𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 , 𝐫. 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

ninety -

EPISODE SIXTEEN
"bloodbath"
SEASON 8

RICK GRIMES

"there's absolutely no way in hell we're making it in there." jesus exclaims. "or coming out alive, i should say."

"what's going on?" i raise my voice over the sound of mine and grey's footsteps on the stairs. in the dining room, negan sits at the head of the table, a bored look in his eyes, the radio sitting in front of him.

"just made a connection. good timing." he reaches his hand out to me, offering the walkie talkie. i feel my heart stumble at the same time my feet slow a bit.

"hello?" a familiar, raspy voice comes through on the walkie that's extended to me. negan quickly brings it back to his mouth, "sorry, someone was throwing a hissy fit as usual." a glance in jesus' direction.

"please," jesus scoffs, defending his reaction.

"let me guess," the raspy voice says again. "jesus."

carol hides her laugh behind her hand. i look behind myself at grey who's standing in the doorframe of where the foyer meets the dining room, the thick quilt she took with her from our bedroom upstairs wrapped around her shoulders, and the look on her face—that look—at the sound of daryl's voice over the radio.

no sign of amusement like the others who are clearly used to this bickering between jesus and daryl every time negan brings the radio with him to hilltop. no, there's just worry on grey's face, worry and longing.

the same two emotions on my face at the sound of my brother's voice.

i wrap my fingers around the walkie and press the button, no one says a thing as their eyes slide to me. for the past three and a half years my head has been filled with thoughts so loud they jumbled together, slammed and sliced through one another until nothing but a ringing silence was left.

but i'm not there anymore. i'm alive, and so i take control, cutting the mess of thoughts in my head, my tongue the knife, and say my brother's name. static follows, silence most likely accumulating in daryl's own head at the sound of my voice. "it's—it's rick."

"you're there." his voice finally comes through. "you're with the others?"

"yeah," i hear the unsteady breath he gives out from his lungs. "at hilltop, and it's snowing outside and it's fucking freezing."

he laughs and it fades out gently, "you're okay?"

"i'm good," i nod. "and i'll be a whole lot better once we get you all out of there. i promise, daryl, i'll get you out of there."

"judith and carl," he says quickly. "they're fine. they're doing okay. i'll—i'll tell carl as soon as i can see him. i'll try to get him on here to talk to ya ... but ... i can only use this radio once everyone's gone for the day. no one knows i sneak back into—"

"don't—" i breathe. "it's all right." i run my thumb and forefinger across the bone beneath my brows. "can't risk gettin' you in trouble. but daryl—"

"yeah?"

"thank you. thank you for lookin' after them." carl and judith, and everyone else, but mostly my two kids.

"you're welcome." he says, and it all slams into my chest right then and there, the weight behind those words, how long it's truly been. and not just since the day i stood on that bridge but from the very beginning.

what he told me all those years ago when we finally stopped hating each other and became someone the other could rely on, how he promised me he'd look after carl and judith every time i feared a plan would awry and my children would lose their father, too.