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itsgrimeytime · 11 months

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The Nurse (Part Five) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil @timotheesrealgf

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, angsty!Rick, hallucinations, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Much happier vibes this time around, but I figured a story like this one should be a little bittersweet. This one has got the good stuff. (Farmer Rick, patching up his wounds, TENSION, etc.) Also sorry if you're good at juggling, this is no longer realistic for you lol. Thank you for reading. ]]

"Alright," you hummed, bandaging up the hand, "-just try and keep the bandage clean, we're really only worried about infection."

Glenn nodded, simply just listening to you, "Right."

"Oh," you remembered, grabbing up just two bandages and antiseptic, "-and here's some replacements, just in case you get into something that can't wait."

"Got it," Glenn spoke, standing and kind of roaming towards the door, "-and how often should I check in with you?"

"Once a week," you answered, "-just to make sure the inflammation has gone down."

With confirmation and a smile that only Glenn could produce on prison grounds, your space was empty. You'd had a makeshift area down in one of the front offices of the prison because, well, the medbay was currently... off limits, so to speak. Your most important supplies, though, stayed on your person -certain medicine types and a few medical instruments in a fanny pack often hanging over your shoulder (unless you needed your hands).

You sighed, wiping your hands off with a spare rag, pushing your fingers into your temples for a bit of headache relief. It wasn't hurting in that moment, but you could feel the pressure building, keeping an eye on yourself was hard enough as is.

It was really not the time.

Muttering, you rifled through a few of your drawers -trying to keep track of the supplies was key to this working out in the long run. So, you were running through what you'd given out and what you still had. Eager to make lists for runners later on in the week.

Hershel still helped sometimes, so you couldn't always get the amount used down to a science, but you could get close enough. It worked.

"Hello?" a voice spoke, the drawl ever so familiar to you, "-Anybody in here?"

You, who were currently ducked behind a cabinet rifling through supplies, didn't even think about the fact you weren't visible, calling out, "Just a minute!"

"Alright," Rick hummed in response, seeming to trail off in his speech -looking at something else you assumed.

"Okay," you scribbled down some more numbers, before coming to eye level with Rick -focused and a touch playful, "-So, what can I do for you today, Mr. Grimes?"

Rick smiled, light and airy, "Mr. Grimes, huh? 'Been a long time since I heard that one."

You looked at him, donned in a plaid shirt and sweat dripping down his face -hands dusted in dirt, and pants even worse. But still, his blue eyes twinkled. Ever since he'd started to work on the farm, you'd seen that haze clear. He seemed to find it calming, easier to manage. You were happy for him.

"Too professional for you?" You hummed, trailing your fingers along some of the bandages -keeping count in your head.

Rick smiled before muttering off -tone soft and reminiscent, "Just feels like a different time."

The lull in conversation brought you back to the issue at hand, Rick was one to work as long as he could. Doing only a few checkups throughout the day, he'd found himself busy often. Or you guessed, you found him busy often; that was very much on purpose, though.

"Alright, enough of that, what do you need from me?" You questioned, fully focused on him now; the man had a tendency to under sell his injuries, so you'd need to see it.

"Hershel told me to come see you," he spoke, drawl slow and sure, "-I fell on one of the runs recently. Got a scratch on my chest. He patched it up a little, but-"

"He wanted me to take a look?"

"Yeah," Rick confirmed as you motioned to a chair -dousing your hands with some antibacterial.

He was sitting on a stool, one someone probably found in an old bar, the leather was worn, and the metal squeaked loud any time you so much as breathed. It would work.

You took your place beside him, pulling out some extra bandages, "Which side? And what exactly did Hershel do?"

"My right," he answered, and you moved to that side, "-and just cleaned it and bandaged it up tight."

"Okay," you noted, grabbing a few extra things (most likely looking like a chicken with your head cut off) before spinning around. Where he was sitting as still as a statue, "-Rick? You okay?"

He blinked, eyes cleared of the daze he'd apparent found himself in, "Oh, yeah, sorry. It's just... nice."

"Nice?" You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows together, and pulling up your own stool close to him.

"You," he paused, before stuttering through the rest -hand going to rub at the back of his neck, "-bein' in your element, I mean."

"Oh," you responded, softly -ignoring the soft blush rising to your ears, "-well, thank you."

He smiled at you, and the silent buzz was nice, warm even. You really couldn't dwell on it, though, not sitting this close to him.

"Alright, cowboy," you spoke, "-let's see."

Rolling his eyes at 'cowboy', you assumed anyway, his hands made quick work of the edge of the shirt, pulling it up in a swift movement. Just an edge.

You held your breath, watching as unblemished skin matched your eyes, and suddenly, you realized that it was much higher than you'd anticipated. So, that wasn't going to work.

"Rick, I'm not pressuring you into anything, but-" you spoke, kind and soft, this was a personal boundary, you'd treat it as such, "-I think the shirt's going to have to come off."

There was a moment there, where he just stared at you in silence -eyes focused and intent- and you were truly worried you'd just crossed a boundary.

"If you're not comfortable with that-"

"No, no," he shook the motion off, clearing his throat to himself -to clear the air maybe, "-it's alright. Just been a while."

You laughed, tilting your head a bit in curiousity, "Since what, exactly? Since you took your shirt off? Rick, you did that yesterday-"

"Oh?" he hummed, a smirk peeking at his lips, "-Didn't know I had an audience."

"Ha, ha-" you rolled your eyes, ignoring the buzz of warmth that hit your cheeks -he could not see that, "-you're just stalling."

Rick raised his hands in defeat, smiling at you in a way that you wish you could keep for yourself for later. His smiles had always been so bright, you supposed that was why you could notice when it was absent for a while.

Digging through your bag, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye, the fluid motion quick -so quick you'd hardly noticed it, really. He'd done it enough, you assumed.

Not the time, you chastised yourself, not letting your mind linger on that fact. Not now, you were professional.

"Okay," you pulled out some of the materials you may need, "Let's see what you've-"

Your eyes flew up to see his chest, which was bandaged, wrapped tightly around his sternum. They had gone over his right shoulder and under his left arm, the blood stain just a bit under his collar bone and down from there. It didn't seem too long, based solely on the pattern.

You were completely focused now, eyes drawn across the bandage and fingers dancing along the stain, "Did Hershel tell you how deep it was?"

"No," Rick answered, and it took you a bit out of you to hear him so close -drawl low and gravely, "-we didn't have much time. Needed to stop the blood, I'd guess."

Fingertips fluttering over the torn edges of the bandages, you could feel the heat of his skin a breath away. You pursed your lips, these bandages were quite worn, "And when was this?"

"About a week ago," Rick answered.

"Rick..."

"I know, I hear you," he started, explaining himself, "-it was the last run, ran over a bit. Had to camp out, remember?"

You hummed in confirmation -relaxing in the slightest, before continuing, "Did you have somebody check it then?"

"Couldn't chance it," he explained, tone soft and earnest, "-any fresh blood woulda been dangerous."

"Okay," you exhaled, "-okay. I understand, Rick, you shouldn't have to explain yourself to me."

Rick interrupted tone solid and unwavering, "I want to. You should- No, I want you to know."

"Okay," you whispered, softly, a bit speechless at the admitance, "-thank you."

There was a fizzling there, as you sat a breath away from him -fingers laid gently on his chest and barely a bandage between your fingertips and his skin. You could even feel the heat there, gentle gusts against your fingertips.

You took the biggest breath you could take without startling the man, deep and focused. Not the time to let your mind wonder.

"Okay, I just need-" you pulled back, the fizzle dissipating and began searching for one of your sharp edges... particularly one you could wipe down ahead of time, "-here it is."

Within seconds, you'd doused the instrument in whatever you could nearby, wiping it solidly with a cloth that has been safely sealed ahead of time.

"You're fast," Rick spoke up, eyes apparently watching you as your roamed around the room -gathering a few extra things in case of worst case scenario.

"You'll get used to it," you smiled, chuckling and making your way back to the chair -where he sat, his own little smile on his face, "-Alright, so, first order of business, Rick."

He blinked, and sat up a bit straighter in your gaze.

"If anything hurts, you tell me," you asserted, eyes connected to his directly, "-this will go as comfortably as it can."

"'Course," he answered, serious and eyes unwavering, before cracking a smile, "-plus, can't disobey doctor's orders, can I?"

You snorted, scooting in closer and trying to find a comfortable place to start, "Whatever you say, Grimes."

He laughed, small but still felt nice against your ears and on instinct, you smiled brightly. He was contagious. To you, anyway.

With a steady hand on the tool and the other gently holding his shoulder, you gently pressed it along the bandage. The threads unweaving themselves with the movement, almost like a seam breaking, it seemed quite fluid.

Gently peeling back the bandages, which were solidly tightened around his skin, your fingers drifted across the newly exposed skin. Even for just a second and your heart would jump out of your chest. You held the hitch in your breath without thought -you really needed to be focused right now.

And there it was.

The cut wasn't too much to look at. It was thin -the edges were a bit dirty from the worn bandage you assumed. No telltale symptoms of infection, you let out a hum of relief.

"Good," you spoke, mostly to yourself, leaning back from his space -sorting through your supplies.

Rick spoke, questioning, "Everything alright?"

"All good," you answered, hands preoccupied, "-just needs a bit of cleaning up. You're lucky, though. It's healing on its own."

"Lucky?" he hummed, watching you move across the space -eyes trailing behind you.

"Would've needed stitches, otherwise," you answered, dousing the cloth in your hands, "-although, I'm sure a scar would fit you well, cowboy."

Rick chuckled, motioning towards his other shoulder, "Already got one."

You paused, looking towards the shoulder; there it was. The wound you knew him from. It reminded you of so long ago, your coworkers, your friends, your boss-

"Right," you hummed, settling down back into your chair, "-I remember."

He shook his head, a little in disbelief, "Right, you were there."

"I was," with a distant hum, you pushed forward -warning before you started, "This might sting a bit. Feel free to keep talking if it helps. I'm told I'm a good listener."

"Oh, really?" his tone quirked in interest, and you could feel the familiar playfulness seep into his tone.

"What? You don't think so?" you questioned, gently dabbing at the cut -soft and gentle.

"No," he began, voice smooth and gravelly, "-just wonderin' what you aren't good at."

"Well, I could tell you that, cowboy," you smirked -the peek of a smile on your lips, "-if that's what you want."

He chuckled, slightly wincing as you cleaned the skin around the cut, "I'm all ears."

"Hmm, let's see," you hummed, pulling back and unraveling some bandages, "-I've never been good at juggling."

Rick laughed, his body leaning forward, his shoulder bumping into yours. There was a buzz there, between your skin and his - and your nose filled with the familiar smell of just... musk, strong wood tones, and a bit of dirt.

You blinked, bringing yourself back down from your head, where Rick was looking at you with a smile -the crinkling by his eyes sending warmth through your skin, "What?"

"Juggling?" He questioned, "That's all you got?"

"No," you laughed, pulling out the bandage and holding your hand in the beginning place of the wrap, "-you didn't let me finish."

"Go right ahead," he spoke, his tone lilting to a tease -you knew it well.

"Don't try me, Grimes," you tsked, before rearranging your hands, to hold the bandage in place, "-here, hold this."

Unflinchingly, he moved his hand where yours was -his fingertips (calloused) brushing against yours with a spark. You try to school your facial expression, cursing at the rising pink on your cheeks. Just because he was pretty and the low drawl of his voice was insanely attractive-

"Okay," you threaded the bandage around his shoulder, leveling to his eyes but not looking there -preoccupied with the placement, "-now. Something I'm not good at... You know, I used to think I wasn't good with kids."

"Really?" Rick asked, disbelieving, and you could feel his breath on your face -puffs of breath across the bridge of your nose.

"Yeah," you answered, humming as your hands completed the motion, "-why? You don't believe it?"

"I don't," He answered, simply and honestly, "-just... You with Judith and Carl... I'm surprised you ever thought you were bad at it."

"Well," you hummed, feeling oddly flattered, "-thank you."

"No, actually-" he began, tone a bit unresolved, "-I never... I never thanked you for taking care 'em. When I was..."

"Rick..." you interrupted, looking into his eyes -attentive and gentle, "-you don't have to."

"No, no, I do," his voice was thick with earnestness, "-I wasn't. I couldn't even think straight... And you- And everybody took care of 'em for me. You deserve a thanks."

You faltered, blue eyes so open and honest -it was so familiar, the same stare burned in your head so long ago. The one you couldn't shake as you watched over him when the world was falling apart, still stuck to your brain as you ran through the woods scared of every step you heard.

It would never leave, not now.

There was a cut along his cheekbone, thin, maybe from a tree branch snapping in his face. Your hand almost naturally went to it, to trace it with your fingertips. You held it back, fingers tightening on the bandage slightly.

"Rick," you hummed, holding your hand where it was -despite your instincts being elsewhere, "-it's really nothing. I'd do anything for them. For you, even. You needed your time, I'm not- You're a great father, you just couldn't be one then. So I helped, really."

He stared at you, eyes bright and warm -he looked like he was just analyzing you. Eyes skimming across your face in rapid succession, like he was trying to understand you, dissect you.

"Okay," he sighed, a hand laying on top of yours -soft, gentle, it sent a shiver down your spine, "-okay."

You exhaled, shaky and your head filled with a fuzz of intimacy, affection, that you hadn't felt in so... long. You felt safe, here with him. Seen amidst the darkest things you'd ever laid eyed on was Rick, and his open vulnerability that you could never shake.

Slow breathing, you had a thought. Just one thought and your eyes almost dipped to his lips. It felt so natural then, just lean a bit forward and-

Clearing your throat, you shook your head before scooting back just a touch -you couldn't think, not with him so close. The buzz under your skin was so strong, and you sat a breath away, it was easy to fall into it.

"Let's uh-" you stammered slightly, "Let's get you patched up, okay?"

Rick swallowed (you watched his Adam's apple bob for a second before dragging your eyes away), eyes darted to yours for a split second, and he nodded.

Without much more thought, you tightened the bandage around his chest -enough to allow it to heal without exposure. As the bandage ran thin, you carefully lifted his hand, which was heavily calloused from the days work against your own, and sorted out the ends.

Just like you'd done it often, rhythmically.

"Keep an eye on that," you spoke, pulling back and sorting through your supplies, "-if anything, and I mean anything feels wrong, come to me."

Rick hummed, eyes hazily focused on you -it kind of made you giddy, "'Course."

"You sure you listening?" You asked, smirking to yourself, "Everything alright?"

"Just... you too," he spoke, tone cautious and honest.

"What?" You tilted your head, turning around to view him in your curious.

"The headache," he hummed, not standing up yet -as he slipped on his flannel, hands working on the buttons.

"How-" you began, pursing your lips, "How did you-"

"Saw ya on the way in, with the temples," he added, fingers working their way up the shirt, nimble and practiced, "-high time you took a break, you know."

"I have," you spoke, stuttering a bit, "-I am."

Rick smirked, bright and boisterous, "Is that when you're lookin' at me shirtless?"

"Yeah, yeah," you hushed him, waving him off with a passive smile and a blush buzzing up your cheeks, "-get your laughs out now, cowboy."

He laughed, trailing towards the door but not stepping out of it -feet stayed solidly in your space, like he didn't really want to leave. It made you bite back a smile.

"But, seriously-" Rick continued, smile fading slightly and eyes leveling to yours as he put his hand on your shoulder, and leaned forward to brush his lips across your forehead -his words exhaling along your skin.

"There's people who care about you, ya know?"

"Okay," you whispered, placing your hand over his on your shoulder, "-okay."

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #the nurse #nurse!reader #doctor!reader

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year

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The Nurse (Part Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part 1, Part 2

Taglist: @strnqer, @1985bitch, @curlycarley, @imaginemyfavoritefics,

TWS: Blood, gore, hospital mention, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged! And this time is loosely based on S3, E5, where Daryl and Maggie go to get baby supplies for Judith. I will not be following the story to a T though, and will kinda carve out my own path, it's been ages since I've seen it so, any weird story omits or things I don't mention are just not happening here lol. And I know this is kinda fast, I'm just writing as I feel like it, so don't expect super quick updates all the time, but here's a treat. Thanks for reading!]]

You stopped, hand resting on a tree, just for a moment. Taking some deep breaths, you scanned the area, looking for anything familiar or anything that you could, at least, stay the night in. You were practically running on less than an hour of sleep, the pure adrenaline of surviving being the only thing forcing your eyes open.

Currently, your plan was to use some old lipstick you'd found in a purse - somewhere along the road - to mark trees. Leaving a trail, so you knew where you'd been and where you were going. It was simple, and would probably wash away in the rain, but it was enough for now.

With an exhale, you kept moving deeper into the forest - a hope for a cabin, deep in your heart. An unoccupied cabin.

It's not that you didn't want to help people. You truly did. And if you found anyone who needed it, you would - other straggling groups with limps and cuts and bruises. You'd give them advice on how to clean wounds properly, some regular items they could use. If an injury was more serious, you'd stay with them just for a while to watch the person, keep an eye on whatever you had to.

It never stuck, though. You found it easier to be alone, to be on the move. You could help more people that way.

Plus, there were... others. Driven to madness by the tragedy, brutally ready to kill at first sight for whatever fucked up reason they came up with. Some of them had used you for a while, providing you food and shelter, just to ship off wounded soldiers to you - ones they wounded themselves. It was eerily familiar to your previous job, and you almost fell into a rhythm - even thinking about it now, it snuck a knot of guilt in your stomach. One too many threats, and you found yourself back to traveling.

The scrubs you still wore stuck to your skin, hair matted and blood soaked - you imagined this wasn't one of your best days. But it honestly probably wasn't your worst either.

And then, you heard it. The snap of a twig.

"Fuck," you whispered barely even a breath, pulling your duffel over your side and readying your fire axe. (You'd grabbed it back at the hospital, all that time ago.)

There was something to be said about a single snap of a twig because the dead were noisy.

They were unaware - would continue down the path, crunching leaves and snapping more twigs, dragging their feet through the dirt. In different circumstances, they could sneak up on you. With the soft grass under their feet and the hum of the animals in the forest mixing in with their own tones, sometimes you had to rely on the quietest of noises.

But this forest? No.

Without thinking a second more, you spun behind the nearest tree, the red of the lipstick - grazing along your fingers.

"What, so-" a voice spoke, "-we just give up?"

"No," a gruff tone responded, hair a little overgrown, and what seemed to be a crossbow on his back, "-Just means we got some extra work to do."

The woman, who had short brunette hair and a pistol in her hands, said, "Yeah, and we're gonna do it. We... have to. She deserves a chance."

"Of course," the man responded, a little bit upset she even insinuated he wouldn't care.

You watched carefully, eyes following the pair as they roamed through the woods - before stopping in front of one of your trees, your marked trees.

"Fuck," you muttered, so soft, the wind could’ve whisked it away, exhaling carefully and turning around to face the other way.

"What's that?" the woman asked, a tone of mixed concern and curiousity.

There was a scrape, and you could only assume the man touched the lipstick mark, as he hummed, "Not blood."

"I think..." the woman muttered, the slight slur of her accent becoming stronger, "-I think it's lipstick."

The man huffed, his accent strong, "What for?"

There was more leave crunching, and the woman replied, "Maybe a path? I don't..."

"Hello?" the man spoke, and you heard the click of metal, like he'd moved his gun up, "Is anyone there?"

The woman seemed to keep moving, leaves crunching getting closer and closer to your ears, you knew they'd notice an end of the path.

You needed to do something quick.

"I'll give ya 'til a count of 3," the man spoke, the metal clicking once more, "-one."

Your breaths shook, as you debated your options, based on what you'd seen the gun the man had was long range. So, running was out of the question.

"Two," his accent lilted.

Your feet were almost rooted in fear, what if it happened again? What if all you were surrounded by was death? What if they used you and then killed you next? God, you couldn't die, not now. Not after everything you'd done.

"Three," he added, tone more aggressive, and the click of the metal once more sending fear down your spine.

You couldn't wait any longer, squeezing your eyes shut, you spun around, "Wait!"

Expecting the blossoming pain, you flinched. Yet, after a moment, nothing happened.

You cracked open your eyes, and saw two guns trained at you, the woman and man now in clear sight. Noticing now, the bags full placed at their feet, you wondered if they thought you were here for their supplies.

Without hesitation, the man straightened his gun and asked, "Are ya bit?"

"No," you answered quickly, flourishing your arms forward as if to show the lack of teeth marks, "-no, I'm clean, you can check."

"What's your name?" the woman spoke, tone solid and unmoving.

"Y-Y/N." you stuttered out, looking down the barrel of two guns wasn't exactly calming.

The man, a bit distant, replied, "What are you doing out here?"

"I..." you exhaled, trying to calm your shaking hands which were still caked in blood (as the rest of you were), "-I'm just looking for shelter for the night. Look, I don't mean you two any harm, just leave me be and I'll-"

The woman faltered, her green eyes flickering with emotion -just for a second, "You need shelter?"

"Uh, yes," you spoke, a bit bewildered that they were listening but too tired to question it, "-I haven't slept in 3 days, I just need some rest and I'll be-"

"Maggie," the man spoke stern and low, and you weren't sure you were supposed to hear it.

The sun was setting now, and if they had some shelter, this was your last chance for the night and you were just so tired. What else could you do?

Maybe you could bring something to the table.

Interrupting their hushed conversations, you began, "I... I heard you say a 'she' earlier, is there something wrong with her?"

The two stopped talking, the man's icy glare set on you, "Why you askin'?"

"I-If she's sick, I can help," you beckoned, "-I come from a hospital, I have all kinds of medical supplies. I-I can show you if you want. And-"

The man interrupted again, as the woman, Maggie you now knew, carefully watched you, "You a doctor of some kind?"

You paused, waiting for a moment before responding, "Y-yes. I'm a nurse, er well, I used to be. I... I worked at Harrison Memorial Hospital when it all went down."

The woman started this time, "And you're willing to help us?"

"Yes," you asserted, "-as long as I have a place to stay for the night. That's... that's all I ask."

"But you'll stay as long as we need ya?"

You furiously nodded, "Of course. I won't... I won't leave someone I know I can help behind."

The two turned to each other, before slowly pointing their guns to the ground. You exhaled a big breath of relief as your heartbeat slowed, muttering out, "Thank god."

The woman, held out her hand, "Maggie."

You hesitated for a moment, at the current state of your hands, before accepting it with a quick shake.

"Daryl," the man added, hand extended as well. You shook his, and began to follow in their footsteps -leading about west of where you were headed just earlier.

"Are you with a group?" Maggie asked, strolling along the woodlands.

"No," you replied, "-I... I come and go. Sometime people need a doctor so I help, but-"

The two looked at you, still watching you to say something wrong. They were still heavily armed afterall. The thought made your hands shake.

"I ended up in some shady places," you continued, "-because I stayed. So, I don't really stay anymore."

Daryl hummed in response, and Maggie simply looked at you with eyes of hesitant trust. Like she wanted desperately to trust you, but it seemed hard. You didn't blame her. Not really.

The last time you trusted someone, it hadn't gone well then either. This world is not one of trust, you knew that.

"We have a group," Maggie continued, walking in step with you as Daryl scouted ahead, "-it's small but we don't trust too well."

"Right," you murmured, expecting as much.

Daryl hummed, "We have a leader too. You'll have to meet him. You gonna be alright with that?"

Before you could even respond, Maggie interjected -an unsettled look in her eyes, "Daryl, is he even... in the space to do this?"

"Don't have to be," he responded, a little coldly, but you figured that was just kind of his tone at this point, "-he's gotta. I'll talk to 'em."

You furrowed your eyebrows, a question on your tongue, but found the following silence was not one to be interrupted. Without thought, you simply adjusted your bag and continued along. Their path was set as if this happened often, and the knowledge that you were going to a very settled camp irked you just a little.

A dynamic that felt substantial in this post-apocalyptical world usually wasn't the kindest. Oftentimes, it was 'kill or be killed'.

You knew that well, staring down at your hands (which had definitely dried by now) -you wished you had a way to wash them off. But the water was too precious to risk anyone's supplies, frankly. It reminded you of before, when veins would rupture, when hearts wouldn't beat, and everything felt like it was on the line.

An exhale, and you scrubbed your hands on your pants.

It felt immoral, as you held a fire axe in your hands. Weren't you supposed to save people? Wasn't that in the oath?

Shaking your head, you glanced ahead at the pair wondering how exactly this group operated -where they had a protocol for finding people. That wasn't... You hadn't seen much of it.

"This group," you questioned, "-how long have you guys been together?"

"Long enough," Daryl answered, curtly, "-prove yourself and you might just have a spot with us." Maggie hummed in agreement, pulling her pistol close to her chest, as a large barbed wire fence came into your view. And... were those... watchtowers?

"Is this...?" You trailed off, eyes taking in the surrounding concrete and the few stragglers either slowly trudging to the group you found yourself in, or mindlessly clawing at the tall fences as if it would do anything.

"Our base," Maggie finished, pulling her pistol to attention and shooting one of the dead just ahead of you -right in front of what you assumed was the opening gate.

"And it's a..."

"Prison, yeah," Daryl finished, pulling out his bow and killing the other one without a flinch.

"Right," you responded, a bit astonished, "-have you guys cleared the place?"

"Almost," Maggie answered, as the three of you stood directly in front of the gate. There was a watchtower to your left, and you could see the familiar glint of a scope shining down from the top.

"Glenn!" Daryl shouted, you watched as the dead stirred toward the noise, "-Let us in!"

There was a moment of hesitation, a breath of air catching in your lungs as the corpses made their way to you -slowly but surely. You knew a few weren't a threat, not with a group the size you currently were in, but you still felt this buzz of fear under your skin. Normally, you would be gone by now, vanished into the dust -not wanting to waste durability on a fight that would only bring more opponents.

Without warning, the door swung open and you assumed they had silenced the mechanism because no sound other than the screech of metal moving across the concrete filled your ears.

Which was not pleasant. At all.

The crowd there wasn't particularly large, but still seemed odd. Maybe you had been alone for too long.

A man quickly approached the group with a warm smile, rushing up to Maggie and scooping her into a hug. This figure hardly even noticed you or Daryl, now that you thought about it, but you doubted you would have either.

Daryl spoke, with a taste of disgust (you couldn't tell if it was playful or not) "That's Glenn, Maggie's boyfriend, you'll get used to it."

You nodded, pointing to a few stragglers around what looked like crops, "Okay, and... who are they?"

Without answering you, Daryl called out, "Rick out here?"

The older man who was tending to the crops looked up, eyeing you for a second, before answering, "I think he's inside, clearing out block F."

Maggie responded, "Daddy, can you see if you can get him out here?"

You blinked, absorbing the new information, Maggie's dad, right. The old man sighed, standing and brushing off his hands on his knees.

"I'll try."

Daryl nodded, not leaving your side, and it would've been comforting had you not known it was because you weren't fully trusted yet. Maggie guided you to a table, assumedly brought out from the cafeteria, and sat you down with a calm gesture to a chair. Glenn followed close behind, and Daryl merely observed.

You doubted he'd even blink while you waited for the mysterious Rick. He seemed the type to take his duty seriously.

"I'm Glenn," he held out his hand across the table, sitting just beside Maggie with curious but cautious eyes. It seemed he trusted Maggie's hesitant judgment of you.

"Y/N," you replied, accepting his hand, "-this is a lot, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Glenn continued, looking around the courtyard, "-finding the prison has been life-changing for us."

"I imagine," you laughed, a little in disbelief at the mere size, and looking over the two's shoulders to see the dead staring in through the fence. There weren't that many at all, but it still trickled in some of your solo senses.

Which were mostly bashing their head in before they get too close.

Maggie caught your eye, inquisitive almost like you were in an interview, "How familiar are you with the walkers?"

"You mean the dead?" you clarified, fingers trailing along the blood in the creases of your palms, "More familiar than I ever wanted to be, that's for sure."

Glenn opened his mouth to say something, but something bumped into your ankle and you were immediately on your feet. Prepared for the worst.

Instead of what you expected, there was a ball... An old deflated basketball probably from the court somewhere around here, you stared at it a bit incredulously. Like you'd almost forgotten it was a thing. You picked it up, brushing your finger along the bumpy texture.

"Sorry," a voice spoke. Squeaky and... familiar.

Your eyes snapped up and were met with those eyes 'You have to save him, please.' Breath caught in your lungs, your mouth moved but nothing came out. He was a little older now, with hair a touch longer and a sheriff's hat on the top of his head. But that was-

Daryl grunted, "Play somewhere else-"

"Carl?" you interrupted, tilting your head and dropping the ball to the floor; what were the chances?

Maggie stuttered out, a tone of protectiveness in her voice you'd have yet to experience, "You know him? Carl, do you know them?"

He paused, tilting his head in the same way you had just seconds before like he was trying to get a good look at you, "I..."

He looked into your eyes, eyeing your scrubs for a second -probably the same he'd seen you in so long ago. And the blue eyes that were so achingly familiar seemed to light up in recognition, he questioned, "Nurse Y/N?"

It was like a pin could drop, as the boy's gaze settled on you curiously, and every adult in the vicinity watched you like you were the most dangerous criminal in the world. A tension settling within the air that gave you uncomfortable goosebumps, and desperately made you want out of the spotlight.

Slowly, a grin slid across his features, his tiny finger pointing at you, elated, "You saved my Dad!" And before you could even react, the little boy had scurried up to you and wrapped his arms tightly around your middle - almost knocking off his hat at the force.

You blinked, a little stunned at the current predicament, but shook yourself awake. Completing the hug, you exhaled a sort of relief you hadn't known you needed. Seeing this little boy surviving such a terrible world gave you a spark of something. Like you'd been waiting to hear this.

"I promised I would, didn't I?" you hummed with a very soft smile.

Just as he let go, you crouched down and fixed his hat on his head, suddenly much more comfortable in a known presence, "Cool hat, kiddo."

He grinned even wider, but before he could even say another word, another voice echoed through the courtyard. Tone hardened and deep, this one could not be missed.

"Carl?" a breathy southern drawl -that you knew- interrupted, and your stomach flipped.

The tone was accusatory, dangerous even, so you stood quickly. A distance now established, you looked up into the figure. That couldn't be-

The blue eyes had burned into your head, so clear, so decisive.

"Rick Grimes?"

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