"It's ok. It's ok," Rosie said quickly as she practically carried Ian into an old cabin. He was losing so much blood that he was on the verge of passing out, so he had been leaning on her ever since they got out of the Reapers' place.
"Fuck," Ian groaned as he took a seat on the dirty floor. He reached up to his shoulder, stretching the collar of his shirt out in order to see the wound.
"Don't look at it. That makes it worse," Rosie scolded, forcefully turning his head away. She huffed out a breath, looking around the abandoned cabin for something to use to help Ian. There wasn't much left in the cabin, but, luckily, Rosie was able to find a needle and thread in a sewing kit, tucked away in a cabinet.
As Rosie approached Ian with the needle and thread, his eyes widened dramatically. "You're not stitching me up with that shit! It's not clean!" Ian argued, pushing himself further into the corner and cowering away from the needle.
"Do you want a potentially infected wound that is probably fixable or do you want to bleed out, Ian? There's an exit wound, so I won't have to dig out the bullet. You should be grateful," Rosie said. She grabbed a t-shirt from the closet and a wooden spoon from the kitchen. "Take off your shirt," she said, returning to Ian's corner.
Ian scoffed out a laugh. "I never thought this day would come."
"You're not funny," Rosie said, giving him a glare. He rolled his eyes and took off his shirt. "Put this in your mouth and bite down on it if you feel like screamin' to attract walkers." Rosie handed him the wooden spoon and Ian placed it between his teeth. "Ready?"
"No," Ian muttered, his words slightly muffled by the spoon in his mouth.
"Ok," Rosie huffed. She wiped away some of the blood coming from the wound in order to see better, but more blood just kept coming. She continued wiping it away until she felt like she could start on the stitches. "Never given anyone stitches before, but first time for everythin', I guess."
"Wait, maybe we should just wait and see if-"
Before Ian could finish his sentence, Rosie stabbed the needle into his skin and he let out a loud groan of pain. Rosie shushed him, but continued on sewing up his wound, anyway. She really hated this almost as much as he did. It was disgusting to see and disgusting to do, and she would rather have been doing anything else than stitching up a hole in her best friend's shoulder at that moment. Every time she stuck the needle in, he let out a repressed yell or groan of pain.
"Ian, you really gotta be quieter," Rosie muttered in a hushed tone.
"I'm trying," Ian insisted, his eyes shut tight.
"You're gonna attract somethin' here, and whether it's dead or alive, it'll fuckin' suck either way. You gotta shut up," Rosie hissed.
Despite Rosie's wishes, Ian could not remain quiet. Lucky for them, only a few walkers were nearby and made their way to the cabin only to slam on the doors aimlessly. Rosie pulled the needle through and over repeatedly until the entire wound was sewn shut. Once she was done sewing up the wound, she wrapped a strip of the t-shirt she found tightly around Ian's shoulder.
"See? Look, I'm already done," Rosie said as she finished tying up the t-shirt. Really, though, the stitches took a long time- much longer than it would have taken if she knew what she was doing. "Now you gotta clean off your face. You still got blood all over," she said, gesturing to his face.
"So do you," Ian told her, slowly and carefully pulling his shirt back as he tried his best not to move his shoulder too much.
Rosie's eyebrows furrowed and she reached up to her face, rubbing her thumb along the side of her nose. Surely enough, a bit of blood was on her thumb when she checked. "Daryl wiped it off," she said.
"Not all of it, clearly. We need to find water to get it all off," Ian said. He was about to get up so they could go, but he just leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. "Maybe we should just take a break first," he suggested.
"Yeah," Rosie agreed, taking a seat right next to him. She lifted her hand up to touch the two necklaces that hung around her neck. She ran her thumb along the lapis that Fraser had once given her, and she pressed the tip of the tooth fossil Daryl had given her against her pointer finger.
As often as you can expect, Rosie would think about what her life would be like if Daryl had always been her and Fraser's father. She thought about how much better life would probably be, but now she wondered if everything would still be bad, anyway. Daryl had hit her just like David did. Would that have ever happened if she was born a Dixon, or would it have happened anyway?
It probably would have happened anyway.
But at least if the Banks children were born Dixon children, Fraser would be there to help her with it. God, Fraser would be almost thirty at this point, wouldn't he? It would have been great to see who he would become. Maybe Rosie would be an aunt. Maybe Fraser would be a mechanic, or maybe a teacher, or maybe he'd just work at the local grocery store.
One of Rosie's favorite memories with Fraser was when they would get on the bus and ride it all the way to Virginia Beach. Fraser would hold her hand as she tried and failed to jump over the waves climbing their way up onto the beach. They would collect seashells and use their hats as buckets to carry them, and they would see who found the most. And once they counted, they would choose the prettiest five and take them home to keep.
Daryl would have liked doing that, Rosie always thought. He would probably load Rosie and Fraser into his blue truck, roll down the windows, let Fraser blast whatever music he wanted, and drive them to the beach himself. They'd sit in the sand and watch the sun go down together. Things would be better.
If only.
"Rosie," Ian said, glancing over at her.
"What?" she replied.
"You hear that?"
And, no, Rosie didn't hear that, so she shut up, furrowed her eyebrows, and tried desperately to listen. The first thing she noticed was that the walkers outside the door were suddenly quieter, which probably meant they were walking away for some reason. The second thing she noticed was that there were voices outside. Quiet, hushed, and careful.
Silently, Rosie stood up off of the floor, tiptoeing her way over to the door. She pressed herself against it, listening to the voices whilst holding the door shut.
"I heard his voice. I know it's him."
"It could be, Maggie, but we have to be more careful."
Without another second of hesitation, Rosie swung open the door and stepped outside. Standing outside were three people Rosie recognized: Negan, Maggie, and Elijah. Seeing as Rosie went outside, Ian got up to follow.
"Rosie?" Negan spoke, his eyes wide and concerned as he stared at the girl.
"Oh, my God," Maggie breathed out.
Seconds later, Ian got outside, too, his face even bloodier than Rosie's.
Maggie rushed forward, enveloping both of the teens in a big hug. Both of them grunted in pain as she did it, but tried to hide it.
"What the hell happened to you?" Negan asked the both of them, his jaw tight.
"We- we ran and they found us, and we went there and they were askin' us where you guys were and we didn't know and they- they beat us up, but Liam was there and he let us out, but when we were runnin', they saw us and they shot Ian in the shoulder, but we still got away, and I had to give him stitches, but at least we're- at least we're alive."
The other three stared at Rosie and Ian's faces, stained with blood and covered with cuts and bruises. They thought about seeing Daryl while they were hiding in that house and they thought about Daryl seeing Rosie and Ian like this. How angry he would be. It was a good thing they got out of there before he could find out and something stupid, they thought.
"Liam did this? Liam Johnson, Liam?" Maggie asked her eyebrows pinched together.
"No. He helped us get out," Ian explained, running his hand through his hair. "That asshole with the black hair beat the shit outta me."
"Carver," Rosie clarified. "That's what Liam called him."
"But Daryl had to for Rosie," Ian said, looking at Maggie.
Rosie wished he hadn't said that, but she didn't tell him not to tell anyone, so she couldn't necessarily get mad at him for it.
Everyone was silent and Rosie stared at the ground in front of her, trying to ignore the burning feeling in her eyes. No one knew what to say or how to say it. Negan was the first to do anything. He handed her a canteen full of water and a bandana without a word.
"Daryl did that?" Maggie asked, her voice making it obvious just how concerned she now was for the girl.
"He had to," Rosie insisted, her voice quiet. She gripped the bandana tightly in her hand, thinking about all of it more than she wanted to. "I don't wanna talk about it."
No one said anything else on the topic. They understood just how traumatic it must have been for Rosie, knowing how she was treated before meeting Daryl. She must have been terrified and angry and devastated by it. She must have cried for a long time. Daryl must have been feeling awful, too. They were all sure of it. So they understood why Rosie wouldn't want to talk about it.
However, Rosie couldn't stop thinking about it anymore. "I mean, he- he wouldn'ta' done it if he had the choice, right? He would've- he didn't want to do it. He hated it," Rosie said. She was telling herself that she was reassuring them, but, of course, they already knew Daryl would never intentionally hurt her. So she was really only reassuring herself of it.
Daryl, meanwhile, was back with the Reapers, and with every second he spent there, he felt overwhelmed by guilt. He could act like he didn't care about what he did or who did it to. He could pretend like he was one of them, but he couldn't get rid of the gut-churning feeling in his stomach and the way his heart pounded against his sternum every time he thought about Rosie.
He had hurt his baby. He made her bleed. He made her cry. He made her voice tremble and her hands shake. He made it so she wouldn't look him in the eye. He made it so she left out the I in I love you.
It killed him to know that she had been afraid of him, even if it was only for a few minutes.
Strangely, though, a part of him felt guilty for hating himself so strongly. Shouldn't Rosie have been the one who deserved to hate him for it? She was the one who was hurt and he was the one who had hurt her, so only she deserved to hate him, right? It felt like, somehow, by hating himself for it, he was taking that away from Rosie. But he couldn't just forget it. He couldn't stop thinking about it.
At least Rosie was away from there now. At least he wouldn't have to do it again.
But, God, what would it be like once he finally got back to her? Would she still trust him with her life? She would probably have a secret, deep-seated hatred for him and what he did.
Rosie didn't, though. She understood why he did it. As she and Ian wiped their faces clean of blood, she decided that she could never hate him. She'd love him until the day she died because all he had ever done was try to keep her as safe as she could be.
She wished she could tell him that she forgave him, but she couldn't. He was back there with the Reapers and she couldn't say anything to him. She couldn't hug him or let him wipe her face clean for her because he was still with the Reapers.
It was a strange feeling, wishing that the very man who had made her face bleed so badly would hold her, kiss her head, and make it all better. She felt like a child. That same little girl sitting around a campfire in Atlanta with Merle and Daryl Dixon, admitting to the two of them that her daddy beat her with his belt. And now here she was. Almost eighteen, Rosie Starling Dixon wiped blood and tears from her face, wondering what Daryl would say when he saw her again.
"Hey, kid," Negan's voice said as he took a seat by Rosie's side. She glanced at him to acknowledge his presence, but neglected greeting him for fear of starting to cry again. Negan rested his elbows on his knees, picking at his nails. "You know me and Daryl aren't, uh... the best of pals..."
"Yeah," Rosie scoffed. It always took everything in her not to start yelling at them every time they started bickering over something stupid, like they always did.
"Well, in my defense, he isn't the easiest to get along with. I can't even hold a conversation with the guy. All he does is grunt like some sort of rock-eating caveman," Negan said, trying to earn a laugh out of Rosie.
Rolling her eyes, Rosie forced a smirk. "He'd hold a conversation with you if ya weren't such an asshole," she said.
Negan smiled, cocked his head to the side, and licked his lips. "Yeah. You got me there," he said, glad to have got a small smile out of her. He couldn't take away the hurt, but maybe he could cheer her up a little bit.
"So is that what you came over here to say? Daryl's a rock-eating caveman and you're an asshole?" Rosie asked, glancing over at him. Somehow, she wasn't hostile with that comment. She wasn't mad or annoyed- just asking.
"No, no," Negan said with a sigh. He chewed his lip for a few moments, wondering if he should say what he was about to say. Maybe it wasn't his place, but it felt like what he should do. Rosie was hurting and he wanted to help her feel better. This was all that he could think of to do to ease her mind about everything. So, "You know, I might not like the guy, but I gotta say. He's done a decent job raising you all these years. He kept you together even when I was fucking everything up."
Rosie looked over at him with her eyebrows slightly furrowed. She agreed with what he was saying, but she never would have expected for him to admit it.
"With seeing how you two are, I can see that he loves you. Like you're his own kid," Negan said.
"I am his own kid," Rosie corrected, giving him a glare.
"Jeez. I'm trying to be nice, here. You always gotta find something to call me out for," Negan huffed, slightly shaking his head.
"Well, you always act like you don't get it. Like you don't get how he could consider me his kid or I could consider him my dad. Like we're just pretending. And I never call you out on that because, I think, you're just, like, jealous or something. But I'm sick of it and he's really sick of it," Rosie ranted, trying not to get so frustrated that her voice got loud enough for other people to listen in on their conversation.
"You and him are trying to forget that you ever had a life before he met you, and that just isn't true," Negan tried to explain.
He wanted to go on, but Rosie interrupted him before he could. "So what? It's how it is now, so what happened in the past doesn't matter," she argued.
"What David did does matter, even if it was in the past," Negan told her, his voice stern. He wanted her to understand what he was saying without her thinking he was just mad that she hadn't chosen him. "What he did still affects you and I see it every single day. Trying to pretend it never happened isn't gonna change that it did happen."
"You can pretend like you didn't kill who you did, but you still killed 'em. It's the same thing, Negan, and I ain't callin' you out for the shit you like to pretend never happened," Rosie argued, refusing to make eye contact with him.
"I think about what I did every day. You know I do. And, yeah, sure, maybe I'm just jealous or whatever you think I am, but my point is, Rosie, that remembering all the bad shit happened is important because then you can see just how much it means that he's been able to help you. He's done a fuckin' great job at being there for you while you deal with all the shit you've had to deal with, and I hope you know, like I know, that he wouldn't lay a hand on you if he had any choice in it."
Rosie finally looked at him again, her mouth slightly open. She hadn't at all expected Negan to be on Daryl's side in all of this. She thought he'd use it as a way to try and get her to hate Daryl or something. But he wasn't.
Negan was finally admitting that Daryl stepped up when no one else would. That Daryl was a good man and that he had a good heart. That Daryl deserved all the credit.
"He's a good person, Rosie. And I'm sure that what he did was for the better."
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Rosie art by mjchonnes !!!