer. He wasn’t the one to do shit out of the goodness of his heart. He did it for his family, yes, but he didn’t do it for anyone else. The girl wasn’t family. She was family with the fucked up guy they were trying to kill. It didn’t matter that she stayed with them and that she was on their side and that Jesus had trusted her – literally – with his life. So he didn’t answer.

‘How’s ya hand?’

Sometimes she even forgot about the stitches on her hand; she didn’t have a fever, there was a lot of swelling that was coming down and it was definitely starting to get itchy, but at least she didn’t have any problems with infections. She stopped eating and showed him the stitches, that were now covered with white bandage that was starting to look a lot dirtier than it was supposed to, for the sake of her health.

‘It’s looking a lot better. Thanks for these.’

‘Ya gonna have to stay with that for a week or two more. Ya put a lot of pressure in that, we take ‘hem off and ya hand comes out too. Gotta be careful with those.’

Mathilda nodded her head; stitches on the hands were definitely tricky, but thankfully the wound hadn’t been deep enough to puncture a tendon or something and give her a useless hand – but fuck, she already had two useless hands, it wasn’t like it would change a thing.

The pair kept eating in silence, words stuck on their throats. They weren’t the most talkative people in the world, Daryl avoiding her at any chance he had and Mathilda living her life on the low and not bothering anyone. Nevertheless, they had been stuck for a long time together, weren’t they? She could ask some questions.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Daryl didn’t stop eating nor did he stop smoking. He didn’t even look at her. ‘What do you know about Carol?’

Little girls didn’t usually catch him out of guard, but he almost choked on the fucking beans as the question rolled out of her little ass mouth.

He tried to believe that her story wasn’t true or, if it was, that Carol did have another daughter and that she had a good reason to leave her at such a young age without ever coming back. He also tried to believe that Mathilda didn’t know that Carol was her mother and that it wasn’t some stupid scheme to get them all killed. Jesus swore on his death that Mathilda had no information about her mother.

Daryl didn’t see any Carol in her. Not physically, not mentally, not fucking anything. And he wasn’t able to see Carol hooking up with Negan either.

‘Carol’s the strongest woman I know.’ He replied dryly, as he noticed her eyes weren’t leaving his; she was desperate for answers, starving for some kind of explanation about her mother. He didn’t know what was enough to tell her that would shut her up, but he didn’t know what was safe to tell her either. ‘Lost her little kid, a daughter, when this shit started. She’s a fuckin’ badass.’

Lost a daughter.

Daughter.

The words repeated themselves of Mathilda’s head, over and over and over again. She had a daughter, a younger child – younger than Mathilda. She had had someone else in her life after Negan and she had another child after abandoning Mathilda; because that was what she did: she abandoned her.

Dixon wondered why she would leave one daughter – and probably a fucked up relationship, as it was Negan they were talking about – just to get into another abusive relationship and have another daughter. She never mentioned Mathilda, she never talked about a previous relationship, not even to Daryl. And they were friends.

Weren’t they?

‘Did she-did she ever talk about me?’

The answer was simple.

‘No.’

Mathilda wasn’t surprised and she had to accept that it was okay to hurt. She had lived with her father her entire life and he had been enough, but now that he had gone insane and she had the confirmation that her mother was still alive, she wanted to meet her. She needed her support; she needed support altogether, and she couldn’t rely on Daryl for that. He was already giving her so much. Mathilda decided to change the subject.

‘I don’t know what’s your plan, but the compound is huge, Daryl. I was mostly locked up, but there are men – a lot of them – and guns. Too much guns.’ That caught Daryl’s attention. He was still staring at his beans, but he was now chewing slower which meant he was listening. ‘I know you think you’re indestructible, but Negan’s dangerous and his followers are very loyal. He has safe houses and secret posts everywhere that control the entire city. I didn’t hear much, but his wives talked.’ Daryl’s eyebrow raised at the word wives, but they both kept on chewing. ‘You can’t change their loyalty, Daryl. You’ll have to kill them all, women and children included.’ She swallowed at her own harsh words, but they were the truth. ‘Once you’re Negan… you’ll always be Negan.’

Her words stopped as they heard a scratch on the front door.

‘Hide.’ Daryl spat out immediately, his crossbow on his hand and pointing towards the door. Mathilda’s heart skipped a beat; if it were walkers, Daryl would take care of most of them and well, she would have to try to fight them as well. It would be a good time to practice, anyway. If it were human beings… well, then they were fucked.

‘I- what if you get hur-’

‘Fuckin’ hide.’ He hissed again, his back against the wall right next to the door as it started budging like someone was trying to tear it down. Mathilda held her breath and ran to the room, hiding behind the door.

And then there was only silence, followed by Daryl’s voice.

‘Carl?’

Chapter Text

The third shot of whiskey hit him like a damn truck.

            He couldn’t fucking find her – it was like she had been fucking swallowed by Mother Earth, nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be fucking found. She was a goner, just like her damn mother was. Mathilda had slipped between his fingers when he had least expected it

            At first he thought Jesus was fucking one of his wives – he thought his sneaky trips to the building were to see one of his wives, to fuck something that belonged to him, and only to him. He was the one who fed them, the one who didn’t allow them to work for points, the one who fucking saved their lives. Jesus didn’t do shit for them, and Negan hadn’t surely given him a free pass to fuck whoever he wanted for free.

            But then shit hit the fan and Aubrey was running like a little bitch in high heels as soon as he arrived the compound, babbling about his fucking daughter running away with Jesus – he was nuts. At first he thought he was fucking his daughter, so he sat down all his fucking wives and they had a little chat. A chat that didn’t involve any blood spilling, but a lot of blood running through his veins. He really tricked his little girl into thinking that Negan was evil, that he wanted everyone dead and that she should join him and some other motherfuckers to bury him 6ft deep.

            And his wives knew all along and that had been a simple fucking game from them, betting if she would actually run away. And she actually did.

            He had looked for her everywhere. He sent search teams to the woods, afraid that she had gotten bit by a walker and died on the spot; afraid he would find a walker with a naïve smile, chocolate brown locks and his own blood running through her veins trying to take a chop out of someone, but he didn’t. He didn’t find anything.

            She wasn’t in Hilltop either.

            It was time to run for Alexandria. Because she was in fucking Alexandria.

            He knew that something sketchy had been going in Alexandria – something about a Rick guy that thought he was a leader, that thought he was fucking unbreakable. Negan had been wanting to meet him for so fucking long, he had loved the idea of meeting him, shaking his hand with his left one and hitting him with Lucille with the right one. He didn’t have the opportunity to do so yet. At least not until he found Tara and Denise.

            Tara and Denise were outside in the woods – God knows the fuck doing what – when some of his men found them, recognizing them from Alexandria. After he bashed Denise’s head in, Tara started talking.

            Mathilda had lived with them for at least a fucking week before disappearing for a few days. She had lived amongst the people of Alexandria, talking shit about losing her parents and grandparents and people from Alexandria finding her fucking outside begging them for help, like that was the truth. Like she didn’t have a fucking dad that loved her, that protected from the day she was born to the day where everything went to shit and that had to build a fucking castle for her – a castle to protect her from people like the ones from Alexandria.

            She had been brainwashed into thinking that he was the bad guy.

            The fourth shot of whiskey hit him.

            ‘Oh no, no, stop crying baby girl.’ He whispered, kissing her forehead and rocking her back and forth. Negan approached the window of their apartment, praying that the beautiful lights decorating the city would calm her down. ‘It’s okay baby, dad’s got you, you’re safe.’

            Mathilda was crying like someone was trying to murder her. This was all new to him – parenthood, having a small being on his arms so dependent of him, so vulnerable, with so much potential of being broken. As her screams echoed through the apartment, Negan felt himself slowly yet surely going insane.

            It’s not like Mathilda had been planed – well, she wasn’t a planned baby but she was surely very loved from the first day, when her mother discovered she was growing inside her belly.

            Her mother was now probably a few towns away from the apartment where Negan sat, his daughter on his arms; four days after his baby daughter was born, Negan had become a single father.

            ‘It’s okay baby girl, it’s okay, I got you.’ He mumbled, finally giving up and lying on the bed; he soon put his small bundle of joy on the crook of his neck, hoping that his warmth would bring her the comfort of her mother’s warmth – warmth that she would never feel. ‘I love you, and I always will. And you’re not alone. I got you. I won’t leave you. Never. You’re everything to me.

            Mathilda’s crying ceased.

»»»

            Mathilda was scared; Carl was covered in blood and walker guts, he looked like he had been hit by three different trucks and he was clearly starving as he dug in the canned sausages that Mathilda gave him. Daryl was going back and forth inside the cottage and he lit up another cigarette.

            ‘Alexandria has fallen.’ That was everything that he was able to mutter as he ate, not dropping for a second the fork on his hand. Mathilda covered her mouth with her hand in shock, not being able to process what was happening. Daryl’s neck almost snapped as he looked at Carl.

            ‘What da ya mean Alexandria’s fallen?’

            Carl had obviously grown unattached to everything. He had spent two days on the road by himself trying to find the cottage. It looked like he was numb to everything – and everything included to see his family’s hard work coming down to ashes in front of him; his home, his family, everything had ceased to exist.

            ‘I don’t know. I got there and the fences were down, everyone was screaming and everything was burning, walkers everywhere killing everyone.’ He said deadpanned, his expression not dropping for a second. Mathilda felt Daryl flinching. ‘I tried to look for them, I tried to kill some walkers but there were too many and people were dead.’

            ‘Carl… I’m so sorry.’ Mathilda muttered. What was she supposed to do? Hug Carl? Show him affection? How, when the boy looked so broken? She just hoped Negan wasn’t the one to blame. ‘Do you think it was Negan?’

            ‘The last person I talked to didn’t mention the Saviors. He just said a big herd came out of nowhere and they knocked the fences. And then he died.’

            ‘Ya dad? Judith? Maggie? Michonne?’

            ‘I didn’t see anyone from our old group, Daryl. I looked everywhere, but I didn’t find them. I thought they would be here.’

            Carl looked dead, but he also looked broken. Broken people scared Mathilda more than dead ones.

            »»

            Daryl was sitting on the porch smoking – again. His crossbow rested near his arms but the night was calm and cold, yet the air was heavy around them. Carl was sitting next to him, his sheriff’s hat on as he was playing with one of his knives, quite just like Daryl was.

            The sky was beautiful, small spots of light decorating the darkness. Mathilda realized that some of those stars were already dead, had already exploded centuries ago, but their light could still be seen. She wanted to think of the people of Alexandria like that – even if they were dead, they would still brighten up and lighten up that night, because human beings weren’t disposable – no. Their life was worth living, and was worth celebrating and their death was to be mourned. She still had that in her, at least, her sense of empathy; she could understand how Carl and Daryl dealt with grieve, but she couldn’t handle living like that. Everything was dark, but she wasn’t scared as they had the stars to illuminate their path – the stars of the fallen.

The only thing surrounding them were the small sounds of the rustling bushes and the howl of the wind brushing against her bare skin. The cottage and the forest surrounding it looked straight out of a fairytale. Perhaps a fairytale gone very wrong.

            ‘I brought you blankets.’ Mathilda said sheepishly, handing one to Carl and another one to Daryl. Carl thanked her with a sad smile while Daryl only grunted and put it over his shoulder. She felt the need to roll her eyes; it was cold and he was with a sleeveless shirt on and a vest. ‘Have you-have you decided our next step?’

            Daryl took a deep breath.

            ‘We don’t have Rick. Hilltop’s in fuckin’ ashes right now and Alexandria was overrun. Ya know what this means?’ Both kids shook their heads. Daryl smashed his still lit cigarette against his bare hand, making Mathilda flinch in pain. Was he okay in the head? ‘Means we fucked. Ain’t got no community anymore, ain’t got no allies anymore and ya dad’s lookin’ for ya ass.’

            If the communities had really fallen, it meant that a lot of people were dead, a lot of them were on the run but a lot of them were also on danger of being captured. And Mathilda knew the monster her dad was when he captured people. He would make them talk, she was sure of that. He wouldn’t stop hurting them, torturing them in his unique ways until they told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

‘We can’t stay here. You don’t have anything to hunt.’ Mathilda reasoned, even though she wasn’t sure of what she was saying. Where were they supposed to run? But Carl seemed to agree. ‘We have to keep moving, then.’

‘To fucking where girl?’

He sympathized with her, he really did; she wasn’t a bad girl and he had come to that conclusion when she took care of Carl and looked actually heartbroken about the communities. The road with Aaron had taught Daryl Dixon many things, and one of those many things were that people like her, who had a special light to them, were the ones who got attached to the communities faster and were well-received. He wondered if people still remembered her; he wondered if the people back in Hilltop and Alexandria wouldn’t let their mouths run about her.

Carl interrupted his thoughts.

‘You know where. She could help us.’

Daryl Dixon wanted to laugh out loud – he wanted to laugh out loud and tell both kids to fuck off. They were both equally insane and both equally delusional. Firstly, he would never put her in such situation – dealing with a kid she didn’t want, who was also the daughter of someone that they hated and that was looking for them; he also understood what Carol had done back in the prison, but even after the prison fell and they found Alexandria, Carol didn’t want to go back – she wanted to stay in her house, away from them, and that had been her decision. Daryl Dixon wouldn’t come in barging in her door with two kids, a broken life and a shitload of emotional baggage from her past.

‘Shut ya mouth, kid.’ Daryl growled and even though Mathilda flinched, still not understanding the conversation, Carl rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘We stay one more week, we wait for yer dad and if nothin’ happens, then we go check the communities. That’s fuckin’ final.’

That was his final plan: he knows where their escape car is located, he just doesn’t know where to go if Alexandria has truly fallen. But he has one week to think about it.

The only thing he knows for a fact, is that now some of his family is on that cottage. And he is going to protect them with his life.

Chapter Text

Carl Grimes was miserable.

He had lost his father, his baby sister, his best friend and Maggie in one day. He hadn’t been able to find them as their home burnt down to ashes; what if his family had been eaten by walkers?

But at least the shitshow that Mathilda’s training was being made him feel a little better.

He was cleaning his gun on the porch, sitting on an old chair as he watched Mathilda struggling against Daryl’s grip.

‘We startin’ with the basics, ya need to know how to protect yaself. So if I do this,’ He grabbed her by the wrist – thankfully not hard, but she still furrowed her eyebrows – ,‘What do ya do?’

‘I don’t do shit because you’re grabbing my right hand and my left on has stitches on.’ She sassed, probably not the best answer to give as Daryl rolled his eyes. Carl chuckled.

‘What if ya hand get-’

‘Yeah, gets sliced off, I know.’ Mathilda dismissed him, as the strong man in front of her was growing impatient. He was always like that around her, and Carl couldn’t help but finding that a little funny. ‘What do I do then?’

‘Aim for the crotch.’ He shrugged, like kicking someone on the balls was just that easy. ‘Ya just have to be quick and start runnin’ if ya can. Or use ya weapon if ya have one.’ Aiming for the crotch? Mathilda seemed to be a little too excited to try that. ‘Ya can try but don’ fuckin’ hurt me lil’ girl.’

Mathilda nodded; sometimes she felt like kicking Daryl in the balls but she was too grateful for his protection to do that. Her knee found its way to his crotch without hesitation yet stopping before hitting it. Daryl pretended to be hit, his hands involuntary letting go of her wrists.

‘Now you run, you kill him or you can just stand there looking at his biceps, that’s your choice.’ Carl joked, receiving glares from both of them.

‘Try ta hit me ‘nd run as soon as ya can. Ya tryin’ on Carl next, make sure ya hit him.’

There was almost a hint of a smile on Daryl Dixon’s smile that Mathilda didn’t miss. She felt a sudden wave of confidence washing over herself. He grabbed her wrist again and she was quick to elevate her knee to the space between his legs.

And then her knee collided with his crotch.

Daryl let go of her hand immediately, covering his front side with both hands and collapsing on his knees, cursing under his breath while starting to sweat. Carl laughed so hard that even the walkers from a mile away probably heard him as he dropped his weapon.

‘Fuck, oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry Daryl.’ Fuck, fuck. Mathilda wanted to just dig her grave and gladly bury herself 100ft deep; she hadn’t mean to. The girl kneeled next to him as sweat covered his arms and face, still holding his balls for dear life. She wanted to give him a hug and tell her she was sorry but she would be murdered on the spot. ‘Daryl, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to bring you something? Can-can you walk?’

Carl thought he was going to explode from laughing so hard.

»»

‘Hey…’ Her cheeks flustered as she sat down next to Daryl, handing him a water bottle. ‘How-how are you feeling?’

She had actually hit him. Carl had found it hilarious, of course, the little shit, but Daryl legit thought he was going to die. He had been stabbed, sliced, hit, beaten, but nothing was like being hit right in the balls. He was ashamed of his reaction too; he looked weak for a second, but what man wouldn’t after being kicked right there?

‘Good.’ He replied with a grunt, obviously dismissing her as he smoked a cigarette. Training had ended as soon as he had been hit. He was going to make Carl replace him to see if he liked.

‘Right…’ Mathilda decided to change the subject since talking about his balls was clearly uncomfortable for both of them. ‘What do you think about the S?’

That. That worried him. He had no idea what the initial meant. It appeared at the most random times with the obvious intention of scaring her, and he could only remember one thing that the S could stand for.

‘There someone back at yer daddy’s place wantin’ ya dead?’

‘Do you think it means Saviors?’

‘Maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘Guess we gonna ‘ave ta be careful with ya.’ He hesitated. ‘I ain’t tellin’ Carl, though. Kid’s already got enough on his mind.’

Mathilda agreed; Carl had lost so many things in such a small amount of time, it didn’t make sense to take away from him the security he felt being around Daryl, it didn’t make sense to bother his teenage mind with someone trying to kill her – she wasn’t even his family.

The girl knew she needed to tell him. He needed to know why she had run away from Alexandria and followed them all the way to Hilltop. She played with her fingers. She wasn’t scared of Daryl, not at all, but everything was slowly and surely going to shit ever since she arrived.

‘Do you remember when I got into the car’s trunk back at Hilltop?’ Mathilda avoided remembering that day at all costs, the day where her brother died, but she had to get used to it. It happened, and it was her father’s fault: he was the one that killed him. ‘There was another one of those S in Alexandria and I felt… I felt unsafe.’ Daryl almost broke his neck when he turned his head to look at her. He wasn’t expecting that, that’s for sure. Someone had clearly broken into Alexandria. ‘Do you think the same person that did it, burned the community to the ground?’

Her heart still ached for Tara and Denise. She didn’t know if they were alive, but they had helped her so much and made her feel so much at home when she needed it that she ached thinking about it.

‘Possible.’ Daryl shrugged his shoulders again, as his head hurt. He needed Rick, he needed his brother to help him think it straight. A little girl that didn’t know anything about this world and a kid were a huge responsibility to him and they were no help. ‘Can’t stay here anyways. Place’s compromised by whoever’s lookin’ for ya and it’s not like we have that much food.’

Mathilda knew that. Even though she liked the house a lot and the feeling of safety that it gave her, it wasn’t safe to stay anymore. They had to leave.

‘Jesus talked to me about a place, if something happened to your group. He told me it’s a safe community with a few friends of his and that Negan doesn’t know about them.’

‘How so?’ He inquired. Negan had eyes everywhere. He knew every community, every place that surrounded him and his empire, and Rick had just hoped he didn’t know anything about the cottage when he sent them there.

Mathilda hesitated and lowered her head.

‘It’s three states away.’

Daryl wasn’t a man to run away. He had been like that a few years ago, yeah, when he was with Merle and they never stopped anywhere to grow roots, but this time it was different. Wouldn’t kill him to have a little faith that Rick, Michonne, maybe even Maggie and Glenn would still be alive. He still had his family and they could still be alive.

He wouldn’t drag Rick’s kid with him to the other side of the country and he surely wouldn’t be bringing Negan’s fucking daughter with him.

‘Too fuckin’ far.’ He grunted, lighting another cigarette. Where the fuck would they go? ‘Ain’t got enough gas to go there.’

He was absolutely fucked. Alexandria was dead, Hilltop – if there was something that was left out of Hilltop, anyways – was now Negan’s and he was stranded in a cottage in the middle of the woods with his brother’s kid and the enemy’s daughter. What a damn romance novel.

They couldn’t just go look for guns and try to kill Negan, could they? Of course not. He had thousands of people with him and he would just end up dying. They couldn’t stay in the cottage but Daryl had no heart to leave when he knew there was still a possibility that his family was alive.

Carl was suddenly sitting down next to Daryl too, leaving him in the middle of the two teenagers.

‘Dad would want us to survive and finish our mission, Daryl.’ Carl said, sounding a little too grown up for Daryl’s liking. ‘If we have to leave, we leave. We leave them a note and we just hope that we’ll find them again.’ That was true. They could always leave a note with their next location but it was still dangerous. Whoever was in the shadow’s ready to kill the girl could find the note too and their location would be compromised – again. ‘You know there’s one place where we could-‘

‘No.’ Daryl interrupted before Carl could even finishing his sentence – no, for fuck’s sake, that was not going to happen. He had said it once and he was going to say it again. His answer came out probably more aggressively than needed, as Carl didn’t even open his mouth to say anything. ‘Week’s over. We goin’ to Alexandria tomorrow so y’all should start packin’ if ya want to.’

Mathilda didn’t know what there was to pack, but she nodded nevertheless. She bit her tongue; she couldn’t really ask Daryl why he didn’t want to go wherever Carl wanted, but she wanted to – god, she wanted so bad.

But when it comes to Daryl Dixon, it was better to keep her mouth shut.

»»

Carl was right – Alexandria has fallen.

Daryl was used to things going to shit. He was used to them losing everything in the hands of lunatics, in the hands of people who wanted them dead and wanted their shit. He wasn’t used to losing everything without knowing why he lost it.

It still smelled – it still smelled like burnt human flesh, like burnt wood and burnt putrid walker skin. As he left both kids in the car and scanned the area, nothing told him that the Saviors had been there. The only thing that he found as he sneakily made his way around was a big hole in the fence – a hole big enough that walkers could get in there by crawling, but small enough that would stay hidden behind the bushes. There were traces of blood and walker skin caught in the fence, and Daryl wondered if someone had cut the hole in purpose and smashed some blood in there to attract the walkers.

Someone that didn’t want to be found and that Daryl couldn’t find any trace of. And that someone surely wasn’t Negan.

Carl wasn’t sad; Alexandria was gone but it hadn’t surprised him. After all, everything was gone nowadays. They couldn’t get too attached to anything, and Carl knew that: he wasn’t a kid anymore.

As Daryl walked to their car, seeing Carl eyeing everywhere dangerously and Mathilda hiding inside, he knew that this was no Saviors doing. This was someone else’s doing, and he didn’t know who.

He also knew that their family was lost – they could find each other again one day, but there was nothing he could do now to get them back. The only thing he could do was to get to Carol, save Carl and get Mathilda to a safe place.

That was his only choice and the only thing in his mind as he started their car and left Alexandria behind, with the life they had once lived before.

‘Everything’s gone, isn’t it?’

He swallowed.

She didn’t need an answer.

And twenty minutes later, Negan pulls up into Alexandria.

They were lucky he didn’t see the tires of Daryl’s car forever carved in the dirt.

Chapter Text

Daryl didn’t want to stop in their way to Carol’s, fearful that someone would catch them and that he would have to protect two teenagers, but he also knew that it wouldn’t be too wise to head there in the middle of the night with Carol’s long lost daughter in the backseat. He decided to stop in the middle of the road in an unknown location – after all, they were lost from their family; locations’ names weren’t something they really cared about – before dinner and parked the car in the darkest spot he was able to find, hoping that the shadows would hide them.

            ‘Let’s eat something and then I can take watch.’

            Daryl almost laughed at that. Carl was loyal and as brave as his father, but it was no time to act like a grown man. Daryl himself didn’t know what to do, let alone Carl.

            ‘Y’all eat so I can take watch. Tomorrow we get to Carol’s.’

            Mathilda’s stomach hurt at the mention of the woman. When she thought about Carol, she didn’t think about the woman in the picture; she didn’t think about the woman holding her tight in her arms like she was her entire world, just to leave her a few days later. She didn’t think Carol as her mother because she wanted to think of her mother as someone who was dead – someone who had to leave and left forever.      

            Because from what Daryl had told her, Carol had no reason to leave her, but she still did. She even had a child after her. Mathilda was sure it hadn’t been because of Negan; Negan was good – he had been more than good back then. But the woman still left, she still left and she left nothing behind; nothing but a picture.

            And now, nothing more than a few memories in the apocalypse.

            Mathilda didn’t say anything. Daryl was the one that knew what was good for them, what was good for the group. He was the one in charge and she was the enemy, so she kept her mouth shut and her head low as Carl grumbled about not wanting to go to sleep.

            They still went to sleep and she tried – she really tried to get some rest, but the thoughts of her mother were still clouding her dreams.

            ‘Grandma? Why did mom leave?’ The question was always the same. Sometimes she asked her father, sometimes she asked her teacher, but she started to question her grandmother when she babysat for her in the nights when her dad was working late. As the movie played in the TV, the mother of the main character caressing her hair and signing softly to her sleeping daughter, Mathilda wondered why she couldn’t have the same. Perhaps she didn’t deserve it.

            Her grandmother didn’t flinch; sometimes her dad flinched at the mention of her mother, but not grandma; never grandma. She was too uptight.

            ‘Your mother was just a bump on your father’s road, Mathilda.’

            Mathilda’s eyebrows joined in confusion. What did that mean?

            ‘I don’t understand.’

            ‘You’re not supposed to.’ That was the only answer that her grandma gave her as she read through the magazine, sitting on the sofa. ‘Don’t let that bother you before you go to bed. You’ll be up all night dreaming.’

            And that was true – Mathilda spent all night dreaming back in her home when she was a child, but she was still dreaming in the middle of the apocalypse.

            Carl was stretching on the backseat when Mathilda opened her eyes.

            She felt like she hadn’t slept a minute, but she knew hours had passed since she had closed her eyes. The forest was still there and the car was still in the same place as last night, but everything was much brighter than it was before. Carl opened the back door and stretched his legs outside. Mathilda did the same.

            Daryl was leaning against the car, smoking, and probably thinking about something that Mathilda and Carl weren’t allowed to question.

            Daryl was thinking if it was worth it going to Carol’s. He wondered how she would react at the mention of her daughter, but he also wondered how she would react at seeing her, blood and flesh, in front of her.

            ‘Get inside.’ Daryl grumbled as soon as he saw both teenagers. He wasn’t in the mood for questioning. ‘It’s still 3 hours ‘til we get to Carol’s.’

            He wondered if he should ask Mathilda about Carol. He wondered if she wanted to go.

            As Daryl Dixon started driving, he started to remember that he would rather die than see his father again. Did Mathilda think the same about her mother?

»»

            Carol’s house was located in a small street that had been run over by the dead but that was now clean. Carol had obviously weaponized the place up and protected it from the outside – not only protected it from Walkers but also from people the best that she could. People were more dangerous these days.

            Daryl Dixon knew his way around Carol’s traps and around her complicated yet logical security system. Carl was looking around unsurely and in awe; he only visited Carol once or twice and he had never seen such a held up system. Carol had definitely achieved a lot during the apocalypse; she wasn’t the same woman that he had met a few years ago.

            ‘Ya two stay inside the car. Should b’ safe.’ Daryl grumbled as he parked the car near Carol’s. He was fumbling around his pockets, looking for a pack of cigarettes which he had probably dropped – until Mathilda’s hands shakily handed it to him. He snatched them away from her grasp and pretended it didn’t happen. ‘Will be back.’

            Daryl grabbed his crossbow and closed the car’s door, looking around for Walkers or some other threat; he found none. Carol clearly had a safe security system and had probably already realized it was him. He walked towards her house, realizing it was still well taken care of, and after making his way around a few traps that a well not so trained eye wouldn’t notice, he knocked on the door.

            ‘Look who it is!’ The woman who opened the door immediately threw herself in his arms. Daryl took a step back and flinched, not wanting to hurt her feelings but trying to avoid contact nonetheless. ‘I haven’t seen you in ages!’

            And they hadn’t. Daryl hadn’t visited Carol for a while, maybe a few weeks; things were getting messy in Alexandria and well, after what happened between their new addiction to the group and Jesus’ death, he really didn’t think about that.

            ‘M’ sorry,’ Daryl replied, the woman stepping back. Carol looked healthy as ever; she definitely looked stronger and happier than she did when he first met her. Sometimes he wondered if he wouldn’t look the same, if he were to live in the woods just by himself. But that was Daryl from a few years ago, it wasn’t Daryl anymore. The Daryl from the present needed something worth fighting for, something to protect. He would never be able to just live without a purpose without going insane. ‘Thing’s been-shit happened an-’

            Suddenly, there was a sound of people running in their direction. Daryl snapped their head back.

            Fuck. So much for introducing Mathilda quietly.

            ‘There were walkers coming and she got scared.’ Carl said, rolling his eyes as they got to the adults.

As Carol saw Mathilda, the grip on her knife tightened.

»»

            Mathilda had never thought much about Mother’s Love.

            She had seen it in movies and she had read it in books, but she was never able to actually feel it for obvious reasons. Her Grandma was never the one to be too affectionate and her father, well, he was her father, not her mother. She had needed her back then and she thought she would need her right now, but apparently she was wrong.

            Because when Mathilda saw Carol, she didn’t recognize her mother. She didn’t recognize the woman in the picture.

            Apparently the years hadn’t been kind on Carol. She looked a lot older than she was supposed to be and she looked nothing like the woman in the picture, at least to Mathilda she didn’t. But it was her – it was definitely her and there was no denying in that. Mathilda searched for her eyes, remembering how kind her eyes had looked in the picture while looking at her, but found nothing. Nothing but two brown eyes literally on fire staring at her. Carol’s eyes twitched to her hands, and Mathilda found she had her knife out. The girl took a step back.

            Daryl was reaching forward instantly.

            ‘Shit, ‘s okay Carol, calm down.’ He grunted in his very Daryl-like way, while Carol looked at her with something that Mathilda recognized as pure hatred. She hadn’t lived in such a world for a long time to exactly be able to identify hatred, she had been way to protected, but she could almost smell it, feel it in her guts. Mathilda should be the one pissed off! Carol had absolutely no reason to be mad – she was the one that left her, not the other way!

            ‘What is she doing here?’

            Carl bit back an answer; he liked Carol, she had been with him ever since the beginning and she practically helped raising him, but Carl knew what Carol had done and he didn’t agree on bit to it. He also didn’t like the fact that apparently she knew more than she was telling – she knew Negan after all, and she hadn’t warned them about him.  

            ‘We should head back inside.’ Carl muttered, gripping his own gun and trying to get Mathilda away from that situation – an uncomfortable one, to say the least.

            ‘You’re not getting inside!’ Carol suddenly exploded. Daryl took a step back. ‘She’s not coming!’

Mathilda was tired. She was tired of running away, of everything being taken away from her so fast. She was tired of not being accepted, of her life being miserable, of people dying in front of her. She was tired of being thrown around from people to people, from not feeling welcomed anywhere. So she snapped.

            ‘You don’t get to treat me like that just because you ran away!’

            Carol growled – she literally growled – as her daughter talked to her. How dare she?

            ‘You’re his daughter. You’re a demon spawn.’ Carol spat out angrily, her words resonating on the empty streets. Daryl had never been the one to try to stop women from fighting – the shit he had seen back at bars in his teenage and young adult years were enough to make him scared of women – but he was actually growing confused at the conversation they were both sharing. Carl was just watching.

            ‘You were the one who let him fuck you!’ Mathilda argued back, and Carol literally growled again and attacked her.

            Mathilda wasn’t expecting it – she wasn’t expecting to be balls deep into the middle of the apocalypse, away from her father and being attacked by her mother – her mother that she had just met after being alive for 19 years on earth. As Carol literally tried to stab her with her big ass knife, Mathilda was fast to duck – and Daryl was fast to disarm Carol and put her on a light headlock.

            Daryl Dixon wasn’t a leader and he was never the moderator when it came to people arguing – that had been Aaron’s job. Daryl Dixon was just shocked that he had to intervene in a situation like that, that he had to drag Carol to the house while she screamed bloody murder and tried to stab her. He closed the door behind them while Carl and Mathilda stayed out there.

            ‘Are you okay?’ Carl asked as he helped her getting up. ‘She’s not-she’s never like this. I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.’ Mathilda didn’t know what happened either, but she didn’t care. She dusted the dirt out of her clothes and checked if she still had her knife. She mumbled a few curse words as she noticed that a few of her stitches had fucking popped – of course. As her hand started to bleed again, she pressed the wound against her shirt. Carl sighed. ‘We need to patch you up. I’m calling Daryl.’

            Inside, Daryl let go of Carol and looked at her like she was mad – like she was a madwoman, and he came to the conclusion that she really looked like one. Her eyes were huge and she was sweating, grabbing her knife so hard that Daryl thought her hand would just break or maybe snap the handle on half.

            ‘The fuck?’ He blurted out. ‘Are ya fuckin’ insane?’

            Carol scoffed.

            ‘You don’t understand, Daryl. What the hell is this? Why is she here?’

            ‘I should be th’ one askin’ ya that question!’ Daryl growls back, growing impatient; he didn’t understand a single thing that was going on and he didn’t exactly appreciate it. So he did what he did best: he yelled. ‘Ya fuckin’ with this Negan guy? Do ya even know what he did?’

            ‘I’m not fucking with anyone! I haven’t seen that person in years!’

            Daryl’s head was starting to hurt. Everything was so confusing; Carol had a child with Negan and that child was Mathilda, but she had just told Daryl that she hadn’t met Negan in years. Was she telling the truth?

            Daryl was never the one to make the last calls and he didn’t want to, not when the last calls meant drama between women.

            Carl’s head popped up in the front door. Carol gripped her knife.

            ‘Hey Daryl.’ Carl sighed. ‘Mathilda’s stitches popped. Can you come outside?’

            Daryl sighed. Fucking hell.

»»

Negan left Alexandria.

Fucking hell.

Alexandria had fallen.

Negan kneeled and threw his hands to the air.

Where was his daughter?

Where was Mathilda?