tw: Merle (in all his Merle-ness), use of the F-slur, implied homophobia, codependency as a coping mechanism, body dysmorphia, implied teen pregnancy, mentions of gender dysmorphia, self-blame, SPOILER: coming out (Carl).
We've got our first shadow!
Daryl didn't realize how late it'd gotten while he was… away.
He can hear a chorus of crickets chirping and see all the stars twinkling in the sky, the way you only used to see them if you'd gone outside the city before. –Now you're right near a major highway and can see them clear as day. No more light pollution. The wonders of the world going to shit, eh?
He stumbles over his own feet, turning around and around while staring up at the bright lights fading in and out of his visions like lighthouses in fog, feet twisting around until he catches himself and stops moving all at once. He feels his stomach lurch as he remembers you, so small when he first found you, clutching your stuffed animals close to your chest while you slept.
Now all he can think of is you being hurt and confused, so scared to let him find out about the possibility of life growing inside of you that you denied yourself proper medical care.
What about when you were locked up? –What had pushed you so far that you committed the massacre you left behind when you both escaped? Did they all… Were they all a part of it? He hadn’t thought of that before… He’d just assumed it’d been once, but what if it wasn’t?
Daryl swallows back a string of curse words at the thoughts swarming him, eyes glossy.
He stops outside the barn, trying to quietly push the door open when he realizes that all the lights are still on.
He squints and pushes further, the brightness pouring out to assault his drunken senses.
“Bambi?” He calls, keeping his voice low in case you were just afraid to sleep in the dark. He knows he's having a tough time in the pitch black after being in that cell.
A few seconds pass before you peer over the railing at him from the loft wide awake, your blankets clutched in front of you oddly.
The longer he looks at you, the more of yourself you seem to try and hide with it.
He feels himself sober immediately, posture straightening as he shuts the door behind him. “Bea, what's the matter? –Where's Carol?”
You lower your head. “Away.”
She'd made dinner and some cookies at Maggie's house with your help, and then she'd brought you back here and left you to your own devices. You’re old enough to be left alone. It makes sense. You don’t blame her for what happened.
“Why are you still up?” He asks again, taking a step towards the ladder to make his way up to you, until you rapidly shake your head at him. You don’t want him to see. He stops, looking down at the blanket again. “Is somethin’ wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?”
You bite your lip and shake your head at him, stepping back slightly to obscure yourself from view.
“Show me,” Daryl pleas, voice soft and afraid. “Please just show me, I can't keep… I need to know that you're okay.”
You flush harder with shame, slowly lowering the blanket to show him the dark stain spread down your sweatpants.
It takes him a moment to realize what happened, especially since you've never, ever, in all the time that he's known you, had this particular problem.
“You wet the bed.” He says, more of a bewildered statement than an accusation. “What– Why did you wet the bed?”
You shrink, lower lip quivering with frustration as you avert your eyes.
“Alone,” You say on the verge of tears, nodding towards the deconstructed haybed, several sullied stacks pushed aside. “...Afraid.”
Right. This would have been your first night sleeping alone since you've been back. He didn't plan on this being the first time you got left alone, –he assumed Carol would watch you– but then again she did only say that she was taking you back and feeding you, not that she was babysitting. He got lucky that first night when Carl decided to stand guard over you.
The man sighs, running a hand from the base of the back of his neck to the crown of his head.
“Fuck. Just… come down here, leave the blankets…” He says, motioning for you to come to him. You hesitate, but he watches as you drop the blankets and guiltily approach him like a puppy waiting for a scolding, head and shoulders clamped up against your neck. He points to the door. “Get yourself cleaned up.”
You take a half step, then turn back to him with wet eyes, signing, Mad at me?
Daryl doesn't answer initially, instead closing the distance between you by giving you a long kiss on the forehead. “Mm-mm. I ain't mad at you.”
He should have been here.
“Go,” He urges. “And come back quick, alright? If you ain't back in… twenty minutes, I'm comin’ to look for you.”
You nod, sniffling sadly as you leave to clean yourself up.
In the meantime Daryl tosses the blankets into a pile with some dirty tarps that had already been in the barn when you were both directed to it, noting to himself that when the people on laundry duty come around he'll need to tell them to take them. Then he pushes the dirty haystacks aside like you'd been trying to do, and replaces them with fresh ones. Well, relatively fresh.
This entire situation is bizarre. He never imagined he'd one day have to deal with the things he has been before you both got captured.
The door opens and shuts, your guilty face peering up at him from the first floor while you wring your hands out.
“Yer’ just gonna have to sleep with me tonight,” Daryl decides after a moment, shaking his head. “I'm not lettin’ my– you sleep on bare hay like an animal. –That ain't right.”
At the mention of getting to sleep with him again, you instantly perk up and make a noise of appreciation, smiling weakly at him.
He clumsily comes down the ladder, still somewhat drunk despite coming to his senses when he realized you were having trouble, swearing all the way down when his feet slip on the rungs or he misses the first time he reaches with his hands. He flops down on his bed, patting his chest for you to come join him.
You jump onto the bed next to him, quickly crawling over and sinking into his shoulder, arm around his torso to pull him closer. He tosses his blanket over you and you press your face into his warm, clammy skin.
Then he feels you move, rubbing your eyes.
“You smell funny,” You whisper, laying your head back down and looking up at him like he hung those same stars he'd just been admiring on his way home.
“Maybe I did somethin’ funny,” He whispers back, fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he scratches your scalp to try and put you to sleep.
You shake your head, eyes drooping. “You looked sad.”
Daryl hates how intuitive you are. He likes being able to tell how you feel with a single look or with the tone of your voice, but when you do it back to him he worries that it's another sign he shouldn't have you. Kids aren't supposed to be responsible for how the adults in their life feel. He should be the one looking out for, and taking care of you.
“I was,” He admits slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “But now I'm okay, ‘cause I'm here with you.”
A smile spreads across your face, chubby cheeks getting fuller.
“I love you, D,” You say with one last sigh as your entire body goes slack.
He holds onto you a little tighter.
Daryl’s eyes open to a different ceiling. One made of scratched up, rusty metal and flat rounded screws, a piece of black duct tape in the corner next to the top of the window to prevent the rain from leaking in at night.
Daryl isn't sure how he got here, but he also isn't sure where else he would be. This is the last trailer he and Merle robbed and squatted in before… something happened. –He doesn't know what.
There's pictures of the older couple that actually owns the trailer, although their faces are obscured he remembers that they're a white couple, both with hair so grey and silver it’s almost gone white. The woman had these funky purple and orange designer glasses that looked like they could cut someone, and the man had pins on his lapel from different things he’d been involved with. Daryl remembers staring at that picture a lot with a heavy feeling in his stomach he now knows is guilt.
He tips the photograph face-down and walks around the trailer, looking for any reminders of what he's supposed to be doing.
He finds more sentimental items that mean nothing to him personally, like a clay pot their grandchild probably made and some memorabilia hung on the walls like trophies. –Anything worthwhile, he and Merle pawned during their first day here, including a silver plated urn.
A dog barks and he hears someone laugh outside, the sound sweet and innocent. He knows that laugh.
He shoves open the trailer door and squints as he's blinded by sunlight, eyes just barely adjusting in time to see a stray dog from the area munching on a hotdog that someone tossed down for him.
There's a picnic table to his left, two figures sitting at it with the sun and trees behind them, gentle breeze making the leaves rustle.
“You gotta work on that pokerface, baby,” Merle says raspily, tone teasing in nature. “They'll eat that cute little ass alive in a real game down at the casino.”
Again, that familiar laughter.
“What are ya’ even supposed to be, anyway? –Fag,” He taunts, laying down his winning hand.
The other person blows a raspberry at him and Merle shakes his head, muttering a few apologies.
“Alright, alright. You shuffle this time, baby doll.”
The kid hums and obliges, eagerly pulling the cards closer to themself and messily trying to shuffle the deck. –Daryl can see their face now, the sun abating to let him see their features between rays. They're bouncing excitedly in their seat, picking off small pieces of some kind of grilled meat to gnaw on. He knows they're important to him in some way, but he can't for the life of him recall how.
Daryl squints at those wide doe eyes and tries to remember.
“Well, look who it is,” Merle suddenly taunts, arms spanned out in a mocking gesture. “Sleepin’ beauty finally decided to join us.”
The kid snorts and taps the cards on the table to line them up evenly.
Daryl scoffs with annoyance, momentarily distracted from the other person. “You could'a woken me up.”
Merle blinks, blue eyes boring into his brother's.
“Mmm… Nah,” The man shrugs, smiling in a soft way that Merle hasn't seen since they were kids. “I was havin’ the time of my life over here, gettin’ to know this little shit and repeatedly kickin’ her ass. –She owes me big time, by the way. Any cigs she finds are mine.”
Daryl tries to turn and face her directly, but Merle man-handles him back to looking at him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Now, I like this kid, Daryl,” He says in a warning, pointing a finger at him threateningly. “I like her a whole lot. She's good company. Real sweet. –Trust me, I've been watchin’, and I've seen a whole lot ‘a sweeties less sweet than this one. Less cute too.”
The kid finishes shuffling and sets the deck on the table between them, letting Merle deal. Which is probably why he's been winning this whole time. He's never been good at poker.
He tries to shrug Merle off. “So?”
“So don't fuck it up,” Merle growls, slamming his free fist on the table. The kid looks up, startled, and he backtracks. “Sorry, baby doll. Tryin’a tell my idiot brother not to screw up the one good thing he's got.”
Daryl frowns, brow furrowed. “Me? –The hell you mean by that?”
“I mean, get off your sorry, lazy ass and take care of your kid, deadbeat,” Merle snaps again, picking up his hand of cards and lowering his voice to something disgustingly sweet. “Now where were we, sweetheart?”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about? I ain't got a–” Except he does.
Merle side-eyes him knowingly. “You take good care ‘a her, now.”
Daryl’s eyes shoot open and he grasps anything he can reach, his heart settling when he realizes you're still peacefully asleep in his arms, safe and sound. No blatant theft or Merle probably corrupting you in sight.
The ceiling is as it always was, unsanded wooden beams stretching up into the air. He turns onto his side and drags you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You're safe. He's safe. This is Hilltop. This isn't a cage. This isn't a closet. Or a trailer. This is Hilltop.
He lifts the corner of his shirt and drags his hand across a freshly healed wound spanning from his hip to his stomach, the raised skin pink and silvery.
This is Hilltop. He lived.
“Mmh,” You groan from beside him, face scrunched up from the confusion of being smothered against him. “Whyyyyy?”
“‘M sorry,” He mutters, sitting up slowly and taking you with him. “I didn't mean to wake you up.”
You stretch out your limbs and drag yourself out of his lap, standing up to sign at him at the same time as you speak. “Hungry, Daryl. Can we go?”
The action drags a smile out of him. He's missed your voice. As quiet as it was before, he liked how loud you'd get when it was only him around. Slowly, you're getting more of yourself back and stringing together longer and longer sentences. Healing.
“Yeah, we can go,” He agrees, cracking his knuckles and trailing after you when the news has you bouncing on one foot as you tug on your boots and yank the door open. “Bambi, don't run off.”
You ignore his warning and keep sprinting far ahead of him, stopping every now and again until he catches up only to flee the next second before he can get close enough to grab you. Eventually his frustration ebbs and makes way for reluctant enjoyment of the game you're playing.
The next time you stop he sprints, nearly grabbing you until you realize what's happening and take off again, squealing.
You're swift, faster than him usually, but today you're not fast enough. He catches you from behind and bear hugs you, securing your arms to your sides as he picks you up and makes vaguely monstrous noises, pressing his face to your neck. You squeal louder, giggling and kicking your legs to try and get free until he lowers you and ruffles your hair, grinning.
You cough between pants, taking your place at Daryl’s side as you try to catch your breath. You've barely run at all, not nearly as much as you have to in the wilderness or in a fight, but you're winded.
It must be because you're still recovering. The first days you were back, you were probably running on adrenaline and now that you've gotten some restless sleep, it's catching up to you.
Still, it was worth it to make Daryl smile.
You haven't seen him really happy since he found the test, and you honestly don't know when he will be again. Most of the time it feels like things can never go back to the way they were.
“I ain't got a clue where they're eatin’,” Daryl grunts when you make it to the empty firepit, turning around to see if there's anyone he recognizes in the hustle of people rushing to their morning duties. “Guess they didn't think to let us know.”
“Mm,” You grunt in agreement, following him when he starts in the direction of where Rick has been staying, close to Maggie.
He hip checks you a few times during the walk, albeit gentler than he would've before he knew you weren't a boy. –Today feels better than yesterday without the threat of the doctor's office visit hanging over you though, so you decide to chalk it up to him being worried about hurting you while your arm is all messed up and going through the healing process.
Daryl stops outside of the trailer Rick is staying in, a few away from Maggie's while the people of Hilltop work on building more permanent structures, and knocks a few times.
Before he can try again, you both turn at the sound of boots crunching on gravel.
“Bambi!” Carl beams, jogging up from wherever he'd been, his clothes drenched and the sleeves of his flannel rolled up to his elbows. When he gets closer you see that there's soot smeared across his flushed cheeks, the wetness on him from sweating. “You look like you're feelin’ a bit better, was Siddiq able to help?”
You nod, smiling and trying to step towards him when Daryl’s arm shoots out and stops you from leaving his side.
You look over at him with confusion, smile dimming.
He can't even say it's because of the appointment this time. There's definitely something going on here… You don't like that two of the most important people in your life aren't getting along.
Since you both haven't made any moves to get closer, Carl keeps walking until he's right in front of you and Daryl, eye flicking back and forth between you cautiously.
You reach out to tug at his shirt with the arm Daryl isn't holding back. “Wet?”
“Oh!” Carl flushes, looking down at where his armpits have soaked through his shirt. “I-I was at the blacksmith's booth. He was showin’ me how he makes his blades…” He lowers his head, smiling thoughtfully. “It was pretty cool.”
You make a sword motion with your hand, swinging out at him like you're in a duel. He swings back a few times, then staggers, hand to his forehead as he dramatically lets you stab him in the heart with your imaginary blade.
“I can't bear to fight you, Bambi,” He gasps, pressing a hand to the spot where you'd swung at him.
You give him a mischievous smile and twist the blade, pressing deeper.
“So cruel,” He whines, huffing and staring at you with those half-lidded baby blues. “I'd hate to be at the other end of you with a real sword.”
You're overcome with the sudden urge to jump him and sink your teeth into his shoulder, not enough to break skin but hard enough that it leaves a mark. You want to be close to him again, tame that weird fluttering feeling you get in your stomach when he's in your line of sight.
Something on your face must give you away though, because before you know it, Daryl moves his hand up your arm to get a better grasp and pushes you behind him so that you're nearly out of one another’s view.
“Mmm!” You whine in complaint, glaring at the back of his shoulder.
“We were lookin’ for Rick,” Daryl says to interrupt the playful conversation you had going, souring the mood with an obvious scowl on his face. “Any idea where he is?”
“He's…” Carl frowns slowly as he processes the way Daryl’s been acting towards him recently, posture gaining that calculating edge that's kept him alive this long. “In the junkyard. –Waiting for you, actually.”
You hate that you can hear the hurt and confusion in his voice at being treated like a delinquent by someone that's practically his uncle. He even stepped up when everyone thought Rick was losing it to help care for Judith.
“Fuck,” Daryl straightens, casting his gaze in the vague direction the maze of cars had been in as if he could see it through all the buildings and structures between here and there. “I forgot all about that… we were tryna’...” He shakes his head, flicking his hair out of his face. “Shit. –C'mon, Bea.”
He starts to drag you off with him and you hang your head with a disappointed frown, starting to walk with him again.
But Carl stands in his path, fists loosely balled up at his sides in his iconic sheriff pose.
“Wait,” He says resolutely. “Wouldn't it be better if I took Bambi to get somethin’ to eat while you worked?”
Daryl’s scowl gets deeper, feet turning to try and maneuver around the teen. “I appreciate the offer, but nauh.”
Carl steps back in front of him, the glint in his eye imploring.
“It could take hours, and she still hasn't gotten a chance to see half the cool stuff here. It's a way bigger community than Alexandria,” He points out. “She has to get to know her way ‘round here without you.”
You're confused what Carl’s trying to get at when his gaze flicks to yours, eye exaggeratedly closing for a shorter time than necessary to blink. He winked. He winked at you just now, but why?
Is he… trying to rescue you?
You whip your head towards Daryl, lips pulling into a wide smile you try your hardest to stifle as you wait for his verdict. The man's grip on you falters, then tightens, only to falter again as he stares into your eyes, fighting himself.
“Hah… Okay, fine,” He reluctantly agrees, roughly but fondly pinching your cheek before turning to Carl with a stern look. “Don't you go gettin’ into trouble, and don't do nothin’ stupid, okay? She's… sick. Be gentle.”
You shy away at the mention, but Carl only smiles again, nodding in agreement to all of the loose rules Daryl’s set.
He was never particularly good at that, but it's impossible for someone to predict all the sneaky things kids will do when they're left to their own devices. Especially teenagers.
Before Daryl can even go, Carl turns back to you excitedly. “Have you ever been to a fair?”
Sort of. Nothing particularly big like you're sure they had in Atlanta, even in a place as small as King County, but there are a few hazy celebrations in your memory of people sharing food and dancing together where you're from. “Festivals,” You nod.
Daryl watches the two of you from afar as he slowly tears himself away from you and starts making his way to the junkyard in earnest.
“Well, Hilltop is kind of like a small, permanent festival,” Carl eagerly explains, finally succeeding in taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers now that Daryl isn't here to intervene. “The Kingdom is even better. It's got huge set pieces that make it look like it's straight from a children's book, a big market, fresh fruit and hot grilled meat. Their beef skewers are the best. –And I know you had to have heard about Shiva, Ezekiel's tiger.”
You nod eagerly. Carol had just been telling you more about her last night, how even at night the beautiful beast sleeps purring at Ezekiel's side, guarding him from the floor or the end of the bed with her body curled like a proper cat.
“I wish I could take you,” Carl says longingly, coming down from his ramble with a laugh. “But it's too far to walk and I think Daryl might just kill me if we hitched a ride and I ran off with you.”
Suddenly, that's all you can think of. Running away together, sleeping at each other's side every night, and carving out your own quiet place in this world. It's not practical. You'd never leave Daryl behind, but the way he says it sounds so romantic. Not like when you were alone on the road before they found you.
“Mm-mm,” You blush, giving his hand a squeeze. “I wouldn't let him.”
He squeezes back and leans over to kiss your cheek at the same time you try to kiss his, leading to a very awkward and poorly aimed but sweet peck on the lips that has you both blushing furiously.
You turn away from one another when the kiss is over, flustered even though you're linked at the hands.
It feels… different, in public.
Privately, it's just the two of you feeling what you feel and working around each other like a well oiled machine, but with the added knowledge that people are observing you and the loving touches you offer one another it suddenly feels risque.
It occurs to you that it might actually be a risk. Siddiq had asked you who you'd been with since you've been back and you refused to tell him to protect Carl, but now here you are kissing him in broad daylight where Siddiq could easily round the corner and catch you. You can't let that happen.
You dare to look back at him, tugging his hand forward to get him moving.
He smiles and starts running towards the market, leading you behind him by the hand. Your boots hit the pavement and uneven ground with loud thumps as the trailers and houses become tents and booths constructed from the scraps left over. Right now there's only about two rows of them, both of which you can see the end of from where you're standing, but there's also a few larger buildings from before the fall with their doors open.
“W–” You stop running, bending your upper body so that you can put your hands on your knees and cough.
Carl stops as soon as you slow down, turning to face you and rubbing your shoulder when he sees the trouble you seem to be having catching your breath. “Bambi?”
You shake your head to brush off his concern, reaching into your pocket and popping one of Siddiq's candies hoping it'll at least help your voice if nothing else.
“Where to?” You ask, signing, Slow, please.
He nods, looking serious as he scans the street. “The first thing I wanna do is get you some fresh food. –Somethin’ not too rough on your stomach.”
Nothing hearty. Nothing greasy. Nothing heavy.
At least that's what Lori always told him when he was little and home sick. –She'd make him homemade chicken soup and rub his back while he ate it, loosely humming songs he could never hope to put a name to.
“‘M not that sick…” You complain, pouting that he'd taken what Daryl said to heart.
He embarrassed you in front of Carl, and now the boy's going to keep treating you like you're breakable.
His gaze softens as he looks at you again, understanding.
“The first time I ate here I threw it all up afterwards,” He admits sadly, giving a half shrug like the situation was inevitable. “I wasn't even sick like you are. I just wasn't used to how rich the food was after starvin’ for so long…”
Your lips part, but you aren't sure what to say in response to that, so you lift your interlocked hands and nuzzle your cheek into the back of his.
He smiles softly, head cocking. “I trust you, Bambi, but I don't want to be the reason you get worse, that's all.”
At the new angle he's put his head at, he catches sight of a cart covered in roasted vegetables and skewered fruits made to look like animals, a dragon made of red and green apple slices with skin for the scales catching his eye.
“There!” He points. “That stuff is good quality and if you ask, they'll even drizzle different sauces on it.”
The image that comes to mind immediately is someone drenching an assortment of fruits in ranch dressing, and it is not appealing. You stick your tongue out, walking with Carl to the cart.
The man handing the fruit out keeps positioning the skewers to make them look more appealing, while the woman next to him chops up a kiwi and some bananas to make a few bears with ear and stomach details. She ends up with more banana than she needs, so she ends up making one of the bears a polar bear.
“Miss my paper,” You whisper quietly to yourself, looking down at your free hand and remembering the way it felt to carefully fold each animal with your fingers.
The rest of your animals probably burned with Alexandria, you think sadly, mouth turning into a pout.
A kid runs up to the man and excitedly demands the dragon Carl had his eye on, pleading for extra sauce as the man drowns it in caramel. That makes more sense. Carl pretends not to be disappointed, but you see the look in his eye.
Another day, you sign, better dragon to slay.
To your surprise, he actually seems to understand a majority of your sentence.
“Another day,” He echoes, using the sign for animal. “Stronger animals for your kingdom.”
Suddenly you feel something slip into your free hand and see that the woman has given you the banana polar bear, along with a mango kangaroo, and a strawberry dinosaur.
“You are so cute,” She giggles, a big smile on her face as she baby-talks you. “I remember when you first came here with your dad and Rick, I thought to myself– that looks exactly like my baby brother,” She grimaces. “Well, not literally. That'd be weird. But the shy awkward silent thing is just like him! You're such a cute little guy!”
You open your mouth to respond before closing it and bashfully looking at the ground with a flat smile, sighing through your nose.
Your mind is torn between focusing on the fact she thought Daryl was your dad, and the fact she mistook you for a boy, both of which make you extremely uncomfortable right now for different reasons.
Daryl doesn't want to be your dad…
He acts like your dad. He cares for you like a dad would. He teaches you like a dad. You love him like he's your dad and worry every time you're separated. You even have your own house (kind of) where you live together, and last night you got to sleep in his bed with him after a nightmare.
You blush, shaking the thought from your head as you bite the polar bear's head off, only to realize that Carl’s been intently staring at you.
Your brows unfurrow and you stop chewing, swallowing with a gulp.
“Nothin’,” He says quickly, averting his gaze. “There's a lot more I want to show you.”
He tries to pull you away from the stand, but you stay firmly planted, pointing at the man who's actually handing out the fruit sticks.
“Oh, no,” Carl laughs, the awkward tension from before gone as he points at all the other people running up to get sticks and walking away. “You don't have to give them anythin’ for what you get here. It works like that for most places, especially if their product is labor based like fruit. As long as you do your part in the community, everythin’ is free.”
Huh… Weird. You unplant your feet and let him lead you to the next cart, one where an older woman is selling blankets and home made pastries.
It looks like a square donut covered in something white, but the woman tells you that it's a beignet, something famous where she came from before.
She tells you a story about a famous man playing jazz right outside her window, confetti constantly all over the street and beaded necklaces getting thrown up into the flower pots on her balcony. –Says Hilltop is nowhere near as big and bright as her hometown.
You beg Carl to let you try one despite his worries about you getting sick and eventually he gives in, feeding you the pastry by hand. Apparently she's told him this story several times before and always makes him take a bag full of the sweet treat, which she does again. One for each of you.
That leads Carl to make another stop, into one of the storefronts where he pushes you forward and tells the man working that you need a bag. He shows you several, including a ridiculously bright orange one with pink accents and a flower decal, which would instantly get you killed in the woods despite how cute it is.
You settle on a camo backpack with black straps, the logo half ripped off and a few wonky stars drawn in places with a black marker. It's definitely used, but it's tougher than the other options he showed you.
Carl gives you another look, staring, but he recovers faster this time and loads the pastries into your backpack, leading you forward.
As soon as you're outside the shop, the sound of metal on metal can be heard down the road.
A few people abandon their stalls and walk down to crowd around the large tarped permanent structure with smoke billowing out from under it. It stands out from the rest of the places around Hilltop, with its blackened medieval structure and leather tarps, clearly built for durability instead of aesthetic. You'd think the building was for food if the smell of ash didn't rise so powerfully.
“Blacksmith?” You question, tentatively stepping closer with wide eyes.
“Yeah, uh–” He puts his hand in yours again, tugging. You hadn't even realized you'd let go of him. “I don't think we should go there today. –The blacksmith made some new swords and people have been sparrin’ off and on. It could be dangerous…”
That sounds amazing. You have to see it. You want to try it.
“One peek?” You plead, watching the crowd gasp in awe.
He can tell by the mischievous glint in your eye that you plan on pushing him for more the second he gives in and lets you go over there.
“Bambi, I don't think that's a good idea,” Carl repeats more firmly. “You’re coughin’ already, it's only goin’ to get worse if you inhale smoke.”
“But…” You trail off, feeling discouraged by the tension in Carl’s posture.
You used to spar all the time, get into good natured fights that left your knuckles and noses bleeding. It was fulfilling. He fought with the skill of someone trained by a cop, and you fought with the cunning of someone used to ripping their way out of restraints. At the end of the day you'd pushed each other past your limits and learned how to defend yourself better.
“I don't wanna see you get hurt,” Carl says, urging you away from the crowd and back towards the rows of market.
You frown, sighing as you unplant your feet to continue letting him lead you around. “Okay.”
He only has your best interests at heart, it's not his fault everyone's treating you this way.
“I promise we'll come ‘n see him together. –Another day when it's less busy and the coals aren't goin’,” He comforts.
“Mm,” You hum noncomittally.
The two of you wind up exploring a majority of the market Hilltop has to offer. You excitedly follow Carl to every booth he leads you past, trying to map it all out in your head despite the overload of colorful visual information and sound you're receiving.
You try to convince him to dance with you when you come across a man playing the violin in a group of drunken people taking a break, but he flushes and refuses, promising again that the two of you will dance when he’s sure you’re feeling well enough to.
Eventually the sky begins tinting orange and Carl leads you to a neighborhood, collapsing into sitting down against a cinderblock holding up a trailer, sighing contentedly.
“So… how was your first real tour of Hilltop?” He asks with a grin as you shove a vegetable skewer into your mouth, licking your fingers in a way that reminds him so much of Daryl he does a double take.
“Awesome,” You smile, licking your lips. “I need to do it like a hundred more times, I feel like I'm already forgetting where we started.”
“Good, because I want to take you there a hundred more times,” He laughs, then slowly the smile on his face turns into a contemplative frown.
He takes your other hand in his so that he's holding both of them, squeezing and rubbing with a serious look on his face.
Is this it? Does he know? Did he figure it out, or worse are you showing somehow?
“I have a question,” He says softly, voice honest. “And don't take this the wrong way. I don't care what the answer is, I want you to know that. It's you I care about.”
You swallow hard, chest aching with sadness.
You'd barely gotten the chance to be with him the way you'd wanted to be and now it's all over. He'll never trust you again, hell, he might not even talk to you. He probably hates your guts and only pretended to want to hang out with you today to give you closure because he's kind like that.
“Are you a boy?” He asks abruptly, pulling you from your thoughts.
You raise your eyes to his, face scrunching up with confusion as you look between him and pointedly at your chest, which he's seen bare.
“No… I mean,” He pauses, making a soft scoff because he can't think of the right words. “Are you a boy?” He accentuates by pointing at your chest and shifting the aim to your face.
“Mm? Mm-mm,” You shake your head, puzzled by the question.
“Well… are you a girl?” He asks next.
You think about this one longer, frowning with frustration at the memories of looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering why you were so inadequate. Nothing like the women you wished to be like, chest flat, shoulders too broad yet too soft to be a man's. You wished you could be seen like a girl, wished to be worthy of delicate items you held like glass, worried your existence would tarnish them. The way Enid and Judith and all the other girls stared at you like an outsider despite knowing yourself that you were disguised.
You lower your head. “I just don't think it should matter…”
You'll never understand why people fixate on your gender so much.
“It makes me mad,” You say slowly, a frown on your face. “I do my best and it's never good enough because people expect worse now. They treat me different.”
And you're constantly afraid.
Your shield has been taken. –And as soon as it was, the worst thing that could have happened did.
Before Daryl found you, you'd been hiding yourself for a long time because you knew what happened to girls that got caught. You knew what sick and twisted things they'd do, especially to the ones that were alone like you were. Yet the time that you finally faced this reality, you'd been surrounded by a group you were a part of, chest bound and hair cut short.
It was all for nothing. You punished and pushed yourself to the brink just to be taken advantage of anyway because you were weak.
Carl nods slowly, taking the information in. “Okay… I think I get it.”
He doesn’t. Because he doesn't know. Because you've been lying to him.
“You say you don't care about the answer, but clearly it means something or you wouldn't have asked,” You whisper, feeling tears well up in your eyes.
He never used to pay you any attention. You wouldn't be here like this if he hadn't found out that you were a girl.
You try to pull your hands out of his and he bites his lower lip, squirming where he sits as he holds them tighter.
“Please?” He asks. “Just listen?”
You nod. You can do that. Listen to him and give him a chance to explain what he's thinking, even if you don't want to hear it.
“I… never… like, suspected that you weren't a guy or anythin’…” He gulps with a shaky voice, cheeks dusting a light pink. “But even before I knew, I… I liked you a lot–” He chokes out, grip tightening on you anxiously. “I liked spendin’ time with you, and laughin’ at stupid jokes, and havin’ you in my room...”
You smile softly. “‘Liked you too.”
He shakes his head, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Bambi, I…”
He takes another deep breath.
“I thought you were cute… and amazin’. There was nothin’ you couldn't do if you set your mind to it. Every second of your voice I got to hear –every laugh or sigh I managed to get out of you– played on loop in my head every time I tried to go to sleep…” He pauses, looking very much like he wants to cry. “I-I tried to forget about it, but I couldn't. I didn't care if you were a guy, I liked you. –It's never mattered to me what you are, as long as it's you.”
By the end of his explanation he's lightly panting through his mouth, teary eye pleading for you to be okay with this, to not judge him.
Me too, you sign, leaning in and giving him another kiss on the lips.
He moans in relief and appreciation, grabbing the back of your neck to gently hold you in the position until you decide to pull away or deepen the kiss.
You pull away, staring into his eye and the bandage covering his empty socket.
You want to yank the gauze right off his face and press kisses all along the seam of his scar, stare into the depths of the beautiful crater keeping him alive.
“You're beautiful,” You tell him, because it's true and he doesn't hear it enough.
He lets out a disbelieving laugh that comes out more of a huff than anything else, looking away from you for a moment.
“So are you,” He sighs, rubbing his hand along your jaw and down to the base of your neck. “Every version. No matter what.”
You look down at your feet guiltily, thinking about how he's going to react when he finds out about what happened and still might be happening to you right now. –You're not stupid enough to think a boy his age will want to stick around in the apocalypse if you find out that you're… pregnant.
You remember hearing people laugh about teen boys from your town running out on their pregnant girlfriends, never to be seen again. You were just a little kid back then. You couldn't really grasp what they were talking about.
“You know you can tell me anythin’... Don't you?” Carl whispers, hand starting to massage your neck with a steady squeeze and release, mimicking the tight full body squeezes that soothe you.
“Bambi…?” He coos again, leaning back in so close your noses are almost touching.
You lower your head, cheeks flushing as you stare up at him through your lashes.
He starts to grin, voice turning sing-songy. “Bambi, come on. Tell me what's wrong.”
You shake your head, lips turning up into a slight smile at the sight of his.
He starts to laugh when a duffle bag drops down into the dirt between you, jagged metal pieces clanging together loudly as it hits the ground and you jump away from noise.
“Hah,” Daryl pants, grin pulled tight on his lips as he glances between you. “I finished early ‘n decided I'd come hang out with ya’.”
“Oh, you don't have to–” Carl is cut short when the man plops down between you, putting his arms around both of your shoulders to keep you firmly separated. “Uh… Okay.”
Daryl stares Carl down, tongue tucked into his cheek.
“So what're we doin’, ah?” He asks, clearly wanting Carl to explain what the two of you are doing and why you were so close together. The more lost Carl looks, the harder Daryl’s glare seems to get.
“Talking…” You answer quietly.
Daryl turns his attention to you next, patting you on the back so hard with false enthusiasm you have to move your foot to keep your balance.
You cringe, looking away from his prying gaze uncomfortably.
A few moments pass in awkward silence, your hands fidgeting in your lap and Carl’s in his, before the pressure is just too much to withstand anymore.
Carl stands and your heart sinks.
“Bambi, I think I'm gonna go,” He grumbles, but then instead of standing up and backing off like he'd done yesterday, he leans over Daryl to wrap his arms around you in a hug, snuggling into your neck with a concealed peck before he pulls away. “I'll see you tomorrow,” He smiles, waving as he walks off.
You pull your lips into your mouth, trying and failing to hide the grin on your face as you wave back.
Daryl scowls, grumbling as he watches him go.
“Don't let that boy do anythin’ you don't want him to,” He warns. “Grabbin’ you like that is just askin’ to get punched.”
“I like him,” You say softly, staring after him with so much adoration it’s scary.
“I’m bein’ serious. Don’t let him do anythin’ to you, Bea,” He repeats, voice wavering. “Friends are great, but… that doesn’t mean you owe ‘em anythin’. I-I know it can be confusin’ when you, you know, start feelin’ a certain kind of way as you get older, but–”
You cringe so hard it physically hurts, audibly sucking a breath in through clenched teeth.
“I’m just sayin’ I don’t want the two of you makin’ a mistake,” He finishes awkwardly by regurgitating Rick's words to him, turning his head away from you.
You think about letting the conversation end there, busying yourself with relacing your boots despite the knots they were in being perfectly fine, but you decide to test the waters. You want to know what he thinks as someone who –sort of– knows what happened to you.
“...What if I like him as more than a friend?” You ask slowly, heart pounding fiercely in your chest.
“You can’t,” He says quickly.
You raise your head to look at him with confusion, feeling something inside you start to crack. “I… can’t?”
You're looking to Daryl for advice in one of the most delicate situations of your life, and looking at those big, wet eyes he doesn't know what to say. –Saying the wrong thing here is not an option, but picking the right thing is like stepping into a minefield of ways to misinterpret it. It could change the rest of your life and the way you see yourself.
“You shouldn’t,” He amends, looking panicked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Carl’s a good kid but you’re–”
Not, your brain supplies when he fails you.
You feel your heart shatter into a million pieces as you watch him stumble over a few more words he can’t get out, unable to find a nice way to break it to you. –You’re damaged, that’s all. He doesn’t have to tell you.
You tried so hard to be good, but you just can't. You're always going to fail Daryl, and Carl, and everyone else you love.
Your entire body is shaking where you sit next to him, knees against your chest and fingers slowly flexing against your calves in a way that looks angry.
“Bea,” Daryl says, trying to reach for you.
You smack his hand away, snatching up your bag and running off as fast as you can.
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