Archive of Our Own

Glenn doesn’t want to think about what it means, when his sister doesn’t return.

He waits the first hour as calmly as he can, his three-month old nephew swaddled in his arms because the anxiety broiling in his chest is too much to let him set his tiny body down. The second hour is harder, as is the third, but—when she doesn’t return that night, when Atlanta is bombed like something out of a war film and Glenn has to shelter in the tub, his nephew’s face pressed to the drain to get whatever clean air he can while the city burns around them—when the morning dawns smoky and ashy, he forces himself to accept that she isn’t coming back. In all likelihood, Glenn’s sister is wandering the streets like all the other half-rotten things out there, his three-year old niece that she had gone to fetch the same.

He doesn’t want to think about it, but he does anyway.

He cries, smothering the sobs in one of his ratty couch pillows so he doesn’t disturb Keith, ash bitter on his tongue even with all the windows taped shut. He chokes on his own tears until he gets lightheaded and unsteady, until his vision is spotting, and the only thing that snaps him out of his spiral is Keith’s unsure cries.

It hits Glenn, low in his stomach even as he takes his first even breath in what feels like hours, that he is all Keith has. Before there had been Keith’s mother, his doting older sister, Glenn’s brother-in-law, Keith’s grandparents, but now—now people that die don’t stay dead, and all those people are gone, and Glenn is the only one left.

“Hey, buddy, easy there,” Glenn whispers, his voice hoarse and thick from his tears as he lifts Keith out of his bassinet. The little guy settles as soon as he’s being held, and when Glenn checks, his diaper is still clean.

“Maybe we’re both going to get some attachment issues out of this whole thing.” Glenn laughs, presses his lips to Keith’s tiny forehead and tries to ignore how his eyes burn anew. It doesn’t matter. His fear, his anxiety, his grief—he knows he has a right to all those feelings; he’s taken plenty of psychology courses—don’t matter when he has an infant in his arms and the undead wandering the streets; he doesn’t get the luxury to let them overwhelm them. Not like he did earlier. He can’t stop the shame that brews in his chest, the guilt at having left a three-month old unsupervised so he could have a breakdown, but—

“We’ll do just fine.” He murmurs, smiles at Keith’s sweet face. The little guy presses a hand to his chin and blinks slowly, simply pleased with being held. Glenn brushes a kiss over the two beauty marks under his left eye before crossing the front room to strap Keith into his baby sling. It settles him over Glenn’s chest, neatly swaddled and out of the way, and then Glenn gets to work.

The windows of his tiny apartment are already taped shut. He had scrambled for duct tape when he finally realized the helicopters were there to drop Napalm, not evacuate them. Now he spreads newspapers, magazines, the pages of books over his windows and tapes them down until light can’t filter out. He fills every bottle, cup, mug, and Tupperware with water from the faucets, and then starts filling buckets and bins. The electricity and water are still running but Glenn has no idea what’s been destroyed in the bombings or how long things will continue to run considering—considering everything.

He makes meals out of all the perishable foods he has and seals them in plastic baggies for the next few days, makes a baby formula sheet to start planning out Keith’s meals. It turns his stomach, when he counts how much baby formula he has. Glenn’s sister hated breastfeeding and had stocked up on powdered formula, but even this—Glenn feels like it isn’t enough. Knows they’ll run out, probably before he makes a concrete decision about what to do.

It is only Keith sleeping against his chest that keeps Glenn from yanking at his hair until his scalp bleeds.

He doesn’t know what to do—doesn’t know what’s even going on, beyond what he saw when he ventured down to the lobby of the apartment last night and this morning. The stumbling bodies resplendent in gore and covered in gaping wounds that should have killed a human. Should have kept them dead.

Glenn knows going outside is a bad idea—knows he’ll have to bring Keith, which is a worse idea—but that’s the only way he’ll be able to get supplies and start figuring out what to do. He’ll have to leave the relative safety of his apartment sometime soon. The only question is how long he’ll be able to put it off, and how well-prepared he’ll be.

“Hope you’re excited for our big move, Keith.” Glenn says, keeps his voice low even though he knows the entire floor of the apartment is empty of geeks. He had cleaned out the last one two weeks ago and keeps the exits chained shut.

Keith warbles and wiggles from where he’s on his back on the floor. He’s almost four and a half months now, bigger and more mobile, and Glenn is fervently grateful that he’s been able to watch his nephew grow even this small amount. He scoops him up and presses a kiss to each beauty mark below his eye, smiling when it sends Keith into happy squeals. If Keith wasn’t such a mild-mannered baby, Glenn knows they would both have been dead several times over in the past weeks. It’s almost funny to owe his life to a baby.

He straps Keith to his chest and gives him a binkie. Keith has taken to napping any time he’s strapped in, and the little man is conked out before Glenn finishes securing the plastic-reinforced hood to cover him up. The entire carrier has been covered in cardboard and duct tape with things like plastic trays where they’ll fit; they’re the lightest materials Glenn could find that would still hold up against the geeks for longer than a few seconds.

His own outfit is as ugly; steel-toed boots with thick working jeans tucked into them and a rain-jacket wrapped in duct-tape. The fabric is worn down and marred with gore and evidence of attempted bites, but Glenn is fastidious about his clothes; there aren’t any holes or tears where rotting fingers can catch. Despite the Atlanta heat, most of his outfits have the same modifications made to them. Duct tape applied everywhere but his joints has saved his life more than he can count.

Two bags lay on the floor by the door. One is a hiking backpack that Glenn straps to himself; inside are the essentials. Keith’s formula, diapers, and assorted supplies are stored there, as are water bottles, nonperishable food that can last Glenn a week if he’s careful, a first aid and survival kit, and blankets. The second bag is packed with Glenn’s tent, clothes, extra supplies for Keith, more medications, and lighter nonperishable foods. In an emergency Glenn can drop the duffel and still have enough to get by.

He clips his brother-in-law’s shortwave radio to his belt where a thick, short blade is also holstered and grabs his baseball bat. Glenn wants to be disappointed in how little he’s managed to acquire in the past month or so of scavenging and preparing, but if he’s honest, it’s an impressive haul. He’s almost died more times than he can count, and the scars and still-healing wounds on his body don’t let him forget how much he’s put himself through—it’s a damn good job. He knows his sister would be proud of him if she was here.

For just a moment, Glenn lets himself pull a laminated photo from his pocket and look at it. A younger Glenn and Stevannie smile broadly at the camera, faces smeared in tears as Stev holds up her Olympic gold medal. In her other hand is her beloved recurve bow; the same bow that is now propped on its stand next to the door.

“I’m gonna take care of Keith, Stev.” Glenn murmurs, drags his thumb gently along the curve of his sister’s face. “You’d call me an idiot for agonizing over this as much as I have been, but—he’s my nephew, and all I have left of you.”

Glenn tucks the picture away, double checks Keith’s harness, and then scoops up the quiver and bow. The quiver is clipped to his belt, absolutely packed with arrows and with several more stored in his duffel, and the bow is slung over one shoulder. It’s difficult to use with Keith at his chest so for now he’ll be relying on his bat.

Glenn glances around his apartment one more time. It’s always been cramped, but now it’s packed with odds and ends he’s scavenged and put to use. An entire wall is a chaotic map of Atlanta and the surrounding areas. His bed is just visible, a bare mattress pressed to Keith’s bassinet. The apartment has been the closest thing to safety that Glenn has had since the dead started walking.

“He felt in his heart cruelty and cowardice, the things which made him brave and kind.” Glenn quotes under his breath. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. One hand goes to the bottom of Keith’s carrier absentmindedly, and that is all the reminder Glenn needs.

Glenn grips his bat and opens the door.

The campground that had been sending out messages over the shortwave radio had filled Glenn with a tentative kind of hope; now, staring at the disorganization and poor defenses, he feels like a fool. It’s always too much to rely on other people; Glenn and Stevannie had learned that at a young age, and yet he’s always been the more naïve of the two. Stevannie would call him a glass half-full kind of guy.

“Is that a baby?” A tall, broad man asks, and Glenn glances at the shotgun in his hand before meeting his eyes. Behind him stands a man with a greying beard and hair, a Hispanic man, and two blonde women. All eyes are fixed on Keith and it makes Glenn twitchy.

“He’s my nephew.” Glenn says tightly. He adjusts his grip on his bat and the broad man—definitely some kind of military or police—tracks the movement. His eyes flit to the overstuffed bags at Glenn’s feet and Glenn knows what he’s going to say seconds before he does. Sometimes people are too easy.

“If you pitch in, I don’t see why you can’t shack up here.” The broad man says, and Glenn sees the way the blonde women exchange looks. A thin, older looking brunette appears behind them from the direction of the tents.

“Shane?” She asks, barely sparing a glance for Glenn until she sees the baby carrier strapped to his chest.

“You’ll have to strip so we can check you for bites,” Shane says, and then looks at the new women with a gaze that Glenn is only too familiar with. “You need something, Lori? Carl alright?”

“Carl’s fine,” Lori says, eyes fixed on Glenn. He can almost feel her boring holes through Keith’s carrier. “Is he staying?”

“We’ll see,” is all Shane says, and then he’s gesturing to Glenn, and he realizes they’re expecting him to strip right next to the fire in the middle of their camp. He sighs and drops his bags, setting Stev’s bow down gently next to the quiver and his knife. His stained bat is propped next to them.

Lori moves forward as soon as he’s opened Keith’s carrier, hands coming up as if she’s expecting him to hand over his baby, and Glenn is snarling wordlessly at her before she’s within a foot of them. The spectators all look shocked and perturbed, and Shane frowns. Lori is obviously surprised.

“I can hold your—” She starts, but Glenn is shaking his head before she finishes. He keeps hold of Keith’s opened carrier but doesn’t remove him; it’s harder to strip with one hand, but he manages, piling his clothes by his feet. It’s only when he’s down to his briefs and socks that he slips Keith from his carrier and holds him to his chest. Keith is gumming at his little stuffed wolf toy peacefully.

“That’s a lot of scars.” Shane manages to say, eyebrows high on his face. Glenn knows exactly what he looks like, with his botched suturing jobs and raised scarring. Geeks hadn’t been the only threat in Atlanta, after all.

“But no bites.” He says flatly. Behind Shane and Lori, a black man has joined the crowd, and the two blonde women are whispering to each other. This is the largest group of people Glenn has been around in weeks and it makes his skin itch. Keith, as if sensing his discomfort, halts his chewing and taps Glenn’s face with his little hand. He presses a kiss to his soft curls and shifts his weight between his feet.

“Turn around.” Shane says, tone broking no argument, and the upset looking older man finally steps forward.

“Shane, this is ridiculous. Let the boy put his clothes back on.” He urges, somehow seeming soft even with a rifle clutched in his hands. The older of the two blondes’ nods. The younger one is looking intently at Glenn, and he avoids eye contact at all costs.

“We have to be sure he’s not infected, Dale.” Shane snaps. He twirls his finger and Glenn grits his teeth, feels a muscle jump in his jaw. Still. He left Atlanta to get away from geeks and find people, and now that he’s here he doesn’t get to be choosy. He turns in a complete circle.

“What’s this little show?” An abrasive voice suddenly calls, accent and wording telling Glenn everything he needs to know about the new person. The spectators as one look more tense than they had when Glenn arrived.

“Didn’t think chinks were your type, Walsh.” A grizzled white man says, striding to the fire and dropping a string of rabbits to the ground. “Didn’t take you as no fag, either.”

“Shut up, Merle.” The older blonde woman snaps. Dale looks imploringly at Shane, but the other man hasn’t taken his eyes off Glenn.

“Leave off, Merle.” A second man says, his accent just as thick as Merle’s, but his voice is quieter. This man also drops a string of rabbits by the fire, and when he looks up their eyes meet. Glenn only sees a lovely blue for a moment before the man’s face flushes and he turns away.

“You can stay,” Shane finally announces, and Glenn rolls his eyes under the cover of getting himself dressed again. He puts Keith back in his carrier and nods at the two extra duffel bags he brought from the city.

“Everything in the two bags is up for grabs.” He says, and Merle and the other man both look up from where they’re skinning the rabbits several feet away. “There’s food, camping supplies, some clothes and toiletries, some medical supplies.”

People immediately move to the stuffed bags and Glenn uses the distraction to distance himself and circle the camp. Dale, the older man, falls into step beside him. The younger blonde woman is a few seconds behind him.

“I’m sorry about Shane,” Dale says, and he really does sound contrite. “He’s lost his sense of common decency, if he ever had it in the first place.”

“I’m Amy,” the young blonde woman says, smiling at Glenn. She probably isn’t much older than him. “Shane is an asshole, but he’s got a bunch of guns and appointed himself the leader, so we put up with him.”

“I’m not surprised at how he’s acting.” Glenn says and feels a flicker of discomfort at how hoarse his voice is compared to the others. The ash and chemicals he’s been breathing in Atlanta have given him what feels like a permanent sore throat.

“Just because it’s the end of the world doesn’t mean we have to give up on ourselves.” Dale scoffs, and Amy nods vigorously. Glenn doesn’t have a response; he knows exactly what he would have done if he didn’t have Keith and had still been trapped in the city. He knows it would be called a kind of giving up.

“Shane and Lori act like the bosses, but we’re all trying to work together.” Amy says. Her and Dale have followed Glenn over to the edge of the campsite, where the ground steepens quickly to a little ravine and creek. It’s a slightly more defensible position with a better vantage point than the crush of tents around the fire. Glenn nods to show he’s listening as he pulls out a blanket and things to change Keith’s diaper.

“Who were the others?” Glenn asks, deftly laying Keith on the ground and tugging his little pants off to get to his diaper. Keith kicks his legs viciously and Glenn can’t help his smile, as tiring as it is for his unused muscles.

“Merle and Daryl were the assholes,” Amy says, shrugging when Dale gives her an admonishing look. “Andrea is my older sister, she was the one who told Merle off, and then T-Dog and Moralles were also there. We all kind of act as the decision-making party for the group.”

Glenn wraps up Keith’s dirty diaper and sets it aside for later. He finishes putting on the new one and bundles Keith up to his chest and presses his little cheek to his face, breathing in his fresh baby smell. Both Dale and Amy are looking at him with soft expressions. For a moment, Glenn wonders when the last time they had seen children or a baby was—wonders if they had to leave behind a kid, or a niece or nephew or grandchild. He doesn’t want to know.

“Have you been moving around since this all started?” Dale asks, settling on the ground next to Glenn. Amy sits as well and wraps her arms around her knees. Glenn shakes his head.

“I’ve been in Atlanta,” he says, and Amy’s hand covers her mouth.

“Were you—” Dale starts, bushy eyebrows high on his forehead, but Amy cuts him off.

“You’ve been there this whole time? Since the start?” She asks breathlessly. Glenn nods curtly and starts brushing out Keith’s curls with gentle fingers.

“How did you survive the bombing?” Dale asks. Glenn glances around and finds several pairs of eyes on the four of them, including Daryl’s. Blood is stained up to his wrists.

“I taped the windows shut and we breathed through the bathtub drain.” He says, and Amy’s eyes widen when he says we. “My apartment building didn’t take any direct hits, but the ash and smoke were bad.”

“And you stayed there?” Dale asks. Glenn shrugs one shoulder and keeps his eyes on Keith’s round face.

“I was waiting for my sister and niece.” He says softly. “By the time I realized they weren’t coming back, half of the city was on fire and the other half was filled with things that wanted to eat me. It made sense to me to hole up for the time being.”

“You’re incredible for surviving that,” Amy says, and Dale makes an affirmative noise. “And for keeping your nephew alive, too.”

What Glenn wants to say is that Keith is the reason he’s still alive, but there’s no need to go around being that honest just yet. Instead, he shrugs a shoulder and quirks a corner of his mouth in a semblance of a smile.

“Do you need help setting up?” Someone new asks, and Glenn looks up to see the black man from earlier standing a few feet away. He’s going to guess this is T-Dog and accept his internalized assumptions if he’s wrong. Glenn glances around and nods with a sigh.

“Help with my tent would be great.” He admits, and T-Dog gives him an easy smile.

“I can hold your nephew, or Dale can,” Amy says, also smiling, and Glenn chews his lip as he thinks. He wants to get setup and settled as fast as possible, and if Amy tries something, Stev’s bow is in reach.

Glenn swaddles Keith in his blanket and carefully hands him over, adjusting one of Amy’s arms to make sure his neck is supported. It’s disorienting to see someone else holding Keith and Glenn can’t say he likes it. Keith, previously dozing off, is now wide awake and looking around with big, unsure eyes.

Vowing to stay in view of him, Glenn tugs out his tent and starts putting it up with the help of T-Dog. It’s a tent he’s used before with his sister, so it goes up easy, which is a good thing; Keith starts fussing and kicking in Amy’s arms. Glenn sweeps him into his arms and hums under his breath as soon as the tent is upright and anchored. Keith settles almost immediately.

“You got a cute kid,” T-Dog says, smiling at Keith with a bittersweet twist to his mouth. Glenn wonders who he lost.

“He’s my nephew,” Glenn says, tucking Keith a little higher onto his shoulder so he can press his face into his neck. “My sister’s youngest. He’s almost five months.”

“His name?” Dale asks, and Glenn glances up before he answers—to find Daryl still staring at him. It should put his hackles up, but instead Glenn just feels watched, like someone is protecting his back. It’s been a very, very long time since someone has covered his back.

“Keith,” Glenn says, and when his eyes start burning, he closes them. “My sister was named Stevannie. She had a three-year old named Elspeth. My brother-in-law, Sam, was one of my sister’s oldest friends.”

It’s quiet, and Glenn keeps his eyes shut and listens to the others’ breathing. It’s been so long since he heard living humans breathe. It sounds different from the geek’s odd gasps and growls. A hand settles on his forearm.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Amy murmurs. “I’m sorry for Keith’s loss, too. But he’s incredibly lucky to have you.”

Glenn wants to say that Keith would have been better off with literally any other family member. He wants to say that they all would have been better off dying before things got as bad as they are now. He wants to say that he’s considered putting a pillow over Keith’s tiny face more times than he can count, and then blowing his own brains out with the pistol tucked into his bag, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say any of that and just brushes his lips against Keith’s nose.

“If you or Keith need anything we’re all more than happy to help.” Dale says, Amy and T-Dog nodding. “One of us, Andrea, or Moralles would be the best options to go to for something, but Shane and Lori aren’t as bad as they seem. It would be better to avoid the Dixons—Merle and Daryl—and the few other people here won’t be especially helpful.”

Glenn nods his understanding and gives a half-hearted smile as the three say their goodbyes. He ducks into his tent with Keith, away from the prying eyes of the other campers, and tugs his backpack and duffel in through the entrance. He makes quick work of unpacking only the immediate essentials; the blankets he and Keith will use to sleep, and the long, slim pillows he’s taken to use to keep Keith from rolling around. In case of the worst Glenn intends to be as mobile as possible. The less packing he must do, the better.

Shane is waiting outside of his tent when he steps out again. Glenn had conceded his duct-tape jacket as the day heated up and wishes momentarily he had kept it on when Shane eyes his bare arms. They’re as pockmarked as the rest of his body.

“You hunt with that bow?” Shane asks. Glenn wants to tell him to fuck off.

“I can,” He says instead, shifting Keith where he’s pressed to his hip. “I wouldn’t call myself a hunter, though.” Shane nods.

“You’ll help with hunting duty—it’s really only Merle and Daryl, and we need more meat. Find out where they usually go and head in the opposite direction.”

Thanks, dad, Glenn thinks sarcastically, but he just presses his lips together.

“And why would they want to talk to me?” He asks. Shane narrows his eyes.

“Have they said something to you?” Shane asks. His voice is all poorly concealed annoyance.

“I don’t need them to say anything to me when one’s already called me a slur.” Glenn says evenly. Shane drags a hand down his chin and looks like this is some horrible inconvenience, and Glenn half wants to snap for the other man to go hunting himself, if it’s such a big deal.

“It’ll be fine.” Someone says, and—Daryl stands a few feet from Shane, one hand fiddling with a half-carved piece of wood. His other hand is clenched in a fist. “Merle only checks the snares. Me’n Chinaman’ll work out the huntin’.”

“I’m Korean.” Glenn says sourly. Daryl and Shane both blink at him, and this time he can’t keep from rolling his eyes. Fucking white people.

“When’s the next time you’re heading out?” Glenn asks. Daryl rolls his shoulders and seems to consider the question, glancing back at the skinned rabbits by the fire.

“Day after tomorrow.” He finally says. Glenn nods and turns back to Shane with a quirked eyebrow, but he just shakes his head and stomps off. He watches Shane disappear among the tents and then realizes that Daryl is still watching him.

“Y’said he’s your nephew?” Daryl asks, almost tentatively. Glenn inclines his head and glances down at Keith, who is dozing with a handful of Glenn’s t-shirt in his hand.

“Could I—would ya lemme hold him?” Daryl blurts out, words shoved together, and shakes his head almost before he’s done speaking. “Shit, forget it, I—”

“You can hold him as long as he doesn’t fuss.” Glenn says. He surprises himself as well as Daryl, it seems, the other man’s eyes widening. Daryl hasn’t given him any indication that he’s a person Glenn can trust with his nephew, but the honest wistfulness in his eyes when he looks at Keith is enough. It shouldn’t be, but Glenn figures that if nothing else Keith needs to get used to other people in case he dies.

Glenn sits just in front of his tent entrance and nods to the ground, Daryl dropping to sit with his legs sloppily crossed. He accepts Keith with ease and doesn’t need any help with positioning his arm to support Keith’s entire body—it seems he’s at least held a baby before. It’s a surprisingly sweet picture; Daryl, sleeveless and covered in dried blood and dirt, and Keith in his blankie.

For all that he was fussing before Keith seems only too happy to settle in Daryl’s arms. It’s more amusing than it should be, Keith settling for Daryl when he didn’t with Amy, but Glenn doesn’t bother saying something. He’s still trying to figure Daryl out, after all.

“He Korean, like you?” Daryl asks after a few moments of silence between the three of them. Glenn hums an affirmative.

“His mom was my sister; his dad was Korean and Filipino.” Glenn says. He surprises himself by continuing to speak. “My sister and I were born in Korea, but we moved here after my birth. Both my parents were Korean.”

“Y’ain’t hopin’ they’re still alive?” Daryl asks, glances up before dropping his gaze again. Glenn stretches his legs out and props himself up on his hands.

“It would be better if they were all dead.” He says. His tone comes out flatter than he intended, but Daryl doesn’t seem to take it personally. His brow furrows but he still wiggles his fingers in Keith’s grasp.

“What about your family?” Glenn asks. Daryl shrugs in a small enough motion that it doesn’t disturb Keith.

“Ma ‘n’ Pa both died a while ago.” Daryl says. A small smile appears as Keith burbles happily. “Merle’s all I got left.”

Glenn doesn’t respond to that. He doesn’t know how, truthfully, and instead just watches this stranger play with his nephew. Would Stev have let Daryl hold him? Would she have been so quick to flee Atlanta, or would she have searched for her family members’ corpses longer than the few days Glenn dedicated to it? Would it have been better for Keith to have died with his mother, sister and father?

“I gotta clean my gear.” Daryl eventually says, flicking his gaze from Keith up to Glenn. He sounds a little regretful of having to give Keith up.

“We’ll see you at dinner, then.” Glenn says eventually. He could have offered to let Daryl hold Keith again, but he doesn’t want to make any promises yet. There’s still a chance he’ll leave within the next handful of days.

Daryl hands Keith back over carefully. His bare hands drag over the inside of Glenn’s forearm and he jerks in place, eyes fixed on the raised scars and rows of black marker decorating his skin. Glenn tries not to be self-conscious about it.

“Y’kept track o’the passin’ days?” Daryl guesses after a second, pulling his hands back to his lap and tangling them together. Glenn settles Keith and nods.

“I didn’t see a reason not to.” Glenn says. He doesn’t elaborate, and Daryl doesn’t ask; the other man just nods jerkily and gets to his feet. He hesitates for a heartbeat or two but simply turns to go without any further words. Glenn isn’t surprised: the zombie apocalypse hasn’t done him any favors when it comes to socializing, either.

He spends the few hours until dinner walking around the edges of the camp, familiarizing himself with the boundaries and the quarry. He ends up giving Keith and himself a thorough bath in the freezing water. It’s a luxury they haven’t hand since the water ran out in the city. Keith is as eager to wreak havoc as ever: he slaps the water, squeals in glee over the bubbles of his body wash and kicks his legs wildly in a parody of swimming. Glenn finds himself more relaxed and content than he has been since Atlanta burned.

When it comes time for dinner Glenn makes his way over to the fire pit and settles himself down in front of a log so he can lean against it. He props a bottle of formula against a rock near the fire so it can begin to heat for Keith.

“Here’s a bowl for you.” He hears; when he looks up Amy is holding a bowl and a spoon out to him, a warm smile on her face. Glenn accepts it with a small smile and balances it on one knee to swallow a quick spoonful.

It’s not awful; the broth is watery, but the rabbit meat isn’t tough, and the vegetables aren’t too mushy. He swallows a few more quick spoonfuls before he realizes Amy is staring at him.

“Sorry, I’ve just never seen someone like the soup so much.” She says, a blush spreading across her cheekbones. Glenn shrugs.

“It’s better than most of the things that I dug out of Atlanta.” He says nonchalantly, but he sees how Amy blanches and then tries to hide her reaction. He’s going to tell her it’s fine when an older woman with shorn hair kneels in front of him.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she says. Her eyes go soft when she looks at Keith, who is entertaining himself by gumming on his wolf toy. “I’m Carol; my daughter Sophia and husband Ed are on the other side of the fire.”

“I’m Glenn,” Glenn says, and shakes the hand Carol extends. “This is Keith, my nephew.”

“He’s precious.” Carol says, reaching out with a single finger to brush an errant curl off his forehead. Keith looks up at her with his big, dark eyes, and her expression softens further.

“If you need any help, a good number of us have had children, so just ask one of us.” She says, standing and smiling. Glenn finds himself thinking of Daryl for some reason; he nods and scans the fireside once she departs, eventually finding Daryl sitting a few yards away. Daryl’s eyes are fixed determinedly on his bowl. A crossbow leans against his leg, and Glenn finds himself relieved that he’s not the only person who has their weapon with them. His bat is a familiar pressure against his side at this point.

“There’s something I want to ask you, Glenn, but I feel like it might be offensive.” Amy suddenly says. Her words are a little muffled around her mouthful of stew. Glenn hides an eye roll by reaching for Keith’s bottle and testing it against his wrist.

“If you think it’s offensive, Amy, you probably shouldn’t ask.” Andrea says. Glenn shrugs when Amy looks to him and focuses on positioning Keith to start nursing.

“You can ask, but it doesn’t mean I have to answer.” Glenn says. He glances up at her once Keith has latched onto the bottle. She stirs her spoon around her bowl for a few moments before seemingly making her mind up.

“Why do you and Keith have English names? Instead of an Asian one?” She asks. Glenn can’t help the little huff of laughter that escapes.

“We have both,” he says. “But most white people can’t say them correctly or don’t bother, so we use our Korean names within our family, and use our English names with non-Korean people. Me and my sister started doing it in grade school and just kept it up.”

A handful of people around the fire are listening now. Glenn can feel their eyes on him, and he focuses instead on Keith’s sleepy expression as he nurses. Amy makes a quiet noise of understanding.

“Would you mind telling us them?” She asks, ignoring the elbow Andrea presses into her side. Glenn repositions Keith’s bottle and shrugs.

“There’s no one left to call me by them, anyway, so I don’t see why not.” He says softly, and Amy and Andrea both freeze and stare at him.

“Oh, I didn’t even think…” Amy says belatedly. Glenn shakes his head and tries to ignore the burning behind his eyes.

“It’ll be good for Keith to have other people use his Korean name when he gets older.” Glenn says and focuses on that aspect; Glenn is the only one here who can speak Korean with him, but that doesn’t mean he’ll have to sacrifice that part of his culture.

“My full name can be said a few ways in English.” He says. “But in Korea, it would be Yi Hyun-Shik. Keith’s is Yi Hwan. My sister kept our family name.”

Glenn can see some of the others mouth their names; despite knowing that they’re most likely mispronouncing the words, a warm feeling grows in his chest at their attempts. It won’t ever be the same as hearing his family call him by his given name, but maybe this can be a close second.

Keith wiggles in his arms, seemingly done with his bottle, so Glenn props him up on his shoulder and bounces him a little, patting his back gently. Keith generally doesn’t have much spit-up, and this time isn’t an exception. Glenn is once again thankful that Keith is the most low-key baby he’s ever encountered.

“One of us can take him while you eat,” Andrea says, even though she looks at Keith with a degree of wariness. Glenn arranges Keith on his stomach along his thigh and picks up his bowl of lukewarm stew.

“We’ve both got a system in place by now.” Glenn says, though he smiles at Andrea. She smiles back and nods before carrying her empty bowl over to a few basins of water where people have already collected.

“Do we do our own dishes?” Glenn asks Amy between bites. She shakes her head and wipes at some food at the corner of her mouth.

“The younger kids cycle through who has dish duty at each meal,” she says, and Glenn nods. It certainly makes things easier for him. Doing dishes with an arm full of infant isn’t the easiest.

All too soon, he’s scraping the last of the stew out of his bowl and licking it from his spoon. While he’s managed to keep the healthy layer of fat on Keith that all babies need, he’s lost enough weight to have that sharp, half-starved look about him that he thought only existed in history books. His collarbones, ribs, and wrists all look like his skin is stretched tight over him, and his jeans barely stay up over his hipbones. With his stomach protesting the large bowl of stew, Glenn figures he might finally be able to put some of that weight back on.

He’s about to move Keith and get to his feet to drop off his bowl, but before he can—and before Amy can offer to do it for him—a pair of dusty boots stop in front of him. When he looks up, he meets Daryl’s eyes. The other man has a hand held out and a decidedly shy and cornered look about him.

“I c’n take your bowl.” He mumbles. Amy is openly gawking next to him.

Before Daryl can grow any more tense, Glenn places the bowl in his hand and mutters a quick “thank you”. Daryl nods and flushes before hurrying over to the dish basins.

“That is the first time I’ve seen him do something nice for someone unprompted.” Amy says, eyebrows still raised. Glenn snorts and hoists Keith up by his underarms, helping the baby stand. Keith throws his arms around and makes nonsensical baby noises in his glee at being so tall.

“Keith has that effect on people.” Glenn mutters, feels himself grin as Keith flaps his little hands.

“Not just Keith.” Amy says cryptically, and Glenn glances at her in confusion. Instead of elaborating she just wiggles her eyebrows and gets to her feet, stifling giggles as she crosses the campfire area. Glenn shakes his head and turns back to Keith.

“Miss Amy is quite silly, huh?” He says, smiling wider when Keith reaches out and grabs his nose. His other hand is tight around his wolf plushy which, now that he’s looking at it, is in dire need of a bath as well.

“Does his bottle need washin’, too?” Daryl asks, squatting in front of the two of them. It’s hard to make out his face with the backlighting from the fire.

“I’ll wash it separate from the other dishes.” Glenn says. Keith shoves his hand in his mouth and Glenn mock chews on it, Keith squealing in delight at the action.

Daryl tangles his hands together—evidently a nervous fidgeter, Glenn is coming to realize—and Glenn turns Keith to face the other man, his little feet propped on the crease of his hip and thigh. As soon as he sees Daryl Keith reaches out without prompting, tiny fingers eager and grasping.

Daryl obligingly leans forward to let Keith palm over his scruffy beard, bearing any yanks or grabs with surprising patience. It’s the most relaxed Glenn has ever seen Daryl (even though he’s been here for half a day, at most). Glenn doesn’t hide his smile at Keith’s antics, and even feels it grow wider when Daryl suffers a nose grab with dignity.

“We haven’t really worked on personal space.” Glenn says, half apologetically, and Daryl jerks his shoulders up.

“Babies ain’t never a bother.” He says. He lifts one hand and catches hold of Keith’s gently, fanning out the little guy’s fingers and fitting his thumb in his tiny palm. Keith grabs hold with a surprising ferocity and begins trying to jerk Daryl’s fingers back and forth. Daryl’s obvious comfort makes Glenn want to ask about his experience with babies, but he holds off; there’s no need to do anything to scare Daryl off. The man is as skittish as a deer in hunting season.

Amy settles next to Glenn again and hands over a single sugar cookie. Daryl stiffens at the intrusion but doesn’t leave, unwilling to move when Keith is holding onto him. Glenn considers it all for just a moment—considers the camp, the presence of people, the risks—and comes to a decision right then and there.

“You wanna hold him again?” He asks, shifts over so there’s more room next to him. Daryl sends a furtive look Amy’s way and then, oddly enough, to the tents, before nodding. He moves to grab his crossbow and then settles against the log. His thigh presses to Glenn’s. Neither of them moves away as Glenn hands over Keith, whose exuberance is not derailed at all at the change in person.

“What’s the chore list look like?” Glenn asks, and leaves the question open to both Amy and Daryl. He’s not surprised when it’s Amy who answers.

“Shane kind of expects everyone to pull their own weight in return for the meals,” She explains, eating her cookie in a few bites. Glenn crumbles a tiny piece off and puts it in his mouth, the intense sugar making his nose wrinkle.

“We have laundry duty, watch, hunting, meals, and radio.” Amy ticks each one off on a finger. “Shane’s been wanting to go into the city for supplies for a while now, but until you arrived no one’s made it out after the bombing.” Glenn sees Daryl go still out of the corner of his eye.

“He’s put me on hunting,” Glenn offers. Amy nods.

“You’re free to help with any of the camp duties but watch and hunting are going to be the only mandatory ones for you, I think.” Amy chews her lip for a few seconds before speaking. “If Shane asks you to make a supply run into the city, will you go?”

Glenn considers the question for a few moments. Daryl has resumed playing with Keith, but his head is angled towards Glenn and Amy, as if he’s interested in the answer. Andrea, on the other side of Amy, seems to be listening as well.

“I would be going by myself.” Glenn says slowly. “Keith would have to stay here.”

The idea of having a greater access to supplies isn’t a bad thing. Even leaving Keith here with someone isn’t what makes him hesitate the most—he’s thrown his lot in with the quarry camp, like it or not. He could trust Amy and Dale to watch Keith, or even Daryl. It’s the idea of going back into the city that makes him halt. When he looks down at his lap, his hands are curled into fists. A large purple scar stretches over his knuckles. He can’t remember how he got it.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Amy starts to say, tone nervous and unsure, and Daryl interrupts them before Glenn can say anything.

“Wouldn’t make you go alone.” Daryl says, his tone harsh enough that it is almost discrediting. Keith has wobbled closer to Daryl during the conversation and is now plastered against his chest, each hand grasping his sleeveless shirt. His head is turned so he can see Glenn.

“It’d be easier if I went alone. I can move fast and quietly.” Glenn says. He leans further back into the log and considers it seriously; would the reward be fair to the risk he’d endure? Worst case scenario ends with him bitten, dying, and Keith totally alone in the world. With them a part of the camp now, though, Keith isn’t alone in a worse case scenario. So truly it’s up to what Glenn is willing to risk.

“I’ll see what supplies people want and how desperate they are for them before I make any decisions.” Glenn finally says. Amy assures him that his choice is reasonable, but Glenn is more focused on how Daryl relaxes a little at his words. It’s interesting. Glenn is starting to get the inkling of an idea in his head and at first glance it’s laughable, but—he’ll just have to see.

The warmth of the fire is blocked by a tall, broad figure, and when Glenn looks up, he sees Shane standing in front of them. He’s openly staring at Daryl with an incredulous expression. It makes Glenn want to stand in front of the other man and his nephew.

“Yes?” Glenn asks, reaching his hand out to cover one of Keith’s. It has him resting it on Daryl’s tense shoulder, but he ignores that. Shane’s eyes follow the movement.

“You and Daryl are off watch tonight. You’ll each have it during the day tomorrow and then be off during the following night, since you’re going out hunting. Sounds good?” Shane says. Glenn hums an affirmative and Daryl gives a curt nod. He departs with one last look at Daryl, and Amy sighs.

“Asshole,” she mutters, and Glenn and Andrea both snort at that.

“He’s just a grumpy old man, isn’t he, Keith?” Glenn says to his nephew, only lifting his hand when Shane has settled on the other side of the fire with Lori and a young boy. He’s close enough to Daryl to feel his shoulders shake a little with laughter. Keith is half-asleep against Daryl’s chest. Glenn hands half of his cookie to Daryl, who eats it without question, and hands the other half to Amy.

“I’m gonna go and set him down to sleep.” Glenn says eventually. Amy is leaning into Andrea’s side, half asleep herself. “I still need to wash his bottle.”

Daryl gets to his feet when Glenn does, careful to avoid jostling Keith, and then hands over the sleeping baby. He stoops to grab Keith’s bottle and nods for Glenn to go on, who does without complaint. He’s not going to make a big deal about Daryl carrying a dirty bottle for him.

Glenn checks to make sure the tent is still secure at all the anchorage points and the fabric has no tears before settling Keith down between his pillows. He strips off his little pants so he can sleep in just his diaper and shirt, grabs a few things from his bags, and then crawls back to the entrance where Daryl is standing awkwardly.

“I just need to boil some water to wash out the bottle.” Glenn says. He sets up the little camping stove he uses exclusively for this purpose and puts on a pot of water that he brought up from the lake earlier. Daryl settles by his side and passes over the bottle.

They sit in the near silence. The campfire flickers between tents and throws light over them like the scattering of leaves. In one moment, Daryl’s eyes are fixed on Glenn—the next, they are turned away. Glenn doesn’t try to fill the silence.

The water boils; Glenn takes it off the camp stove and lets it cool, touching with a finger after a while to see if he can stand it. Once it’s cooled enough, he uses his fingers to scrub at the bottle and nipple. He sets them both upside-down to dry and stows the camp stove and pot inside the entrance of the tent.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Glenn says carefully, voice curving too much into a question; Daryl just nods and gets to his feet. He disappears into the dark, but Glenn sees the single look he throws over his shoulder.

Glenn sleeps with one hand on Keith’s little chest and his bat in the other.

Glenn takes his watches; goes hunting with Daryl; does his own laundry; helps cook a meal every few days. He only lets a few people watch Keith for him; Amy and Daryl, and Jacqui when the other two aren’t available. Carl, Lori’s son; Sophia, Carol’s daughter; and Eliza, Moralles’ oldest girl, have all come to ask to hold Keith, which Glenn allows with close supervision.

Shane asks him about supply runs a week after they arrive.

“What kinds of things are you asking me to get?” Glenn asks, looking up at Shane from where he’s checking the shape of Stev’s bow. The other man hands over a list; canned foods, a medication for Sophia, pads and tampons, general antibiotics as well as wound dressings, any weapons he comes across including specific ammunition, salt, socks in various sizes, cutlery. It’s not a long list, but it’s also not particularly short.

“We’ll send someone in to watch your back and help carry it all.” Shane says, but Glenn shakes his head as he folds up the list and stows it in his pocket. He checks the position of the sun and stands.

“I need to be quiet and fast, and I can’t trust anyone else will manage that.” He says. Shane lifts his eyebrows and shifts his stance.

“Not even Daryl?” He asks, and Glenn narrows his eyes at him.

“Daryl is going to be watching Keith, since Amy is doing laundry today.” He says. He brushes past Shane and heads for his tent, where his duct-tape jacket and other weapons are stowed. Keith doesn’t wake from his nap in his harness against Glenn’s chest.

“Look, kid, I’m not trying to tell you what to do—” Shane starts, dogging his steps, and Glenn doesn’t turn to look at him.

“Then don’t,” he says flatly over his shoulder. It doesn’t deter the other man.

“—but the Dixons are best to avoid, not entrust an infant to.” Shane reaches out to grab Glenn’s arm and he whirls around, surprising Shane into stopping.

“Daryl is going to be relieved of any duties he has today, and he’s going to watch my nephew, or you won’t be getting your supplies.” Glenn snaps, fingers toying with the fletching of his arrows at his waist, and Shane swallows his complaints with a sour face.

“If that’s what you want.” He says. He holds out an empty duffel bag to Glenn before leaving, stomping away like a child, and Glenn rolls his eyes.

He grabs what he needs from his tent and then sets off towards Daryl’s tent, a few dozen yards along the outskirts of the camp. Daryl is sitting outside and scrubbing something in a basin of soapy water; Merle is nowhere to be seen.

“I need you to watch Keith for me.” Glenn says, stopping in front of the other man.

“Ain’t no damn babysitter,” Daryl says, though he doesn’t sound particularly angry. Glenn sets his things down and starts unclipping Keith’s harness.

“You are today,” Glenn says, still snappish from interacting with Shane. “I’m making a run into Atlanta.” Daryl’s head shoots up and he stares at Glenn.

“Who’re you takin’, if I’m watchin’ the kid?” He asks. Glenn gives him a sour look.

“I’m better off on my own.” He says, pulling the harness from his chest. He gestures to Daryl to stand.

“Y’ain’t goin’ alone,” Daryl snarls as he stands. Glenn steps into his space and starts briskly attaching the harness, which delays Daryl long enough for Glenn to speak.

“You need to stay and watch Keith, and if I bring someone else, they’re just going to get me killed.” Glenn says, feels his mouth go tight with irritation as he straps Keith to Daryl. He keeps talking before Daryl can get a word in.

“His bottle is already made for later, just add water and heat it up. Test it on the inside of your wrist. Check his diaper every once in a while to see if it needs changing; if you can’t figure something out, go to Carol or Moralles’ wife.” Glenn gives the sling a once over and determines it to be good. It would be a funny picture, if Glenn wasn’t in such a bad mood: Daryl, fists clenched and mouth white in anger, and a little sleeping baby strapped to his chest.

“Shane should have cleared you from any tasks you were assigned. I’ll be back by tomorrow morning at the latest. If I don’t make it back in three days, I’m not coming back.” Glenn says. He stoops to press a kiss to Keith’s downy head and then gathers his things from the ground, slinging his jacket on and his empty duffel over his shoulder.

“Now hold on a fuckin’ minute, kid—” Daryl growls, reaching for his arm. Glenn yanks it out of reach but Daryl just follows him, big hand wrapping around his hipbone and squeezing enough to stop him.

“If you want me back before nightfall—” Glenn starts, dropping his hand to his knife, and Daryl bats his hand away and gets a fistful of his shirt. The other man is as close to him as he can get with Keith’s carrier in the way.

“You listen to me, Korea,” Daryl snarls, face twisted up in anger and something else. “If things get ugly, you cut ‘n’ run, got it? I ain’t never had a kid ‘n’ I’m not startin’ with yours.”

It’s enough to startle a laugh out of Glenn, and he relaxes in Daryl’s grip. It mollifies the older man somewhat, and Glenn catches Daryl’s hand in his. His other hand is still hot on his hip.

“I have no intention of leaving you two on your own,” Glenn says, and he could bite back the fondness melting into his voice, but—Daryl’s eyes soften at the corners. He nods and steps back after a moment or two and Glenn gives him a wider grin. Again, he steps forward to press a kiss to Keith’s head, who is unwillingly awake and very grumpy from the commotion. After a second of consideration, he lunges to his toes and presses a kiss to Daryl’s cheekbone.

“I’ll find you something nice.” He says, voice a little teasing and a lot sweet, and Glenn watches Daryl’s entire face flush a bright red.

 There’s maybe twenty minutes of light left when Glenn makes it back to the quarry camp. He’s filthy and tired, two hulking bags over his back, and the long scratch on his hip has yet to stop bleeding. He pointedly does not think about low iron counts or decreased platelets.

“Glenn! Glenn’s back!” Comes the yell, and Glenn wonders who put Amy up on the RV with the rifle when she had admitted to not knowing how to fire a gun. He can’t help his small smile, though, when several people appear from between the tents and hurry over to him. Even if it’s just for the supplies.

“Oh, you’re bleeding—” Carol says breathlessly, just as Shane shoves himself to the front of the group.

“That a bite, boy?” He demands, hand tightening around his perpetual shotgun, and Glenn’s mild good mood disappears.

“Does it look like a bite to you?” He snaps, shoving off a questing hand. “I’m not your boy, either, 미친놈.”

“The fuck did you say to me?” Shane immediately bristles, stepping forward into Glenn’s space. Glenn has to tilt his head back to make eye contact.

“Drop it, Shane,” Lori says, glancing around nervously. A few more people have trickled from the tents. Amy is still on the RV, and even from here he can see how she’s nervously clutching the rifle, the barrel pointing too close to her face.

“He doesn’t get to—” Shane starts, but a familiar voice cuts him off. Glenn can’t help his tired smile.

“Back yerself up ‘fore I do it for you.” Daryl snarls. His crossbow is up against his shoulder, already loaded. Glenn can just barely see Keith’s head in the carrier; it’s craned around like Keith knows he’s there.

Shane spits on the ground but takes a few furious steps back, jaw tight and muscle jumping. Glenn drops the two bags to the ground and squats with a groan.

Anything he got specifically for himself and Keith (and Daryl, and Amy, and Andrea and Dale and T-Dog—) is in the smaller of the bags, but Glenn double checks he has everything he wants before leaving the overfilled bag on the ground. He heaves himself up with a hand to the base of his aching spine.

“Everything on your list is in there, plus anything I could grab that seemed useful.” He says tiredly. The looks directed his way are a mixture of awe and gratitude. Shane gives him a begrudging nod and Glenn rolls his eyes as he heads over to Daryl and Keith.

“Scraped it on a nail.” Glenn says before Daryl can ask, standing still as the other man tugs his shirt up and eyes the long line of the injury. Keith wiggles madly in his carrier and Glenn leans forward to give him a kiss. When he lifts his head, he sees Merle standing on the edge of the camp, some kind of ugly and twisted expression on his face as he stares at the three of them. He turns and disappears into the brush before Glenn can say anything to Daryl.

“Lay down and lemme get a good look at that,” Daryl says, grabbing a belt loop on Glenn’s jeans and dragging him over to his tent. Glenn tosses aside his heavy bag inside the entrance and drops onto his side on the blankets with a groan. His back feels like one slowly unwinding knot.

“On your back, kid, c’mon.” Daryl says, rustling around in the other bags. Glenn can hear the buckles of Keith’s carrier being undone and he forces himself to roll onto his back, wiggling out of his dirty duct-tape jacket just as Keith is held out to him.

“Did my sweet boy behave?” Glenn murmurs, taking Keith into his arms and smiling at the happy noises Keith makes. His nephew presses their faces together and grabs at Glenn’s hair and shirt, little feet drumming against his chest.

Rough fingers brush against his belly, tugging his shirt up and then moving to his jeans. There’s a beat or two of hesitance, a thumb pressed to his hipbone, before the hands finally move again and undo his zipper and button briskly. The tops of his jeans are folded down, his wound open to the air.

“Don’t look like it needs stitches, but it’ll heal faster if I give y’some.” Daryl says, fingers skating around the tender skin, and Glenn blinks his eyes open. He doesn’t remember closing them. Keith is snuggled tightly into his neck.

“Just suture it. My backpack has a kit.” Glenn says, focusses on speaking clearly. He braces Keith with one hand and reaches the other down to push his jeans onto his thighs, giving Daryl more space, and then tugs his shirt up to sit just below his ribs. Glenn bunches some blankets under his head so he’ll be able to see what Daryl’s doing without killing his neck.

Daryl sets the bulging first aid kit on the ground by Glenn’s hip. He’s clearly patched someone up before; he wipes down the wound and the area around it, opens the suture kit and dressing package, and then wipes down his own hands with an alcohol wipe.

“Smack me if y’need a break.” Daryl mutters. Then he gets to work.

Glenn makes himself focus on Keith’s warm weight on his chest instead of the pinching and tugging over his hip. The entire area burns, stretched and irritated from running around in heavy jeans after he cut it open, and Glenn catches himself chewing his lip ragged.

“How’d y’do it?” Daryl asks after the fifth suture. Glenn sighs.

“Was crawling through the ceiling of a gun shop. The bags were almost full, so I was dragging myself and them along. Caught the wrong end of the nail.” He says. He’s tired enough his words drag together, and he thinks he’s imagining it when a warm hand caresses his belly. Daryl’s ire seems to have worked itself out; his movements are less jerky, less aggravated. He’s straight up gentle when he ties off the tenth suture and tapes a dressing over the injury.

“The kid ate just before you showed up. Get changed while I grab yer bowl.” Daryl says, jostles Glenn’s shoulder gently when all he gets is a sleepy hum. Glenn pulls himself upright reluctantly and sets Keith down between his pillows so he can strip.

He’s moving slow enough that Daryl is back with two bowls before he’s got his shirt the rest of the way off. His jeans are puddled by the entrance, waiting to be cleaned tomorrow, and Daryl snorts at him before helping to send his shirt the same way. He wolfs down the bowl while in his underwear, eating fast enough that he can’t really taste the food, and then strips off his briefs as well. Glenn is more focused on digging a clean pair out of his bag, but he doesn’t miss how Daryl keeps glancing at him and then looking away.

“Why th’fuck you got panties?” Daryl asks incredulously when Glenn drags his new underwear over his thighs.

“They’re comfortable?” Glenn says, surprised by the reaction—Glenn had figured the underwear were a pretty conservative cut, but then again, they were clearly not briefs or boxers, and he clearly had a penis.

Daryl stares at the low-slung lines of the underwear for a few long moments, bowl of food forgotten in his hand, and Glenn watches as the other man’s face flushes slowly but surely a bright red. His eyes are practically glued to the line of his dick through the fabric.

Glenn wants to say something—maybe ask if the other man likes them, or if he looked better with them off, but something like that would undoubtedly end in shouting and Daryl avoiding him until his anger and embarrassment faded. Glenn just mentally shrugs and grabs a clean t-shirt to pull over his head. He’ll go without sleeping in pants to try and give his new wound a break.

“I’ve got some things for you in here,” Glenn says, pulling the duffel bag between his legs. Daryl’s head jerks up.

“I didn’t have nothin’ on the list,” he says, and Glenn shrugs as he starts rifling through the bag.

“I saw some things I thought you’d like, so I grabbed them.” He says and starts handing over items before Daryl can protest further. There’s a handful of crossbow bolts that Glenn’s pretty sure are the correct size; a paring knife and whetstone; a bandana, because Daryl’s red one is in tatters; thick hiking socks. The items gather in Daryl’s lap and the man just stares at them, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

“If you don’t want any of it, I’ll take it or give it to someone else,” Glenn says offhandedly, tugging his and Keith’s things out of the bag; more clothing and reusable diapers for Keith; several small Tupperware for baby food; a few colorful wooden blocks; two rolls of duct tape; general vitamins; a few pairs of underwear (men’s and women’s) and socks; deodorant. He’s sorting them into his backpack or his other bag when strong hands catch him around the waist and drag him sideways into Daryl’s chest.

“Daryl?’ Glenn asks, half-alarmed, and the other man shakes his head where it’s buried in Glenn’s neck.

“No one’s ever bothered,” is all Daryl says, voice thick and low in Glenn’s ear, and Glenn finds that he understands with a sad tugging feeling in his stomach. He wraps his arms around Daryl’s shoulders as best he can while splayed awkwardly across his lap. One hand ends up at the base of Daryl’s neck and scratches gently through his hair.

Daryl only takes a few moments before pulling back and rubbing at his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. Despite his blush and the embarrassment clear in his eyes, he carefully helps Glenn back over to his little tangle of blankets and checks that the sutures hadn’t given under the sudden movement.

“I’ll give that a look over tomorrow mornin’.” Daryl says gruffly, nodding to his hip. Glenn stretches out over his blankets and gives a sleepy nod, jaw popping as he yawns. Keith is still asleep between his pillows and Glenn’s gore-stained bat and knife are in easy reach.

Daryl fiddles with the new bandana for a moment before leaning over Glenn to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead. He stalls instead of pulling back, looking down at Glenn with intense, unreadable eyes. His lower lip is caught between his teeth.

“Goodnight,” Glenn whispers, fighting to keep his eyes open. A small close-mouthed grin crooks the corner of Daryl’s mouth, and he leans down, pressing his lips to the curve of Glenn’s cheekbone.

“Night,” he says, blushing madly and avoiding eye contact as he flees the tent. It’s enough for Glenn to doze off with a smile on his lips.

A twig snapping underfoot is enough to startle Glenn awake. He has his knife in his hand, half out of the sheathe, before he even sees the figure illuminated against his tent by moonlight. For a few moments he can’t breathe; wondering if it’s a geek, if the camp is finally no longer safe, if he’s going to have to fight his way out of here—

But then fingers are fiddling with the zipper, and Glenn’s fears do a one-eighty. Geeks aren’t dexterous enough to open a tent zipper. His hand tightens around the knife handle and tugs it further from the sheathe.

“Glenn?” Comes a hoarse whisper, the tent entrance open enough for a person to enter, and Glenn scrambles for the tiny camping lantern he has next to his blankets. Daryl’s face is illuminated in the dim light and Glenn bites back a noise of surprise.

“What the fuck happened?” He hisses, reaching forward to drag the other man into the tent. Daryl’s face is a bloody mess—a split lip, blackening eye, blood staining his mouth and chin from a busted nose. His eyes are wide and lost, and Glenn feels sick to his stomach.

“Merle,” Daryl says, chokes on the word. His hands are curled limply in his lap. “Merle left, he—I didn’t—”

Glenn yanks Daryl closer to him, knife discarded in his bed. He catches Daryl’s head between his hands and peers at his eyes, tries to see a difference in pupil size indicating severe head trauma. Daryl’s eyes focus on him desperately.

“What happened with Merle?” Glenn asks, reaches blindly for his first aid kit. The blood is flaky and dry, so it’s been some time since he was injured—did they fight? What did Daryl do before coming here?

“Wanted t’leave, said we were better on our own.” Daryl says. His voice has evened somewhat. “I said I was only gonna go if you ‘n’ Keith came along.” That stops Glenn in his tracks, and he blinks at Daryl.

“Merle said he’d—said he’d kill you ‘n’ Keith ‘fore he let you tag along.” Daryl’s voice breaks and he takes a tremulous breath, shakes his head. His voice is firm and sounds almost normal when he speaks again.

“I told ‘im I’d put a bolt in his head ‘fore I let him touch either of you.” His gaze is resolute when he meets Glenn’s eyes, but Glenn can still see the anguish in his eyes—Merle was all he had left, his only family member, and he just left.

Glenn gives up on the first aid kit for the moment and wraps his arms around Daryl’s back, hauling him between his spread legs. One of his hands returns to the back of his head to pet through his hair.

“Thank you for not leaving us behind,” Glenn whispers, squeezes his eyes shut against the burn he feels there. Daryl seizes him in his arms tightly and hunches over him, breathes rough and hitching.

“He left me again, he left me—” Daryl mumbles, lips pressed to Glenn’s neck, and the still lingering confusion in Glenn’s stomach ignites into rage.

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Glenn snarls, tightens his grip when Daryl jerks in his arms. “He’s an idiot and worthless if he chose his stupid prejudices against you, if he was willing to leave you behind for any reason—”

Daryl wrenches free and stares at Glenn, mouth working furiously even though no words emerge. Glenn slips the hand in his hair around to cup his cheek, drags his thumb over the mole next to Daryl’s nose.

“It’s his loss, Daryl.” Glenn says softly. Daryl’s mouth tightens until his lips go white and he turns his face away but doesn’t shake off Glenn’s hand or get up.

“You chose me and Keith, and I promise that we’ll always choose you, too.” Glenn says, and that gets Daryl to look back at him. Both eyes would be wide if one wasn’t almost swollen shut.

He’s half-expecting the kiss, when it comes, but it still surprises him when Daryl presses their lips together. The taste of blood slips into Glenn’s mouth and he ignores it. The kiss is chaste and short, Daryl pulling back and staring at Glenn with wild eyes. Despite the desire to flee that Glenn can almost feel emanating from the other man, Daryl’s arms stay around him, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other just above his tailbone.

“Let me clean you up?” Glenn asks evenly, doesn’t let the warmth and delight unfurling in his chest show in his voice. Daryl seems to settle a little at moving on and nods, pulling the first aid kit over but not moving from between Glenn’s splayed legs.

Glenn sticks a butterfly suture over Daryl’s lip and the cut over the bridge of his nose and feels carefully around his eye to locate any broken bones. Daryl reluctantly tugs up his shirt on one side so Glenn can see his bruised ribs; he doesn’t comment on the scars and instead carefully palpates the bones, pleased when he doesn’t feel any breaks.

“Stay in here?” Glenn asks, hands on Daryl’s hips. The other man’s jaw tightens, and he doesn’t respond for several long moments, but he eventually nods.

“Lemme get some things.” He mumbles, thumbing at his lip. Glenn tugs his hand away and sits back as Daryl ducks out of the tent.

He checks on Keith quickly before rearranging the nest of blankets to provide room for Daryl. He finds his unsheathed knife and tucks it under his pillow, propping his bat next to the entrance. The tent isn’t especially large but Daryl should still be able to fit with the two of them.

Daryl slips back inside and sets down a surprisingly small number of things. His crossbow goes next to the blankets, as does a flashlight and knife of his own. A sleeping bag is the only other thing he has; he unzips it and works around Glenn to provide another level of padding between them and the ground.

Glenn lays back and watches him, poking at his hip to check his sutures. Once Daryl is satisfied, he ensures the tent is closed up tight and then turns off the lantern, sending the tent into darkness. There’s the sound of shuffling and then fingers brush along the side of Glenn’s bare thigh. Daryl snatches them away but Glenn just reaches out for him and guides him to the blankets.

Daryl settles down on the bedding with one hand pressed to Glenn’s chest. His breathing still hitches occasionally, movements hesitant, but Glenn ignores it. He knows Daryl wouldn’t appreciate him pointing it out. Instead, he urges Daryl a little closer and turns onto his side so he can face the other man.

“Go t’sleep,” Glenn mumbles, shoving his face into his blankets. Daryl makes a snorting noise but seems to relax, his hand on Glenn’s chest sliding over to curve around his ribcage. Glenn only stays awake long enough to tangle his fingers in Daryl’s shirt.

Glenn wakes up to Daryl pressed along the line of his back. Soft snores rumble through the other man’s chest and Glenn can’t help the little laugh he smothers in his hand. It’s barely begun lightening outside—Keith is still snoozing happily, Daryl holding him to his chest like he expects him to disappear overnight.

It’s enough to remind him of what happened last night; Glenn hopes, for Merle’s sake, that they never meet. He won’t hold himself responsible for what he does to the other man.

“What’re y’gigglin’ ‘bout?” Daryl slurs, arm tightening around Glenn’s belly. Glenn idly stretches and feels the other man’s morning wood press into his lower back. Daryl doesn’t say anything about it, so Glenn doesn’t either.

“Nothing funny.” Glenn murmurs, unwilling to wake Keith yet. He turns his head and gets Daryl’s whiskery cheek nuzzled into his. The hand on his belly slips lower and tucks under his shirt, a thumb rubbing arcs just under his belly button. Then Daryl’s entire body goes stiff and still.

Glenn wants to speak, wants to reassure Daryl, but he doesn’t know what the man needs—is he having a crisis about his sexuality? Is he remembering that Merle left last night? After a few seconds, though, Daryl relaxes and tucks the tip of his pinky and ring finger into Glenn’s underwear.

“Good?” Glenn asks, covers Daryl’s hand with his own. Daryl’s body shudders behind him with a long sigh, but eventually Glenn feels lips pressed to his neck and the nod of Daryl’s head.

“All good,” he mumbles. Glenn hides his smile in the blankets.

“Merle’s gone.” Daryl says flatly to Shane. He spits off to the side and ignores how most of the people in the camp gawk at his bruised face. Shane glances between him and Glenn, who stands a few feet off bouncing Keith in his arms.

“You didn’t go with him.” Shane says, not quite a question, and Daryl shifts in clear irritation.

“Look like I did?” He snaps. He shoves by the other man and looks to Glenn, who’s already stepping with him to the fire. The beautiful smell of pancakes fills the air.

“I can’t thank you enough for getting the pancake mix, Glenn.” Lori says, handing over mismatched cutlery and a few flat pancakes. He shakes his head and takes his plate with a smile, Daryl doing the same with an unenthused grunt.

They sit together on an isolated log where Glenn can lean the bottle of formula to cool. Daryl had gone down to the quarry to get water to boil and then add to the powder, instead of waiting for the water to heat by the fire. Glenn shreds a few tiny bites of pancake to offer to Keith, who eats them eagerly once he figures out that they are, in fact, food.

Daryl finishes eating and sets his plate aside to grab the bottle. Once he’s tested the milk against his wrist he takes Keith from Glenn and gets him situated to nurse, letting Glenn finish eating his pancakes in relative peace. Movement has Glenn lifting his head and making eye contact with Amy, who is gesturing violently for him to go over to her. He sighs.

“Be right back,” he says, bussing Keith’s cheek. Daryl grunts but still brushes the back of his fingers along Glenn’s arm as he grabs Daryl’ plate.

“Why did I see Daryl come out of your tent this morning?” Amy hisses, eyes practically sparkling. Glenn tries to keep his shoulders from creeping up around his ears.

“Tell the entire camp, why don’t you,” he grumbles. It’s not like he’s particularly embarrassed about being queer, or people assuming he’s queer; it’s more how Daryl would react if someone brought it up with him.

“Glenn, I’m being serious!” Amy insists, the two of them stepping up to the wash basins.

“Oh, that’s a first,” Dale says, casually butting into the conversation. Glenn can’t help his laugh at Amy’s outraged expression.

“Don’t be too mean to her, Dale,” Andrea says, her tone teasing. “You know she can’t defend herself.”

That sends Dale into peels of laughter and starts Amy off yelling, but Glenn feels like he’s swallowed ice water.

Amy can’t defend herself. The kids in the camp, most of the women, some of the men—they can’t defend themselves. Hell, Shane probably thinks using a gun is a good idea. Daryl and Glenn are the two most reliable defenders of the camp, in all likelihood.

“Glenn? You alright?” Andrea asks, her hand on Glenn’s shoulder startling him. He blinks at her. He can’t help but picture her as a geek; eyes cloudy, teeth clicking in a parody of bites, a gruesome wound set in the arch of her pale neck.

“I need—I—” He stutters, tries to get himself under control. Amy and Dale are watching him with concern now. “I need to talk to Shane.”

He shoves the plates into Andrea’s hands and whirls, crossing the campfire area as quickly as he can dodge around the throngs of people present. Everywhere he looks, he sees a meal for a geek. Sophia, Carl, T-Dog, Carol, Moralles—everyone he passes turns to the walking dead before his eyes.

“Shane,” Glenn says half breathlessly, coming to a stop in front of him. Lori is eating beside him. “We need to teach everyone how to fight off a geek.”

“What’s a geek?” Carl asks from behind Glenn, but Shane is staring at Glenn like he’s never seen him before.

“The kids and women too, none of them—they don’t know how to defend themselves.” Glenn says, insists, and Shane’s cheeks have a pale cast to them.

“How the fuck did I not think of that.” He murmurs. Lori looks back and forth between the two of them wildly.

“There aren’t enough guns,” she says, and Glenn shakes his head furiously.

“I survived a month in Atlanta with a baseball bat and a six-inch knife.” He says. “Guns only attract more geeks. We don’t even have to teach how to kill one, just—how to slow them down, get some more time.”

Shane nods and drags a hand over his mouth. He glances at Lori and Carl, and then looks around the camp; his eyes jump from every single person before landing back on Glenn.

“We’ll start today,” he says. Glenn feels his knees go weak from the relief of not being dismissed. “I’ll give everyone basic gun lessons, and you’ll tell us how you do things. Everyone except watch. Chores’ll wait ‘till after lunch.”

Glenn nods furiously and drags a hand through his hair. The pancakes sit heavy in his stomach, leaden weight from the surge of panic and fear he had felt.

“Glenn?” Amy calls from beside Daryl. Glenn waves her off and jogs over, accepting Keith and swinging him up to his chest. He presses his nose to his curls and tries to settle his breathing.

“The hell was that about, Korea?” Daryl asks, voice tight. When Glenn looks at him he can see how uncertain he is; weight balanced to move quickly, eyes darting to Amy and back to Glenn. He doesn’t know how welcome he is.

“I realized that most people here have no idea how to protect themselves from the geeks.” Glenn says, tries for a wobbly smile. He smooths his hand up and down Keith’s back to hide his trembling. “The watch is good and all, but if one gets into camp—”

“Y’were tellin’ Shane?” Daryl asks, shifts a step closer. His eyes keep flicking from Amy’s concerned face to Glenn’s. Glenn feels himself give in and move forward, pressing his arm and side to Daryl’s. The other man immediately relaxes beside him.

“We’re going to teach people how to slow them down, how to fight one if they get cornered.” Glenn explains. He turns to Amy and ducks his head a little.

“Sorry for running, I just heard Andrea say you couldn’t defend yourself and I—” Glenn starts. Amy shakes her head almost immediately and cuts him off.

“You were understandably freaked, no, I get it now.” She says, darts her eyes to Daryl before stepping forward and resting a hand on Glenn’s forearm. “I’m looking forward to the self-defense, actually.”

Glenn is opening his mouth to respond when Shane climbs up the ladder of the RV. T-Dog does a double take when Shane stops at the edge instead of relieving him from watch.

“Listen up,” Shane says, and he doesn’t even need to raise his voice to get people to quiet down. “Glenn brought up a very important fact that I had foolishly overlooked. Most of y’all haven’t handled a weapon before, and don’t know how to take down a walker. Now, I don’t like that much—so this morning we’re gonna run through how to slow a walker down, how to kill one, with and without a gun. The only chore will be watch. Got it?”

There are hesitant murmurs of agreement before Moralles’ wife steps forward, hand holding tight to her youngest child’s hand.

“Even the children?” She asks, glancing around. Shane scuffs his boot against the edge of the RV and spits.

“God forbid they face one on their own, but they should at least know how to improvise a weapon and slow them down.” Shane says, nods when a few people agree out loud. Glenn can see Carol clutch Sophia closer to her side.

“Dishes and other chores will wait ‘till lunch. Dale will take watch and get relieved then. I’ll take one group and go over the basics of using a gun, Glenn will take the other group and cover closer combat.” Shane concludes. Dale moves towards the RV as Shane and T-Dog start down the ladder. Daryl’s hand slips over Glenn’s hurt hip and traces the outline of the bandage.

“How many walkers you take down?” He asks quietly. Glenn shrugs and absently smiles as Keith tugs at his hair.

“Never really kept track after the first few days.” Glenn says, half-remembering. “In the beginning I almost couldn’t believe it, every time I survived, but I guess I got used to it fast.”

Around them people began splitting into two groups, family and friends trying to stay together where they can. Shane is circling the campfire to make sure each group is relatively equal in number. Glenn turns to Daryl and the other man instantly focuses on him; it’s enough to make him blush.

“You’re gonna stick with me?” He asks. Daryl nods and smooths down a few of Keith’s errant curls.

“Can give some advice, if y’want.” He says. “Can also watch Keith for you.”

Glenn feels the sudden urge to kiss Daryl in that moment. He swallows it down and smiles instead, leaning a little more into Daryl to see what he does. The other man just widens his stance and curls his hand around his back.

“Glenn,” Shane calls, gesturing towards a group of people including Amy, Andrea and T-Dog, “you’ll take this group and work at the farthest edge of camp. I’ll stay here with this group. I’ll call time in a bit and we’ll switch everyone.”

Glenn nods and only waits long enough to count the people in his group before turning to go. Daryl follows beside him, crossbow slung over his shoulder and Glenn’s bat in his hand. He’ll probably use the bat and his knife primarily, and then demonstrate how to improvise things like rocks. It was easier in the city; always some rubble or piping laying around.

“Dealing with a geek—or walker, as you guys call them—is relatively easy as long as you know what you’re doing and you stay calm.” Glenn says, stopping in front of his tent. Everyone gathers in a loose circle around him. Daryl is close enough to his shoulder that he can feel their clothes brush.

“The most dangerous situation you’ll come to is when there is a large group of geeks. Don’t let them crowd you or get into a position where you can’t get around them.” Glenn says, eyeing everyone.

“What happens if you get stuck in a crowd?” Carl asks, infinitely curious, and Glenn’s free hand subconsciously goes to his left side where long scars cover the skin. In the first week after Atlanta burned, he had gotten himself cornered by seven or eight geeks in an office building the first day he left Keith at the apartment. He had thrown himself from the third-floor window and torn his side open on the glass.

“You die.” Glenn says flatly. Lori clutches at Carl’s shoulders. “You either get bit, eaten, or put a bullet in your head. Or—do what I did and take a dive from the third story of a building. You won’t always have an easy out like a window, though.”

“The reality is that if you get bit, you die. You die and then you turn and then you try to bite your friends, your family. If that happens the only way to stop you is to shoot, or stab, or smash your head.” Glenn says. His words come tight and controlled, calm as he can manage, and when Daryl holds his arms out Glenn hands over Keith. The little guy is watching Glenn with wide eyes.

“If you have a knife, you go for the eye or the temple. Anywhere the skull is going to be weaker and easier to pierce.” He says, pointing at each spot. “The same for a rock or stick. The downside to this method is that you get really close to the geeks—the surest way to make sure you hit what you want is to grab their head and hold it still, but that puts you very, very close to their mouths.”

“Longer weapons, like bats or pipes, are a bit better. You can keep the geeks at a distance but you’ll need more room to swing. You always want your first hit to put them on the ground—on their knees at the minimum.” Glenn hefts his bat and gives it a wiggle.

“There’s no way to truly stop a geek other than going for the head.” He says, dropping his bat and propping it against his hip. “You can slow them down by taking out their legs. Hacking their feet or knees off or crushing them—this will slow them down and make them crawl, but it doesn’t stop them.”

“Can’t you outrun them?” Carol asks. Glenn had overlooked her with the absence of Ed. Sophia is watching Glenn with wide eyes.

“Sure, you can outpace them as long as you have the energy for it,” he says, shrugs. “But they’ll follow you. They don’t get tired. All they need is to smell or hear you, and they’ll keep coming after you.”

“Unless you put them down.” Sophia pipes up, hands tangled in her shirt. Glenn gives her the best smile he can manage.

“Unless you put them down,” he agrees, and then steps back. “We’ll partner up and you’ll practice going for the knees and the head. Pretend you have a rock or a knife. Your partner pretending to be the geek will move a lot slower, but they’ll still be trying. Avoid hurting each other.”

Glenn leaves them to choosing partners and turns to Daryl, surprised to see the man watching him intently. Keith is gumming at his own fist contentedly.

“Think that went alright?” Glenn asks, stepping closer. Daryl tilts his head and tugs Glenn a step closer by his shirt. He pulls the clothing up until he can see his left side and the raised, ugly scarring over his lower ribs.

“I landed in an open dumpster.” He says, guessing at Daryl’s question. “There was enough trash to cushion my fall. Wasn’t pleasant, but a lot better than getting torn to pieces.”

“Had a lot o’near misses.” Daryl says, and it isn’t a question. Glenn shrugs.

“Part and parcel of the apocalypse, I guess.” He jokes. Daryl scoffs but doesn’t say anything to refute his claim. Keith is up against his chest, half asleep in the morning sunlight.

“I think everyone is partnered up, Glenn.” Andrea calls. Glenn strokes Keith’s cheek before turning back to his temporary students.

“Alright, let’s run through some of the basics.” He says.

Shane asks him to make another supply run a week and a half after the first one. It’s more food, more medications—one of the members has high blood pressure. They’re running low on canned vegetables specifically, and Lori is worried about the children’s health.

Leaving is much more difficult, this time.

“You’re not goin’ without me.” Daryl says, arms crossed and biceps unfairly defined. Glenn digs his palms into his eyes and tries not to let himself get upset.

“Daryl, please,” he says, voice halfway to pleading. Daryl shakes his head. Amy watches them from a few feet away, Keith chewing his freshly cleaned wolf plushy in her arms.

“Last time y’came back bloody ‘n’ exhausted.” He states. Glenn drags his fingers through his too-long hair.

“I need you to protect Keith if something happens,” Glenn says, watches Daryl grit his jaw. “I know exactly where I’m going and how I’ll get there. I’m not going to risk losing you or leaving Keith alone. He needs you.”

“He needs you,” Daryl snarls, jerks forward. His arms unfold and Glenn watches his knuckles bleach white as he clenches his hands into fists. “You’re all he’s got left, ‘n’ you’re gonna risk dyin’? Merle jus’ left me, now you’re goin’, too?”

Daryl seems to realize what he’s said seconds after he speaks. His face goes blank and he starts to back away, eyes pointedly fixed on the ground.

“Daryl—” Glenn starts, hand coming up, when he hears Shane yelling his name.

“Wasting daylight, Glenn!” He shouts. Glenn flips him the bird and by the time he turns around again, Daryl has disappeared. Amy is looking at him with a lost expression.

“Motherfucker.” Glenn sighs, scrubbing his face with his hands.

He’s cruising out of Atlanta on a beat-up Yamaha bike when he sees him. For a couple moments Glenn thinks he’s hallucinating, but as he gets closer, he realizes that there really is a man in a cowboy hat riding towards Atlanta on a big-ass horse.

“Is this some kind of western?” He mumbles, stops the motorcycle and waits for the man to get closer. The horse extends it’s head eagerly and sniffs at him; he’s not sure if this is normal horse behavior or what.

“You planning to ride into Atlanta, gun’s blazing?” He asks, leans on the handlebars. The older man—wearing a police officer’s uniform, Glenn realizes—looks at Glenn like he’s never seen an Asian person before.

“You should be wearing a helmet on that thing, son.” He says, and Glenn can’t help the barking laugh that escapes.

“I’ve got bigger problems, officer friendly.” He says, jerks his head back towards Atlanta. “Mainly the hundreds of undead trying to make me their next meal.” The officer’s face falls.

“The refuge?” He asks. Glenn shakes his head.

“Picture an all you can eat buffet.” Glenn offers. “And that was before they dropped the Napalm.”

The officer stares at the skyline of the city wordlessly. His horse shifts a little, ears swiveling, and Glenn eyes the bag of guns slung over the other man’s shoulder.

“I’m a member of a camp of survivors,” he says. The officer’s eyes fasten onto him with a scary intensity. “Come back with me and see about finding whatever you’re looking for.”

Officer friendly seems to debate this for a few moments, glancing from Atlanta to Glenn. Glenn wants to tell him that the city is little more than a pile of rubble and man-eaters, but he lets him make his decision on his own.

“I’ll come along.” He finally says, turning his horse around. “Hop on Big Red and tell me where to go. That bike’s real loud.”

Glenn’s hardly going to argue with that. Big Red looks like he can pack a punch.

“And then, as you saw, officer friendly ended up being Lori’s husband and Carl’s dad—thought to be long dead to the world.” Glenn finishes his retelling. Daryl has a constipated look on his face and Glenn laughs. It does sound like something out of a TV show, but so does an apocalypse of the undead.

Glenn finishes arranging the blankets to his satisfaction and spreads out on them, groaning as the series of knots along his spine slowly unwind. Daryl checks on Keith one last time before stretching out beside him. A hesitant hand slides over his flank, slow like he’s expecting to be told off, and Glenn turns his head to try and peer through the dark tent.

“I shouldn’t’a stormed off like that. I got a bad temper, but ‘m’workin’ on it.” Daryl mutters, scooting closer until his body is a long line of heat against Glenn’s side. The hand climbs his back until it starts kneading the muscles sandwiching his spine, and Glenn can’t bite back the gasp that leaves his mouth at the feeling.

“I can be a difficult person,” Glenn says, words a little breathy. Daryl’s fingers feel like heaven. “Thank you for apologizing to me.”

“Call that an apology?” Daryl snorts. Glenn tries to respond, tries to say that it’s the promise of future change that matters, but—holy fuck, he can’t swallow his moan. Daryl’s hands are perfect.

The perfect hand stills for a moment before there’s a good deal of shifting, and then Daryl’s using both of his hands to rub out the tight and knotted muscles along Glenn’s back. He honestly has to stuff a knuckle in his mouth to keep from sounding like he’s getting the fuck of a lifetime.

Daryl works from the base of his back all the way up to his neck. There isn’t any particular technique; rather, pure stubbornness and Daryl’s tenacity. It leaves Glenn feeling soupy and warm and as hard as a fucking rock by the time he’s done.

“Better?” Daryl asks gruffly, going to lay down again, and Glenn rolls onto his back and drags Daryl over top of him.

“I’m about to come like a fucking rocket.” Glenn mumbles, places a biting kiss on Daryl’s lips. He makes a startled sound before melting into the contact, hips settling between Glenn’s thighs and putting a fantastic amount of pressure on his dick.

Daryl nudges Glenn’s head back at the same time he starts rolling his hips, his own dick well on the way to hard. Glenn has to screw his eyes shut and focus on not nutting immediately as Daryl licks and nips the length of his neck. Fuck, the guy shouldn’t be allowed to move like that—

Glenn frees one hand from Daryl’s shirt and shoves it between the two of them, tugging his sweatpants and underwear down to sit under his balls and then undoing Daryl’s jeans. He only adjusts their clothing enough to tug their cocks free and then he spits into his hand twice, dragging his slick palm over both of the heads.

“I wish you could fuck me right now,” Glenn sighs, hiccups a little as he wraps his fingers around the tops of their dicks. Daryl makes a noise that sounds like it was punched out of him and his hips jerk forward. His cock leaves a smear of pre-come on Glenn’s stomach.

Daryl keeps rocking his hips and Glenn squeezes their dicks together, brows knitting at the feeling. He digs his thumb under the crown of Daryl’s dick and watches his shoulders spasm. It’s fast—Glenn manages a whispered warning before he’s coming, stomach cramping at the force of his first orgasm in weeks. His legs tighten around Daryl’s waist but they’re pushed apart easily, Daryl sliding down to lick the come off his belly and cock. Glenn doesn’t stop his breathy little whimper at the heat of his tongue.

“Up, up, c’mere—” He urges, yanking Daryl up over his body, higher until Daryl has to straddle his shoulders. His dick bobs in front of Glenn’s face and he doesn’t even realize he’s licking his lips until Daryl swears.

“Fuck my face?” Glenn says, urges Daryl closer. The other man lets out a strained laugh.

“Ain’t sayin’ no to that.” Daryl breathes, gets a handful of Glenn’s hair. He doesn’t tug as Glenn licks up his shaft and tongues the slit, but his grasp tightens when half his dick is swallowed down and Glenn is hollowing his cheeks.

It only takes a few thrusts, Daryl shaky and nearly there already, before he’s cupping Glenn’s face and coming in his mouth. Glen swallows it and sucks lazily at Daryl’s cock until the other man pulls away.

Daryl flops onto the blankets next to Glenn and shoves his jeans off, tucking himself back into his ratty boxers. Glenn flips his waistband back up while idly licking his lips.

“Let’s do that every night,” he mumbles, hand finding Keith’s chest in the darkness and making sure he didn’t wake in the commotion. Daryl actually laughs; it’s low and raspy and makes Glenn’s chest feel warm. An arm wraps around his belly and pulls Glenn closer to Daryl’s front.

“Go t’sleep, short round.” Daryl says, breath rustling the hair over Glenn’s ear. He swivels his head to press their lips together before rolling onto his side, pressing his back firmly into Daryl’s chest. Glenn’s starting to think that deciding to stay at the quarry camp was the best decision he’s ever made.

Glenn doesn’t even realize no one is on watch until it’s too late.

Daryl’s got an arm around his waist while Glenn balances Keith in his lap in front of the fire. Keith’s been fussing more lately, unhappy with the slowly increasing temperature and climbing humidity. He’s just in his diaper now; a concession to his heat-induced crankiness.

“I’m gonna use the RV bathroom, Glenn,” Amy says, stopping in front of him. “I can cool him down in the sink, if you want?”

“That’d actually be awesome,” Glenn admits, handing Keith off. He immediately grabs hold of Amy’s long hair and starts trying to gum it.

“Comin’ huntin’ tomorrow?” Daryl asks once Amy walks away, sneaks a few fingers into Glenn’s waistband. He lets his head loll back and looks up at the stars, listens to the laughter and chatter of the other survivors.

“I could,” Glenn says. His hand settles over Daryl’s. “I was planning to do laundry, though.” Daryl hums.

“We c’n start doin’ ours together.” Daryl mumbles, ducking his head into Glenn’s neck. Glenn turns his smile towards Daryl.

“Jus’ makes sense, is all,” Daryl scowls. His cheeks are flushed red, and Glenn gives in to the temptation to kiss one. Daryl’s hand presses into the line of his waist to drag him closer on the log. Their thighs almost overlap, Daryl’s chest hot against his side. Lips nip at the edge of his jaw and Glenn lets his eyes droop, chin angled up so Daryl has room.

The RV is a low horizon against the night sky, stars glimmering clearly without the light pollution from Atlanta. Glenn grabs Daryl’s thigh with his hand when he teases his neck a little too hard, eyes fluttering. He forces them open and blinks a few times—and then realizes that there isn’t anyone on the roof of the RV.

Glenn is on his feet in seconds. Daryl jerks back, a confused swear slipping from his mouth as he overbalances; the RV door swings open and Amy steps out with Keith in her arms. Something in the darkness lurches just in front of the RV.

“Amy!” Glenn yells, hears his voice crack, as the geek rounds the bumper and reaches for her.

Amy looks up from his baby in her arms—in what feels like slow motion, she turns her head and sees the reaching arms, the gaping mouth. Glenn leaps over the campfire with his bat in hand, sees more movement from between the tents, but his focus is entirely on Amy and Keith.

He isn’t going to reach them in time.

Amy spins around, Keith shielded by her body, one arm extended—her closed fist slams into the side of the geek’s head with enough force that it’s rotting body crashes into the RV and slumps to the ground.

Glenn reaches them a moment after, his bat already swinging; blood and gore splatters his face, the RV, as he buries the wood in the skull of the geek. Two hits, three hits—and Glenn steps back, breathing hard and heart racing.

“Walkers!” Someone screams, and when Glenn turns around, the campsite has turned into chaos.

“Stay behind me!” Glenn yells over his shoulder, desperately searching for Daryl. He finally spots him dragging Sophia and Carol around the fire, towards the RV, relief almost sickening in his throat. Gunfire lights up the night.

Glenn doesn’t leave Amy and Keith for longer than a few seconds; he darts out and downs geeks, further decorating himself in gore, always returning to guard the RV. Daryl joins them with Carol and Sophia, takes down a few geeks with his crossbow before snatching a gun from the bag Shane has open at his feet.

“To the RV!” He hears Rick shout, watches people scramble around the undead and try to stay out of reach. Carl uses a piece of firewood to knock out the knees of a geek heading for his mother. Andrea slams her heel into the head of a prone one until the skull is a crater. Glenn heaves a wild breath in and risks running into the spree with Daryl and Shane guarding the RV.

“Eliza! Over here!” He yells, dropping a geek with a swing to it’s temple—another lurches at him and he drops his shoulder into it’s chest, knocks it over and keeps moving.

Eliza grabs the hem of his shirt with one hand, the other clutching her younger brother’s wrist. Moralles and his wife are back-to-back with a pipe and crowbar respectively; the youngest of their children sandwiched between them.

Glenn whirls in a circle, tries to keep his eyes open for any more geeks. Eliza screams and he kicks away the hand of one grasping at her ankle. Blood splatters from his bat when he wrenches it free of the skull.

He shoves her and her brother in front of him back towards the RV, Moralles, his wife and child close behind. When the young boy stumbles Glenn scoops him up and keeps going.

They reach the RV just as the guns peter out. Glenn is shaking wildly, the little boy in his arms sobbing into his neck when Moralles takes him, and seeing Amy and Keith unharmed at the back of the group is the only thing that allows him to keep from panicking.

“The fuck was that?” Daryl grabs Glenn’s arm and turns him around, snarls in his face with terrified eyes. Glenn doesn’t try to answer; he just drops his bat and throws his arms around Daryl, pressing his filthy face into the other man’s equally filthy shirt. Daryl’s arms close around him like steel bars. They’re both trembling.

“I’m alright,” Glenn whispers, “you’re alright, Keith is alright, it’s all—it’s okay, we’re okay.” Daryl presses his face into Glenn’s hair and takes a deep breath.

The second they step back Andrea is shoving forward, wrapping Glenn into a hug with a tear-stained face.

“You saved Amy,” She says, voice hitching. Glenn wants to say that Amy saved herself, and Keith as well, but Andrea is already pulling away and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

When he turns Daryl has Keith in his arms, eyes and fingers scanning him for any injury, and that final bit of tension leaves Glenn’s shoulders when he hands him Keith. His sweet baby boy—his tiny, brave little man, who hadn’t cried even with all the chaos, warm and safe and smelling like clean skin in his arms. Glenn takes a shuddering breath and lets himself tuck Keith to his chest and just hold him for a few moments. If not for Amy, if not for his shout—

“Alright, everybody listen up,” Rick calls. Glenn steps forward and wraps his free arm around Daryl’s waist. He doesn’t want to see who is still standing and who isn’t. “We’ll—anyone who died from the bite has to have their—we can’t let them come back. The sun will be up in a few hours, so we’ll start gathering the bodies then. Some of us will go through the camp and make sure there aren’t any walkers left. Just wait here for now.”

Daryl presses their foreheads together, a question on his face, and Glenn nods and lets him step free. He accepts his bat and then Daryl heads off with Andrea, Rick, and T-Dog to scope the rest of the camp. Amy comes up along his side and leans her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” She says. Glenn clasps her hand in his.

“You protected Keith.” Glenn says quietly. His throat hurts. Amy squeezes his hand.

“You’re the reason I reacted in time. Your yell, and the training.” She responds. Glenn tugs her in front of him and examines her hand; it’s already bruising and swelling along her last few knuckles, but the skin isn’t broken.

They stand in silence as they wait for the others to return. Glenn looks around and feels his heart sink. The Moralles are all here, as are Carol and Sophia; Lori, Carl, Shane, and Amy; Dale, Jacqui and Jim. Too few of them. Glenn clutches Keith tighter to his chest.

“All clear!” T-Dog calls. He’s the first back, and once the other three return people begin dispersing. Glenn can already see the sky lightening, and he wonders where all the time went. Daryl steps past Glenn with a quick touch of their hands and stops in front of Carol and Sophia.

“Ed didn’t—well.” Daryl says awkwardly. Carol nods with a tear-stained face, and Glenn moves over until he can grab a hold of Sophia’s hand. The young girl presses her face into his side.

“Your tent ain’t any good for sleepin’, so take mine. It ain’t much but better than nothin’.” Daryl says. Carol starts trying to insist that they can’t but Daryl shakes his head and crosses his arms. His shoulders are almost to his ears.

“Hell, women, you want your kid sleepin’ outside?” He snaps, looks away from Carol and focuses his eyes on Glenn’s shoulder. That’s what convinces Carol to accept and she thanks Daryl with a watery smile. She has to tug Sophia away from Glenn; there’s a wet spot on his shirt when she goes.

“Are you gonna sleep?” Glenn asks as they make their way back to his tent. Daryl shrugs and looks away, which Glenn takes to mean no. He’s not sure he could sleep, either. Keith is holding onto Glenn as tightly as his little fists can manage.

They duck into the tent after Daryl checks the perimeter again and Glenn settles on the blankets, curling around Keith. Daryl zips it shut and reloads his crossbow before laying on his side as well, Keith safe between the shields of their bodies. The crossbow is aimed at the tent entrance.

“We’re alright.” Glenn whispers. Daryl reaches out and tangles their hands over Keith’s little body. “We’re going to be alright.”

Amy is kind enough to take Keith and go down to the quarry with Lori, Dale and the other children. The rest of them stay at camp to gather up the bodies and deal with anyone who was bit and died. It’s long, tiring work, especially with the fresh pain in Glenn’s shoulder from swinging his bat too hard last night. They haul the geeks’ bodies into one pile and start burning them, their camp members in rows to be buried. There’s too many.

“Even with the graves Jim did, there’s so many to dig.” Glenn whispers, leaning against Daryl’s chest as he sips at water. They’ll have a few more minutes of rest before they have to get back to work.

“Easier to burn ‘em.” Daryl says, one hand tucked against his side under his shirt and the other around his back. Glenn nods and rests his forehead on Daryl’s shoulder.

“Wish we could bury our people.” Glenn says. He knows they have to be practical. There isn’t enough room for idealism nowadays.

Daryl presses a kiss to Glenn’s temple but doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need a response, anyway.

When it’s time to work again Glenn pulls away and sets his water aside, turning to get back to crushing the dead’s heads. He collides with Jim who apologizes profusely; Glenn waves him off and gets to work with the pickaxe someone procured. He’s wiping sweat from his eyes sometime later when someone seizes his arm and jerks him around.

“Where’re you bleedin’?” Daryl demands. He looks like he’s going to be sick.

“I—what?” Glenn stutters, pickaxe limp in his hand. Daryl shakes him once, and Glenn realizes Daryl is scared.

“Jim’s been bit! Jim’s bit!” Jacqui screams. Glenn’s head flies up and in that moment Daryl yanks his shirt aside. It’s only then that Glenn sees the smear of fresh blood on his shirt. Daryl’s entire body seems to deflate when he finds his unbroken, scarred skin.

“Thought y’were—” Daryl croaks. Glenn shakes his head and wraps a hand around Daryl’s neck, eyeing the group of people circling Jim.

“I bumped into Jim a little while ago.” He says. “It’s his blood, not mine.”

Daryl nods and splays his hand over Glenn’s chest, dirt and sweat smearing between his palm and Glenn’s skin. He can’t find it in himself to mind it.

“Someone has to—for Jim.” Glenn murmurs. “I’m not going to let him—not with Keith.”

Daryl is humming his agreement when the group breaks up, Rick dragging Jim by the upper arm. He marches him into the RV and the door slams behind them.

“So we’re just gonna wait for him to turn and try to take a chunk out of us?” T-Dog exclaims, whirls in a circle with his shovel in his hand.

“Rick doesn’t want to start killing people.” Shane says, a sour look on his face. Glenn drags his hand through his hair.

“He’s bit.” Daryl says shortly from beside him. “Ain’t gonna be human much longer.”

“It’s Rick’s decision,” Shane snaps. “You need to respect that.”

“I ain’t gotta respect shit,” Daryl growls, steps forward. Glenn drops his hand on his neck to his shoulder to keep him from moving any farther forward. He stops, but his entire body is leaning towards Shane and the ugly look the other man is wearing.

“He’s been bit so he’s going to turn, but he’s still human right now,” Jacqui says, hand pressed to her mouth. “Can we—would we be right to kill him now?”

“It’ll be better than letting him die on his own.” Glenn says quietly. Everyone turns to stare at him. “It’ll take him hours to die. He’ll be in agony.”

“You’ve seen someone turn?” Shane asks. He starts moving towards Glenn and Daryl shifts between them, his hands curled into fists.

“I wasn’t the only living person still in Atlanta.” Glenn says flatly. It’s enough to stop Shane in his tracks. “I wasn’t even the only person who stayed in my apartment complex. I had to drag the bodies of my neighbors out of the hall.” The only sound is that of the wind through the branches.

“How does it happen?” Andrea asks. There’s a pale cast to her cheeks, and Glenn knows she’s thinking of Amy.

“The fever sets in within the first few hours.” Glenn says. “Then the coughing, maybe vomiting. Both are bloody. Maybe hallucinations. Weakness, delirium. The seizures are the last to happen. They die after that. The EMT across the hall from me took nine hours to die.”

“Oh my god,” Carol whispers, and Jacqui takers her hand in hers. Everyone has their shocked gaze on Glenn. He pulls his hand from Daryl’s shoulder and wraps it around his other wrist, remembers the sickening pop that went through it when Allen’s corpse had thrown itself at him and he landed wrong. Remembers the confusion, the surprise when Allen’s chest had started moving again—the mind-numbing terror when jaws snapped shut inches from his throat.

“Jim is human, right now.” Glenn says firmly. “He might be human for hours to come—but he’s going to turn at some point. I won’t risk Keith. If it comes to it, we’ll leave.”

Andrea makes a hurt noise at that, and Daryl spins to face him, shoulders tense. There’s a question in his eyes that Glenn answers with a nod.

“This person you saw turn—the EMT?” T-Dog starts. Glenn inclines his head. “Did they—was there anything left of them? Did they recognize you?”

“He recognized me as a meal.” Glenn says softly. His hand squeezes the bones in his wrist until they ache. “I tried to help him—cleaned the wound, got him water and medicine. I left Keith in the apartment during the worst hours. I thought—when he started moving again, I thought he was going to make it. He broke my wrist, trying to get to me. I had to use a fire extinguisher to stop him.”

“Glenn—” Jacqui starts, horror on her face, but Glenn shakes his head.

“Whoever they were before, none of it’s left after they turn.” Glenn says.

“Be that as it may,” Rick interjects, stepping away from the RV door. Jim is nowhere in sight. “Jim is human right now, and deserves the dignity of one. We aren’t going to put him down like a rabid dog.”

“You hear nothin’ of what Glenn jus’ said?” Daryl asks, voice rising. “He’s been bit, it’s jus’ a matter of time! You gonna risk your kid? Lori?”

“He’s still a human, he still has his dignity.” Rick insists. “Listen, the CDC, the government—they had to have been working on a cure. I say we head there and try to get Jim some help.”

“The CDC?” T-Dog asks incredulously. Shane is slowly shaking his head.

“It’s worth it.” Rick argues, and then: “If there’s somewhere safe, it’ll be there. We can’t stay here. The walkers are leaving the city.”

“You got an answer for that, city-boy?” Shane calls, frustration clear in his voice, and Glenn catches Daryl’s arm before the man can react.

“What’s the only thing geeks are interested in?” Glenn asks. No one responds. “There probably aren’t many people left in the city. All the pets, the strays—they’re all eaten by now. They’re looking for food. We’re just the first pit-stop on the way out of the city.”

Everywhere he looks, there is horror and fear reflected back to him. It’s hard to believe that no one had considered the possibility of the geeks moving around, but it’s been so peaceful for these people that maybe they hadn’t wanted to consider it. Glenn simply hadn’t had the choice.

“We’ll decide it as a group, once the bodies are taken care of.” Rick announces, nods around the camp. “I’ll be taking Lori and Carl to the CDC. What y’all do is up to you.”

That’s enough of a signal for people to return to work.

After the bodies are buried or burned, after they clean the smell of smoke and gore from themselves, after the children return from the quarry—they gather near the campfire and Rick sets the open bag of guns on a picnic table.

“Lori, Carl, Shane and I will be heading for the CDC.” Rick says. “It’s got the greatest likelihood of being safe, and they’ve probably been working on a cure. I can’t promise anything but it’s looking like our best shot. Anyone who wants to come along is welcome.”

Most of the camp expresses their wishes to go as well. The Moralles decline, wanting to try and find family, and Glenn doesn’t want to think it but he knows that any major city is probably a hotspot for geeks and little else.

Only Glenn, Keith and Daryl are left to decide. Glenn can see the worry on Amy and Andrea’s faces.

“We’re coming.” Glenn says. Daryl nods and spits off to the side. Keith is sedate, having just nursed, and slumps over his chest with a handful of his shirt. Amy exhales hard like she had been holding her breath.

“I don’t want to be here for another night,” Rick says, and looks distinctly relieved when he nods to Glenn and Daryl. “We’ll pack up and hit the road, get as many miles in as possible. Try to consolidate into a few vehicles. We’ll siphon gas wherever we need. Meet here again when everyone is situated.”

Rick hands off some of the firearms and ammunition to the Moralles family. Glenn watches Eliza give a doll to Sophia, the two girls embracing tightly, before he turns and follows Daryl to their tent.

“Pack everythin’ in the blue truck.” Daryl says, nodding to the rusted vehicle near the edge of camp. “’M gonna get my tent packed ‘n’ find out what Carol ‘n’ Sophia are doin’.”

Glenn adjusts Keith in his arms and nods, mind working on what supplies he’d keep in the front of the truck and what he’d leave for the bed, and he blinks in surprise when Daryl steps in front of him. There’s already a light dusting of red across his cheeks and his ears, and Glenn thinks he’s never going to get tired of how easily the other man blushes.

“Look, I ain’t never—my family wasn’t good. Pa beat me ‘n’ Merle, ‘n’ my Ma was drunk most o’the time, so I don’t—” Daryl blows out an angry breath and looks away, lifts his hand to his face before dropping it to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. Glenn’s first instinct is to reassure him, but he knows Daryl well enough by now to let him work his words out on his own.

“I wanna be a part o’this family.” Daryl finally spits out, cheeks crimson. “You ‘n’ Keith, ‘n’ then you ‘n’ me, I—can I? I wanna have it.” Daryl meets Glenn’s eyes again, lips pressed tight together and shifting on his feet, and Glenn lets himself smile wide and warm.

“Of course you can, Daryl.” He says, couldn’t made his tone less fond if he tried. He reels Daryl closer to him and presses their lips together. The kiss isn’t very successful—he’s smiling too wide, but he doesn’t think Daryl minds. The hands catching his hips and squeezing gently suggest he doesn’t.

“See how Carol and Sophia are,” Glenn murmurs, steals another kiss. Daryl threads his fingers through his hair to hold him still for one last, firm kiss, and then drags his hand down Keith’s back as he steps away. Glenn only watches him go for a few steps before he ducks into the tent to grab Keith’s sling and get to work.

By the time Daryl returns, Glenn is disassembling the tent and packing it away, everything else already stowed in his backpack and duffel bag. Daryl’s things—which had slowly grown as he spent the nights with Glenn and Keith—are neatly piled on the duffel bag, away from the dirt. Daryl packs them in his own knapsack and helps finish up with tent before scooping up Glenn’s duffel bag and backpack.

“I think I can manage those bags,” Glenn says, rolls his eyes when Daryl grunts and moves towards his truck. He gives the campsite a quick lookover before following the other man.

“Carol and Sophia?” Glenn asks, checking the cab space of the truck. He packed some of Keith’s things at the top of his backpack for easy removal. They should fit with the three of them up front.

“Rick’s takin’ them. Dale’s bringin’ his RV so crowdin’ shouldn’t be too bad.” Daryl says, situating the bags and tent. Glenn takes the bundle of blankets, formula, diapers and clothes for Keith and places them on the passenger seat, along with Stev’s bow and the quiver. His bat goes in the foot space.

Daryl says something about checking in with Rick and Glenn nods, slipping Keith out of his harness as he starts to fuss. He uses the passenger seat of the truck to set the little dude down and get to his diaper. It doesn’t occur to him that he isn’t visible because of the truck door until he hears Amy’s voice asking about him.

“How did you convince Glenn to stick with the group?” Amy is saying. There isn’t a response for a moment.

“Didn’t convince him o’nothin’. He made the choice on his own.” Daryl says, voice low and uninviting the way it is with everyone except Glenn, Keith, and increasingly Sophia.

“Andrea told me he was going to leave if the others didn’t kill Jim.” Amy says, and Glenn peaks around the edge of the door enough to see her hands on her hips and face serious. Her hair is pulled back. “What changed his mind?”

“Nothin’ I did. Short round knows I’m with him. It was always his call.” Daryl responds. Amy frowns and crosses her arms. Daryl is decidedly unphased and Glenn stifles his laugh as he turns back to Keith.

“Maybe ask him, instead o’guessin’. He’ll tell you.” Daryl finally says. Glenn hears the crunch of footsteps and finishes up changing Keith’s diaper, humming as he settles down once he’s clean again.

“Why do you let him call you those things?” Amy asks, coming up and leaning against the side of the truck. Glenn tucks Keith into the harness and glances at her from under his eyelashes.

“What things?” He asks. Keith’s dirty diaper is a biodegradable one, so he walks a few feet from the truck to bury it.

“He says—he calls you ‘Korea’ and ‘short round,’ and that doesn’t bother you?” Amy says. The mermaid necklace Glenn scavenged from the city for Andrea sits around her neck.

“At least ‘Korea’ is correct,” Glenn says offhandedly. Amy blinks at him. “Short round is a Chinese character.” He explains, and she shakes her head.

“That doesn’t—it’s whatever! I just don’t know why you put up with some of it.” She says, huffing, and Glenn shrugs as he kicks dirt over the filled hole.

“I don’t mind it, really. He uses my name, too.” Glenn explains. Amy just eyes him and falls into step as he heads towards the campfire. She’s a little more serious, a harder person since the near miss last night. It worries Glenn but Andrea had told him that Amy generally responds to trauma like that.

“If you ever get tired of him you can ride in the RV,” Amy says. Glenn bites back his comment amount Jim being near Keith and just says that he’ll keep that in mind.

“We’ll only be taking three cars plus the RV.” Rick says once everyone is gathered. “My family will be in one car with Carol and Sophia at the front. Shane is driving his jeep with as much supplies as we can fit. Dale will be driving the RV with Jim, Jacqui, Andrea and Amy and T-Dog. Daryl and Glenn will bring up the rear in Daryl’s truck. Keith will be with them but if you ever need to switch, just say the word. If someone has to stop for any reason, honk once and we’ll all stop.”

They hand out walkie-talkies that would have been old when Glenn’s dad was a kid. As each vehicle pulls out of the campground a short while later, Glenn lets himself look out the window and say a mental goodbye. He wasn’t in it for as long as his apartment, but somehow it feels almost more significant. He met Daryl here, and Amy and Andrea.

“Hundred miles to go.” Daryl mutters as they pull onto the road. Glenn leans forward and turns on the CD player, laughing when country immediately starts blearing. His sweet, shy redneck; Daryl can be so predictable.

Daryl just changes the CD to one with soft rock. There’s an entire flipbook of CDs, both albums and ones with scribbled genres. Glenn places it on the dashboard when Daryl is done and the other man settles his hand on his thigh, other hand on the wheel. They fall into line with the convoy and Glenn braces himself for the long haul.

“Of course the radiator hose is out with our mechanic halfway to dead.” Shane says, hands on his hips. Most of the group is gathered around the smoking engine of the RV as Dale rummages in it.

“Would you be able to replace the hose yourself?” Glenn asks, peering over Dale’s shoulder. “If we found a new one.”

“Simple enough to,” Dale says, shrugs. “This one is just more duct tape than hose, at this point.”

“I’m sure I can find one in that pile-up a few miles back.” Glenn says, glances down the highway. They had simply navigated around it without stopping, but there were a few large vans that should work well enough.

“You know how to get a radiator hose that will work?” Andrea asks, eyebrows lifted. Glenn drags his hand through his hair and debates how honest he wants to be, but—it’s the end of the world. There’s not really a point to lying, anymore.

“I used to steal cars and car parts.” He says, and Amy’s jaw drops. Everyone stares at him. “I’ve still got my slim-jim with me, actually. Easy enough to pop the hood and dig out a hose.”

“You were a car thief.” T-Dog says slowly, as if trying to make sense of it. Carl is staring at him with wide, wondering eyes, and Glenn winces as he looks at Rick. The older man’s face is carefully neutral.

“I went through a rough patch,” he offers, scratches at his neck. Daryl starts guffawing, one hand bracing Keith’s carrier against his chest.

“No wonder y’drive stick the way y’do.” He says, grinning with teeth. The looks of astonishment switch from Glenn to Daryl, who only seems to smile around Glenn and Keith, let alone laugh.

“How does he drive it?” Amy asks incredulously. Daryl cracks up again.

“Like he stole it.” He wheezes, and Glenn feels his face flush red. It’s dumb—it’s not even funny, really, but it sets the others off laughing; even Shane laughs and shakes his head. Glenn doesn’t mind the poke at his driving skills if it lightens the mood like this.

“Alright, alright,” Rick says once people start settling down. “Shane can drive Glenn back to the pile-up and help him with getting the hose. We’ll wait here, stretch our legs. If anyone wants to switch cars now would be the time to do it.”

Glenn nods and heads off to Daryl’s truck to get his slim-jim and anything else he thinks he’ll need. Daryl follows behind him and leans against the truck as he rifles through his bag, idly playing with Keith’s hands to keep the baby entertained.

“Watch yourself.” Daryl says, gruff and quiet enough that Glenn almost misses it. He tucks his slim-jim into his waistband and turns to the other man.

“I’ll have Shane to watch my back,” he says, and Daryl shakes his head.

“Man has some screws loose.” Daryl mutters. Glenn snorts and steps to him, looping his fingers through his beltloops and lifting his face for a kiss. Daryl presses their lips together, once, twice, before cupping the back of Glenn’s head and resting their foreheads against each other.

“Make sure to come back.” Daryl murmurs. Glenn brushes a kiss to the mole next to his nose.

“You’re stuck with me, Daryl Dixon,” Glenn says quietly, letting himself smile when Daryl does. “You just take care of yourself and Keith. I’ll be back in under an hour.”

“We’re looking for a big van,” Glenn says to Shane as they whip down the highway. “Something comparable to the RV in size. If it’s locked, I’ll jury it open, pop the hood and grab the hose.”

“Keeping it quick.” Shane says approvingly. They drive in silence for a few minutes before Shane speaks again.

“You really stole cars?” He asks. Glenn sighs and drags a hand over his face.

“For a very short time, yes. When I was in college.” He admits. Shane glances at him with a scrutinizing look in his eyes.

“You’re not still in college?” He asks, and Glenn turns to stare at him.

“I’m twenty-seven.” He says. Shane’s eyebrows lift.

“Shit, kid, you’ve got some good skin.” Is all Shane says, and Glenn rolls his eyes. More like white people just wrinkle fast.

They reach the pile up shortly after that. Shane turns the jeep around so they’ll be able to pull straight out, and they get to work looking for a large van. Shane doesn’t let him out of his sight and Glenn doesn’t know if he should be irritated or amused.

“This one looks good,” Glenn says, points at the skewed moving van. He circles the vehicle carefully and doesn’t question his good luck when he finds the driver’s door wide open. He pops the hood and makes quick work of climbing the bumper to be able to reach inside.

He’s elbows deep in the engine, hose halfway loose, when a hand lands on his lower back and presses him down.

“Walkers,” Shane hisses. “Finish this up, let’s go—”

Glenn forces his hands to move, forces himself to breathe through his nausea because all he can see right now is the guts of a different car, head held down and different hands on his back, a different person who was bigger and taller than him behind him, too close, too close—

“Got it,” Glenn croaks, catches his face on something as Shane yanks him backwards by his beltloop. He stumbles a few steps before Shane curses and throws him over his shoulder, beating it towards the jeep a few dozen yards away. Glenn scrambles for a grip for a few seconds before Shane is spilling him into the passenger seat, rounding the jeep to start it up. They peel out with the sound of screeching tires.

Glenn’s face stings, hot and wet, and when he presses a shaking hand to it his fingers come away bloody.

“Motherfucker.” He mumbles. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. He shrugs out of his shirt and bundles it up as best he can, pressing the fabric to his eyebrow. It burns.

“The fuck did you do?” Shane half-yells, glances back at the pile-up and however many geeks made him panic like that. Glenn squeezes his eyes shut and tries to drag himself back together. He needs to stuff down the memories Shane unearthed. He can’t return to the group like this.

“Caught it on something in the engine.” Glenn says, forces himself to speak clearly and evenly. Shane swears.

“We’ll clean it in the RV.” Shane says, finally beginning to slow the car. The group’s vehicles come into view.

Glenn presses his shirt harder to his forehead and tries to predict Daryl’s reaction. It’s a toss up between whom he’ll be angrier at; Shane or Glenn. Definitely Shane, if Glenn tells him what happened. Probably better to leave it vague.

They pull to a stop and the others are immediately at the jeep, reaching for the hose, for Glenn, for his head—he slips out of the car and instantly has to steady himself, blood trailing down his cheek and neck.

Multiple hands on him—his neck, his shoulders his back his ribs his waist get off—guide him to sit in the shade of the RV. Someone is peeling the shirt from his head. Glenn keeps his eyes squeezed shut and hopes Daryl comes soon.

“—needs stitches, but I think Glenn is the only one who can do them,” someone is saying, and then familiar, rough hands are clasping his jaw and carefully turning his head to the side.

“Can’t keep yourself in one damn piece,” Daryl mutters. Glenn smiles weakly.

“Shouldn’t let me out of your sight.” He tries to joke. There’s a catch in his throat that says he’s going to cry if he doesn’t get himself under control, but he can still feel those phantom hands at his jeans, his waist, bruising and holding—

“I’ll stitch it in the RV. Jus’ need a kit.” Daryl says. Glenn considers nodding and decides against it. His soaked shirt is returning to his face and pressed with renewed force, one of Daryl’s arms going under his to help him up. Glenn makes himself open his eyes.

The first thing Glenn sees is Keith in Amy’s arms, reaching for him with one little arm, and Amy’s scared face. He blows a kiss to Keith and smiles as best he can for Amy, but it probably falls short.

T-Dog steps to his other side and helps steady him, hand staying high on his back, and that—it helps, it helps like Daryl calm at his side helps. They maneuver him to the RV and he doesn’t even think of Jim until he steps inside and only Jacqui is present, stripping the bed in the back.

“Oh, Glenn—” she says, hand flying to her mouth, and then he remembers this is the first time she’s seeing him shirtless. The scars and blood are probably a sight.

“Jacqui, boil some water, would you?” T-Dog asks, Glenn lowers himself to the seat and catches Daryl’s fingers before the other man can pull away, desperate to just—he just needs a minute to ground himself, to breath. Daryl kneels in front of him and spreads a hand over his knee.

“I jus’ need t’get somethin’ for the stitches.” He says, voice soft. It’s how he talks when it’s only him and Glenn and Keith, and Glenn wonders if he really looks bad enough for Daryl to act like that in front of other people. Regardless, Glenn squeezes his hand and lets Daryl stand—only for the RV door to swing open and have Carol climb in, a suture kit clutched in one hand.

“Rick said you needed this—” Carol says, gasps when her eyes fall on Glenn. Daryl takes the packet from her and opens it as she steps around him, one hand gently pushing Glenn’s hair back. It thickens that awful, prickly thing in his throat, and he swallows hard.

“Do you want me to ask Amy to bring Keith in here?” She asks. Glenn swallows tightly again.

“Please,” he manages. His empty hand is curled in a tight fist on the table. The pain of his fingernails biting into his palm does little to help anchor him.

Carol nods and steps out of the vehicle, T-Dog giving his shoulder a squeeze before following her. Daryl sets the suture kit on the table and accepts steaming scraps of clothe from Jacqui, carefully wiping the blood and sweat and grease from Glenn’s forehead. It’s nice, and he closes his eyes. A cool hand takes his and he squeezes Jacqui’s hand gratefully.

Daryl tips his head back to do the stitches, clucking his tongue as he feels along his eyebrow. One hand supports the back of his head and the other smooths along the bridge of his nose.

“Took a chunk outta your eyebrow.” He finally says. The warm hand against his face disappears, and Glenn digs his teeth into his lip as Daryl starts suturing.

Glenn’s entire body is trembling by the time Daryl finishes.

He’s panting through grit teeth, tears clumping his lashes, and he could kick himself for how uncomposed he is. It’s just a row of stitches, it was just a hand on his back, it—he’s losing it, spiraling like he did eight years ago, he just—he needs to—

“Special delivery for Glenn,” he hears Amy’s voice, and he blinks away his tears to see Keith’s beautiful little face.

“There’s my baby boy,” he says tremulously, holding his arms out. Amy settles Keith against his chest just as Daryl starts wiping the rest of the blood from Glenn’s face and neck, towels warm and wet and gentle against his face.

“They’re working on the RV hose now,” Amy says, taking Jacqui’s place as the older woman pats Glenn’s arm and leaves. “We’ll be able to head out in a little bit.”

“Jim?” Glenn asks, and Daryl’s hands slow.

“He wanted t’pass on his own. We walked him to a tree.” Daryl says, fingers carding Glenn’s sweat-soaked hair back, and he lets his eyes slip shut at the feeling. Keith in his arms, warm and wiggling happily, Daryl steadying him; it’s easier to calm himself down like this.

“You should probably lay down in the RV for a bit, Glenn.” Amy says. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“Head wounds just look like a lot.” Glenn says, hopes to dismiss the idea, but Daryl grunts and curls a hand around his neck.

“Should lay down for a bit.” He says. Glenn holds Keith closer and breaths out evenly. He doesn’t respond, knows his voice will shake and get strained the way it always does when he gets upset, and instead opens his eyes. It’s just in time to see Daryl jerk his head at the doors to the RV and Amy get up to go, a confused look on her face. Glenn watches her leave.

“What happened?” Daryl asks bluntly, kneeling in front of Glenn again. His arms loop over his thighs and box Keith in.”’N’tell me the truth. All of it. What’s got you shakin’ so bad?”

Glenn wraps a hand around one of Daryl’s biceps, squeezes with his fingers to feel the warmth, the weight of the muscle. Keith starts gumming at the sharp line of his collarbone, lulled by the presence of his most familiar person.

“It was—Shane didn’t mean to.” Glenn starts. He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “He was watching for geeks. I had the hose half out, was bent over the engine, and he—he saw geeks and put a hand on my back to keep me down. It just reminded me of—of something bad that happened. Years ago. I froze. When I got the hose out, he just—pulled me, and I hit my head. It wasn’t Shane’s fault.”

“Must’ve been somethin’, if it’s got y’this bothered.” Daryl says, eyes intent on Glenn’s face, and he swallows, fights the urge to look away.

“I don’t want—I’ve never told anyone.” Glenn says. Grits his teeth, digs his fingers into Daryl’s arm. “Not my sister, not my parents.”

“Don’t have to tell me.” Daryl says, starts rubbing his thumbs back and forth over Glenn’s jeans. Keith is oblivious to Glenn’s distress and it’s relieving, to not have to deal with an upset baby on top of this.

“I was a sophomore. My second year of college. I just started to get into stealing cars—me and my parents weren’t talking at the time, so I was trying to pay for school and an apartment on my own.” Glenn’s voice sounds distant to his own ears, watery and dull, and the only sensations he can pick up with certainty are Keith’s weight on his chest and Daryl’s hands on his thighs.

“I was—it was late. I was digging out parts of an engine for a deal. I needed the money for rent. The—the car was a 1998 BMW E39 M5. It was—” Glenn chokes on a laugh. “It was a nice fucking car. I thought I was alone, was shoulder deep and not—I wasn’t listening, and—”

“Glenn,” Daryl cuts in, soft and serious. The arm Glenn isn’t clutching has slipped up and has a hand braced against his chest. He can’t feel it. “Breathe, kid.”

“He said I owed him—” Glenn forces out. His jaw is aching from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “He said—and I didn’t, I didn’t, but he still—his hands, he held me down over the engine and—I was yelling, and he didn’t stop, he didn’t—I fought back, I fought back, but he just—I was bleeding, and he—”

Daryl’s hand tenses around his thigh. It’s what makes the dam break; Glenn’s next inhale shudders and he chokes on it. He couldn’t stop his tears if he tried. It feels like his sobs are being ripped out of his chest, tearing and bleeding and scooping him out. The memories he’s been locking away for years, the memories he’s buried in caring for Elspeth and playing videogames with Sam and target practice with Stev, they all—they all cascade before Glenn’s eyes, until he could draw that damned engine in perfect detail.

It’s making his chest ache, vision starting to spot as he wheezes, and then someone pinches his nose shut and covers his mouth with unrepentant determination. Glenn’s lungs jump but stay empty; his eyes fly open, sight still blurry, and then the hands disappear and he can finally suck in a deep breath. It makes him sputter on a cough, but he’s no longer hyperventilating. Daryl’s holding the back of his head and bracing Keith with the other, and Glenn feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Keith, he—” he says, voice hoarse and croaky, and Daryl shakes his head.

“Your kid’s alright,” Daryl says. His fingers draw circles at the base of his skull. “Jus’ breathe, Glenn. It’s alright.”

Glenn blinks furiously and does as he’s told, inhaling slowly and holding it for a few seconds. He forces himself to blow the air out evenly; repeats the cycle, over and over again, until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to shake into a million tiny little Glenn-shaped pieces.

“Sorry,” he whispers, turns his head and presses a kiss to Keith’s head in apology. Daryl doesn’t take his eyes off of his face. He probably looks like a disaster right now.

“He raped you.” Daryl says, flat and serious, and Glenn flinches at that word. It’s never—he never let himself think of it in those terms, didn’t want to identify with the booklets and therapy and posters he saw on campus, thought it would be easier to forget if he didn’t call it what it was.

“I dunno what t’do.” Daryl admits, teeth gritted. Glenn wants to tell him he doesn’t need to do anything, that he just needs to get himself under control and forget about this all; instead, he leans himself forward and drops his head on Daryl’s shoulder, careful of Keith cradled in his arm. Daryl’s arms go around him without prompting.

“T-Dog can drive stick.” Daryl offers after a few moments of silence. Glenn’s going to ask what that’s supposed to mean when Daryl shifts and speaks again. “He can take the truck; we can ride in here for a bit. Lay down. If y’want. Or just you ‘n’ Keith.” Glenn smiles and presses a kiss to Daryl’s collarbone.

“A little while, maybe. All of us.” Glenn whispers. Daryl nods against the side of his head.

“C’mon, lay down. I’ll talk to ‘em.” Daryl helps him up, flattens a hand against his ribs like it belongs there, the other under Keith, and Glenn can’t not bring their lips together. Daryl angles his head down for him and nudges into the kiss, their noses brushing, and Glenn wonders if he’s a little bit in love.

“Lay down, Casanova,” Daryl murmurs into his mouth. It startles a laugh out of his mouth, and Daryl pulls back with a smile quirking his lips. It might be the softest he’s ever seen him.

Daryl helps him back to the freshly changed bed, settles him on his back with Keith sprawled across his chest. His little man has made himself small and quiet, clinging to Glenn like he thinks they’re going to be separated. It makes Glenn’s heart ache. When Daryl leaves the RV Glenn pets Keith’s back and coos to him in Korean until he’s more relaxed.

Keith is slapping idly at Glenn’s chest when Glenn glances up to find Daryl returned and leaning on the door, his eyes soft and crinkled at the corners, and Glenn feels his face flush.

“What is it?” He asks, tickling Keith’s feet to hear him shriek, and Daryl shrugs with one shoulder before coming to the side of the bed. He has his knapsack, unusually stuffed full, and his crossbow and Stev’s bow and quiver. Keith’s sling is hooked in his elbow.

“Here’s a shirt, ‘less you wanted him t’try ‘n’ chew your nipples off.” Daryl says, holding out a bundle of pale green that Glenn knows he’s seen Daryl wear before. Glenn shoots the other man a sour look and takes the shirt from him.

“He wouldn’t try to breastfeed from me,” he says, but he sounds dubious even to his own ears. They both look down to Keith, who remains oblivious to their stares. Daryl reaches out and tugs Keith down Glenn’s chest until his head is on his pec, his nipple in sight.

“Daryl—” Glenn starts doubtfully, hand cupping Keith’s butt to keep him in place, but his words turn into a yelp when Keith mouths at his chest. Daryl starts laughing so hard he hiccups. Keith just closes his little mouth around his nipple and honest-to-god tries to nurse, and Glenn makes a strangled noise in his throat.

“Alright, alright, you’ve made your point—” Glenn says, tugs Keith away from his chest and hands him off to a teary-eyed Daryl. He tugs the shirt on, halting halfway to take a deep breath of Daryl’s scent, and then unbuttons his jeans and wiggles out of them. Daryl sobers up fairly quickly. That may have to do with Glenn wearing what are definitely not men’s underwear, though.

Feeling decidedly victorious over nothing, Glenn rolls onto his stomach and scoops Keith’s sling from the floor. Daryl makes a noise like a mouse being stepped on. Glenn hides his grin in his shoulder.

“My boy,” Glenn prompts, sitting up, and Daryl hands over Keith. Glenn makes quick work of tucking Keith into his carrier while Daryl strips out of his pants and changes his shirt. He’s just pulling his shirt down over his belly when the RV door swings open.

“I hope everyone is decent!” Amy calls cheerfully. Daryl glances at Glenn’s long, bare legs, and flushes brilliantly. Glenn’s laugh is unrepentant.

“T-Dog and Jacqui are in your truck, and Andrea is riding with Shane, so it’ll just be me navigating for Dale up here!” Amy says, voice coming closer until she peeks around the door. Daryl drags the blanket over Glenn’s lap with a scowl on his face.

“Thanks, Amy,” Glenn says, watches her face flicker with relief. He hadn’t realized how much he worried her.

“Anytime! Keith is welcome to co-pilot, just give me a yell.” She says, turning away as Dale clambers into the driver’s seat and shouts about getting the show on the road. Daryl slides the bedroom door shut before clambering onto the bed with the two of them, Keith sandwiched between Glenn and the wall. His carrier is stiff and he’s positioned on a pillow, so Glenn isn’t too worried about sharing the bed with him.

Daryl scoots up behind Glenn and buries his face in his hair, unashamed about taking a deep breath. So much tension leaves his body as he exhales that Glenn starts to think he may have worried people a lot more than he realized.

It’s only just getting towards evening, but Glenn’s tired and achy from his weeping fit, and he finds himself dozing off as the RV trundles on. Daryl’s arms around his waist are warm and secure; the other man’s shirt is big and soft like the shirts Glenn loved to sleep in before the world ended. Every time he blinks his eyes get a little heavier.

“Jus’ rest a little,” Daryl murmurs. One hand skates up Glenn’s belly, under his shirt, until Daryl’s palm is pressed snug to his sternum. Glenn’s last memory is of patting his hand and slurring something nonsensical.

The front of the CDC looks like a graveyard.

Glenn keeps an arm around Keith’s carrier, stomach turning as they navigate between the sprawled corpses. Daryl has his crossbow loaded and braced to his shoulder. He doesn’t move farther than a few feet from Glenn and Keith at any point.

It’s hard to watch Rick yell and plead with the barred doors; Glenn had dreamt of having someplace safe, somewhere he could let his guard down and sleep without a hand on his knife, but it hasn’t been something he’s clung to—not like Rick has. He’s almost managed to swallow his disappointment and make a break for the cars when the metal barriers begin to crawl upwards, light like a blinding wall.

Daryl grabs his hand and drags him forward. They stumble into the building, eyes squinted shut and streaming, and the barrier slam down with an ominous noise. Glenn slips his hand into Keith’s carrier and drags his fingers through his soft hair.

Rick and the armed doctor hash out the details of their stay; Glenn is more overwhelmed by how clean everything looks, how untouched it is. Daryl has to push him along with a hand at his waist to get him moving. Amy looks as stunned as he feels and she loops her arm through his, hands fisting his shirt sleeve.

“I’ll need a blood sample from each of you.” Dr. Jenner says, and then his eyes light on Keith’s carrier and he goes still. “I’ll also need to be seeing inside that.”

Rick nods to Glenn and he opens up his improvised covering, smiling reflexively at Keith’s grumpy face. He wiggles in dismay as Glenn lifts him from his carrier and cradles him in his arms. Jenner’s brows are lifted high on his forehead.

“You must have given birth just before things started.” Jenner says, and Glenn stares at him.

“Uh—I’m his uncle.” He says. Jenner blinks a few times and looks perplexed.

“Right,” he says, sounding unconvinced, and Glenn exchanges a confused glance with Amy. She shrugs at him. Daryl looks like he’s swallowed something sour.

They follow him to the elevator and allow him to draw blood, Glenn conceding without much of a fight only because Dr. Jenner promises to check Keith’s blood for any health concerns other than the virus. Jenner is surprisingly good with Keith; he distracts him from the needle with silly faces and hardly gets a noise of complaint from the infant.

It’s the excessive alcohol and cooked food that really gets him people’s approval, though.

Glenn sticks to water and relishes making Keith up a bottle in a real microwave for the first time in weeks. The food is mostly boxed and precooked things, but it doesn’t come out of a can, and that’s what matters. Daryl knocks back a single glass of whiskey and keeps one hand firmly on Glenn’s thigh for the entire dinner, wiggling his fingers at Keith or tickling him any time Keith starts to get fussy. It’s something of a relief to be able to go find a place to sleep and take a shower. A hot shower.

“Gonna find some sheets ‘n’ pillows.” Daryl says after dropping their things in a room. Glenn immediately heads for the shower.

“Hop in when you get back,” Glenn calls over his shoulder. He strips both himself and Keith quickly and then turns the water on, hand held out with anticipation instead of dread for once, and—

“Woohoo!” He whoops, ducking under the hot water with Keith. It feels like heaven against his scalp, his back, even with the stinging along the cut on his brow. Glenn smatters kisses over Keith’s face and dances around, the pure joy of being in warm water welling up from his gut. Keith catches onto his mood and flings his little hands about, burbles and wiggles with happiness.

Glenn ends up sitting on the floor with the numerous toiletries scattered around him. He shampoos Keith’s hair into a tiny mohawk and gives himself a matching one. It’s wonderful to be able to give Keith a raspberry on his tummy and just smell his sweet, clean baby smell. He’s rinsing the body wash off the both of them when Daryl returns. He snorts and shakes his head at their hairdos.

“You can match, too,” Glenn says, and gets to work as soon as Daryl steps into the shower and accepts Keith.

It’s barely been a handful of minutes before Keith starts blinking slower and yawning, face shielded from the water and suds by Daryl’s careful hand. Glenn grabs a towel and wipes his little head dry.

“I’ll set him up, wait for me.” Daryl says, taking the towel and pressing a kiss to Glenn’s cheek. He slips out of the shower and Glenn sighs, rolls his shoulders. There’s an itch telling him he shouldn’t let Keith out of his sight, but they’re literally in a CDC bunker. Glenn will be able to hear Keith if something happens. He and Daryl can take a couple minutes in the shower for themselves, right?

He glances down at his dick in consideration.

Just the thought of trying what they did back at the campsite is enough for Glenn to dump conditioner into his palm and wrap a hand around himself. Remembering Daryl’s weight on his tongue, the feeling of him between his legs, is enough for him to start to stiffen. Glenn’s eyes are fluttering when the shower door swings open and Daryl steps back in.

His eyes flick from Glenn’s face, lip caught in his teeth, to the head of Glenn’s cock peeking out from between his fingers. Red crawls across his nose and he licks his lips, holding up his hand. Something is clutched in it. Glenn squints his eyes and makes out “lube” and feels his stomach flip.

“Yes.” He says immediately, letting go of himself to pull Daryl closer to him. Daryl’s lips are warm and wet when they meet. He fits a thigh between Glenn’s legs and tugs him closer with a hand on his ass.

“Found it in the RV,” Daryl mutters between kisses, noises echoing softly off the wet walls. Glenn laughs and glides his hands up Daryl’s biceps.

“I don’t want to know any more than that,” he says, Daryl nodding in agreement. Glenn leans into Daryl until he takes a step back, and then another, until his back is to the cool tile. Glenn gives him one more kiss before dropping carefully to his knees, hands wrapping around the back of Daryl’s thighs.

“Wanted to do this for a while,” Glenn murmurs, nosing up Daryl’s hip. All of his body hair is downy and a pale brown. The water leaves him tasting clean and faintly soapy. Daryl’s cock is already almost fully hard by the time Glenn reaches it and gives it a kiss at the base; one of Daryl’s hands slide through his hair.

Glenn drags his tongue from the base to the tip of his dick, laving over the head and using one hand to steady it. He digs his tongue into the slit for a taste of pre-come before swallowing it down and sucking. Fuck, he’s missed a good dick in his mouth.

Glenn doesn’t try to drag it out; he works Daryl’s dick like he’s on a mission. It isn’t as hard as he remembers to progressively swallow more and more, until his throat is working around the head and Glenn’s nose brushes Daryl’s pelvis. The few tears Glenn blinks away mix with the water running down his face.

“Fuck, fuckin’ hell—” Daryl breathes, has been groaning the whole time like he’s never gotten head this good before. It makes Glenn viciously pleased.

His knees haven’t even started to hurt when Daryl comes in his mouth, curling over him with both hands cupping his head. Glenn swallows his come and follows Daryl when he pulls back, licking over the length of his dick until Daryl hisses and his cock twitches in his mouth.

“You’re still going to fuck me,” Glenn says, tilting his head back to meet Daryl’s eyes, and the other man hauls him up by his arms. He turns him to press Glenn between the cool wall and his warm body.

“Y’bet your ass I am,” Daryl pants, closing a hand around Glenn. It startles him into closing his eyes. His hips jerk as Daryl works him over, digging his thumb under the crown of his cock. He can’t hold back his moan when Daryl slides his foreskin down and rubs his head.

It’s the fingers that slide along the crease of his thigh and his ass that do him in, though. They tease along his rim and perineum, pushing into his skin just enough to make him shudder. Glenn tilts his head back against the shower wall and comes into Daryl’s hand, hips fucking his closed fist until he’s able to start catching his breath.

“Let’s go, other room.” Glenn urges, Daryl washing his hand off before turning the water off. They make passing attempts at drying themselves and continue to the next room; there’s a thick pile of blankets and pillows and then a second, smaller pile with only a sheet and a single pillow.

“Wanted y’to be comfortable,” Daryl says, blushes as Glenn squeezes his wrist and pulls him over to the sheets. He folds it up and sets it in front of the couch, gesturing for Daryl to sit on it. He drops down and settles his back against the couch and Glenn straddles him, shuddering at the feeling of Daryl’s half-hard dick sliding against the inside of his thigh.

“Have you ever done anal?” Glenn asks, taking the lube bottle when Daryl holds it out to him. He slicks up his fingers and settles his knees a little wider on the sheet.

“Not with men.” Daryl says, and it stalls Glenn out for a moment, because—has Daryl ever done anything with a guy before? It’s hard to follow that line of thinking, though, because Daryl’s fingers pinch the head of his dick and Glenn digs his fingers into the couch behind Daryl’s shoulders.

“Alright, alright,” he gasps, rocks his hips once before reaching around and rubbing at his hole. He’s quick about it, pressing one finger in and swiveling his hips a little to get used to it faster. There’s a molten ball of want in his gut that’s urging him on, desperate to get Daryl in him.

Glenn pulls his finger out and then slides two back in, spreads and moves them, and jolts when Daryl’s slick fingers slide up the crease of his ass. He drags them over where Glenn’s tightening around his own knuckles. It wrings a groan out of Glenn when Daryl presses a finger in alongside the other two, his palm pressed flat to the back of Glenn’s hand. He grinds back into the pressure and bites his lip at the stretch. It’s good, it’s really fucking good.

“I don’t need a lot of prep, that’s fine,” Glenn breathes, pulls his fingers free and knocks Daryl’s hand away. He gets a dollop of lube in his palm and wraps his hand around Daryl’s dick, strokes until the other man’s hips jump. Glenn holds the head still and takes a deep breath, forces himself to relax; Daryl’s hands smooth over his hip bones and wrap around the curve of his ribs. It makes Glenn look tiny; how much skin is covered by Daryl’s.

“Good?” Glenn asks, can feel his face flushing as he meets Daryl’s eyes. He nods, chewing his lip, and Glenn pushes his hips down until his ass brushes his fingers. His eyelids droop as the head of Daryl’s cock bumps his hole and then slowly, wetly slips in, the crown popping over his rim and sending a shudder up Glenn’s spine. Daryl’s hands tighten around his sides.

Glenn keeps sliding lower, rocking his hips in tiny circles to work his way down and adjust, and fuck he had forgotten how much he likes this. When he finally bottoms out, he braces a hand behind himself on Daryl’s thigh and leans back, groans at the pressure it puts on his prostate.

“Still good?” Glenn asks, voice a little strained, and Daryl grunts, fingers digging into his back.

“Real fuckin’ tight, kid,” Daryl manages. Glenn huffs out a laugh.

He lifts himself up, already feeling the burn in his thighs, and rolls his hips as he fucks himself down onto Daryl’s cock. It’s really good—so good Glenn does it again, and again, a little faster each time, stomach tightening as the other man’s dick drags over his prostate.

“C’n I—” Daryl starts, voice tight, and Glenn is nodding before he even finishes his sentence. The next time Glenn drops down Daryl snaps his hips up to meet him, fucks him with enough force that Glenn has to clasp a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t wake Keith. Noise hiccups it’s way between his lips anyway.

“Fuck, Glenn—” Daryl wraps one arm around Glenn’s back and yanks him forward. The friction on his cock trapped between their stomachs makes him moan. He drops his head to rest his cheek on Daryl’s forehead, pants open-mouthed against the skin there. The hand over his mouth cups the back of Daryl’s head instead.

“Please, please, Daryl—” Glenn pants, feels a hot mouth against his throat. Daryl nips and sucks at his skin, teases his teeth against his collarbone, and Glenn grinds down hard the next time Daryl’s fully in him. He can feel that heat low in his belly start to tighten, his movements getting jerkier. Daryl’s hips work a little faster, more force put behind them, and Glenn feels himself tighten up every time Daryl starts to pull out.

One of Daryl’s hands scrambles for his thigh; fingers squeezing enough to move Glenn how he wants. It only takes a few more thrusts, Glenn’s cock dragging along the line of Daryl’s stomach, and he’s riding out his orgasm with shaking legs. Daryl snarls a curse into his shoulder and bites down hard, buries his dick as deep as he can get it to come a few seconds after Glenn does. Glenn can’t help how he tightens around his cock at the feeling.

Daryl holds him still after, thumbs drawing soothing circles and smattering kisses over Glenn’s bruised neck and shoulders. Half-asleep, Glenn drags his fingers through Daryl’s hair. He doesn’t notice Daryl moving his hand until fingers trace his tender rim.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Glenn mumbles, even as he rocks into the touch. Daryl’s snicker turns into a hiss at the movement.

“Callin’ me old, Korea?” Daryl asks, voice softer than Glenn’s ever heard it, and he presses a kiss to his temple instead of answering. Daryl hums and rubs his fingers lightly over where they’re joined for only a few more seconds before bracing that hand against Glenn’s hip.

“My ass is goin’ numb,” Daryl says. He’s careful when helping Glenn lift himself, though, pulling out slowly and keeping Glenn from just slumping sideways onto the other pile of blankets. He arranges it in a semblance of a nest and shoves a pillow under Glenn’s head before he flops onto his stomach.

“Gonna wash off—y’want a wipedown?” Daryl asks, leans over Glenn’s back to pepper kisses down the line of his neck. The affection is unexpected, but like hell Glenn isn’t going to appreciate it. He turns his head and purses his lips until Daryl snorts and presses his own to them.

“Yes please,” Glenn mutters, eyes blinking open as Daryl lifts himself to his feet. Come is smeared down the length of his belly, and Glenn feels a possessive sort of satisfaction at seeing it. While Daryl’s in the bathroom Glenn rolls over to check on Keith and brush a kiss to the forehead of the still sleeping baby.

Daryl kneels between Glenn’s spread legs when he returns and pulls one of his ass cheeks to the side. Glenn arches his hips up to make it a little easier, and Daryl gently wipes away the come and lube smeared there. He rests the pad of his thumb against Glenn’s hole and presses; even though he’s halfway asleep, Glenn pushes his hips farther back into the touch. Daryl just nips the curve of his ass and pulls away.

Glenn hears the water run in the bathroom and then Daryl walking to the door and locking it. A few moments after, a warm body curves over his back and Glenn wiggles back into Daryl’s chest. It’s a different kind of intimacy to lay naked together, the both of them soft and sleepy, compared to when they fucked. Glenn likes both.

“Everyone is gonna be so hungover tomorrow.” Glenn mutters, tugging a sheet higher over his chest. Daryl splays a hand out just under Glenn’s pec, the other arm wrapped around his waist.

“Idiots.” Daryl says, lips brushing Glenn’s skin. He presses a kiss to the curve of his neck and snuggles, if possible, closer. Imagine that: Daryl Dixon is a cuddler. Glenn snorts.

“잘 자요, Keith.” Glenn mumbles. He reaches a hand out to rest against Keith’s carrier. “잘 자요, Daryl.”

He’s asleep before he can hear Daryl’s response, but he does feel the hand on his chest squeeze him closer.

Predictably, most of the group is blurry-eyed and squinting when they reach the kitchen. A Tylenol bottle makes it’s rounds as T-Dog promises a better hangover cure than modern medicine. Glenn feels sore in a good way; well-worked and well-rested. Keith had slept through the whole night and is chipper and excited for breakfast.

Daryl and Glenn take seats at the end of the table. Daryl works on getting plates for the two of them while Glenn prepares Keith’s bottle; he won’t be able to eat until his little guy eats. Keith latches on the bottle in record time and starts eagerly nursing, Glenn leaning back against the counter.

“He’s very lively.” Jenner says, stopping to watch. Glenn smiles and watches how Keith’s nose scrunches. “I didn’t mean to suggest anything, when I said his birth must have been recent. You’re a very good person for caring for your sibling’s child.” Glenn glances at the doctor through his eyelashes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, readjusts Keith when his shoulder starts to ache. “He’s my only family left, anyway. I’ll always choose him.” Dr. Jenner looks at him for a few long moments, eyes scrutinizing. Glenn doesn’t know what to do with that so he just let’s Keith nurse, stoops his head to press a kiss to each beauty mark under his eye.

“I ran his blood test last night for most things that are a concern for a young child.” Dr. Jenner finally says. Glenn glances up at him. “Keith is incredibly healthy, considering the state of the world. You’ve done a remarkable job caring for him.”

That wins a genuine smile from Glenn, the wave of relief rolling through him almost staggering. Jenner clears his throat and adjusts his weight.

“You, on the other hand, are reaching low enough numbers to indicate developing iron and folate deficiencies. Your bloodwork suggests you’ve had a poor diet for several weeks.” Dr. Jenner says. “I would advise you to take supplements alongside adjusting your diet, but I understand the world is not so accommodating nowadays.” Glenn snorts.

“Not really,” he says, looking down to Keith. The bottle is almost empty. “I’ll do my best to fix it, though. I don’t want to get sick.”

Dr. Jenner nods and then moves past him to the coffee maker. Keith finishes his bottle shortly after and Glenn washes and rinses it, setting it aside to dry. He makes his way over to the empty seat beside Daryl, who’s protecting his full plate with a ruthless expression. Dale and Amy are both clutching hands with clear imprints of fork tines.

“Trying to steal my food?” Glenn teases, handing Keith over to Daryl, who props him against his shoulder and starts patting his back. Glenn digs in and genuinely moans at the steaming food. He forces himself to go slow so he can savor the taste.

“What did the doctor want?” Daryl asks in an undertone, eyeing Jenner with suspicion. Glenn swallows his large mouthful and wipes at his mouth.

“He ran Keith’s bloodwork, said it all came back good.” Glenn says. He’s scooping up more eggs when Daryl reaches over and pinches his side.

“Wasn’t all good news he shared.” Daryl says, a tone of warning in his voice, and Glenn rolls his eyes.

“He ran my bloodwork too, said I’m too low in iron and folate. Apparently, my diet has been less than optimal since the world was overrun by the walking dead.” Glenn says, crooks his fingers in the air when he says “less than optimal.” Daryl frowns. Amy, who is listening in, also looks worried.

“Glenn, that can actually be really bad for you.” Amy says, glancing at Daryl. The frown is still on his face.

“It just means I need to make a run to a pharmacy and dig out some supplements, eat a better diet.” Glenn mumbles around a mouthful of toast. He shrugs. “I couldn’t get to much fruit or vegetables when I was in Atlanta, so I’m not super surprised. I didn’t eat much. The food we ate at the campsite was the best I had in weeks.”

“We would’ve gotten you bigger portions if that were the case—” Amy says, at the same time that Daryl mutters “knew y’were too thin.” Glenn shrugs awkwardly.

“I’ll pay more attention to it now,” Glenn says, eating his last forkful of food. His stomach already has that cramping feeling of being too full, and he dreads the idea of both Amy and Daryl fussing over him. If they stay at the CDC long enough he might be able to talk to Dr. Jenner about the best foods to eat to fix the deficiencies.

“We want the right to choose,” someone says, and Dr. Jenner locks eyes with Glenn. He remembers saying at breakfast how he would always choose Keith, and doesn’t look away from the doctor as he wraps his hand around the back of his baby boy’s head. Daryl is pacing behind them like a caged animal.

“The doors up top won’t open.” Dr. Jenner says, pressing a button on the console. The barriers to the lab begin to lift. Glenn understands what Dr. Jenner is doing seconds before the other’s do; he locks a hand around Daryl’s bicep and drags him to the exit.

“Let’s go!” He yells over his shoulder, racing down the hall with Keith cradled to his chest as securely as he can manage. It’s a relief that the rooms they stayed in are on the way to the exit; he slams into the door and jars it open, scoops Keith’s carrier from the ground and works to get Keith in it. Daryl is two steps behind him and gathers their things.

Their group streams towards the exit, Glenn hauling Sophia up when she stumbles, and for a few long seconds of watching the others try to break the glass, Glenn feels like it’s all pointless. And then Carol—the timid, shy woman—pulls a fucking grenade from her bag. Glenn scrambles for cover and folds himself over Keith, uses his hands to try and protect his tiny ears. A heavy weight drapes over him and Glenn recognizes Daryl’s arms as they brace by his head.

The grenade sends Glenn’s ears ringing. His teeth are buzzing as Daryl hauls him up, frantically tugging the cover of Keith’s sling open so he can check him. Keith is red-faced and displeased but he doesn’t look injured.

“Go for the truck!” Daryl yells to him, leaping through the hole in the window. Glenn follows close behind and doesn’t even see the geek in the shadow of the building until it knocks him off his feet.

He hits the ground hard, breath knocked out of him; one hand is braced on the geek’s neck even as his vision goes spotty for a few moments. The geek snaps it’s teeth at him and scrabbles across Keith’s carrier with the one remaining hand it has. Glenn starts to panic, pinning shut the open top of the carrier, when someone’s boot kicks the geek’s head away from him. T-Dog hauls it off him by the shirt and yanks Glenn up, Daryl stomping the thing’s skull in until it’s a smear on the pavement.

“Go, go!” T-Dog says breathlessly, shoves Glenn forward. They race for the line of vehicles. Daryl doesn’t go ahead of him, this time. They’ve just scrambled over the sandbag barrier when the CDC explodes.

The grenade was nothing, compared to this. It’s a wave of heat and sound, flattening Glenn on his side, hearing blotted out. For a few long moments all he can make out is the sound of his own racing heartbeat—and then Keith’s wail breaks through.

Glenn shoves himself to his knees and wobbles, pushes to his feet and stumbles the last few feet to Daryl’s truck. Daryl is close enough to his back that Glenn can feel the heat of his body. They yank the passenger door open together, Daryl boosting Glenn into the cab with enough force he has to catch himself on the seat, before rounding the front and throwing himself into the driver’s seat. Seconds after they’re both upright the first car of the group peels away with a spray of gravel. Daryl follows the RV.

“You bit?” Daryl asks tightly, hands white around the steering wheel. Glenn is too busy fighting with Keith’s carrier to answer. Keith is openly sobbing.

“I said, are you bit?” Daryl yells, and Glenn feels his patience snap.

“I’m more concerned with our potentially hurt baby, Daryl!” Glenn snarls back, finally freeing Keith from the carrier and running his hands over him. There’s no spots of blood, no obviously broken things, and Glenn starts gently rocking Keith to try and get him to calm down. Glenn doesn’t realize Daryl has been silent for too long until Keith has subsided to sniffles. When he looks over, Daryl has a gob smacked expression on his face.

“Daryl?” Glenn asks, frees one hand from holding Keith to tentatively reach across the seat.

“Y’said ‘our’.” Daryl says slowly. His eyes are fixed on the taillights of the RV ahead. “Did y’mean that?”

Glenn doesn’t understand what Daryl is asking for a few long seconds, staring at him with furrowed brows, when it finally clicks. His stomach flips.

“You said you wanted to be part of us. You, me and Keith.” Glenn says, can’t keep the defensiveness from his voice. Daryl swallows loudly in the silence. He takes a deep breath and peels one hand from the wheel to drag it across his eyes, and Glenn feels his brain screech to a stop.

“Are you crying?” He asks incredulously, and Daryl scowls and shakes his head, even though Glenn can see the tear tracks.

“It’s been a rough fuckin’ day, alright?” He snaps, and surprises Glenn again by laughing. “Figures it takes the end o’the fuckin’ world t’get a real family. I turned ‘round ‘n’ saw you on th’ground, that walker on top o’you ‘n’ Keith, ‘n’ I thought I was gonna find you both bit under it.”

Glenn hadn’t even considered that. It had happened too fast, in his perspective. He hadn’t thought of what Daryl would have felt when he turned around. He reaches a little farther and drapes his hand on Daryl’s thigh carefully, watches his face for any indication to move away. Daryl drops a hand to cover his and squeezes it.

They follow the RV in silence. Keith is still red-faced, but he seems relatively content with burrowing his body as close to Glenn’s as he can manage. Glenn had pulled away from Daryl only long enough to pull free a blanket from their bundle to wrap around his boy. They clasp hands again quickly, both eager for reassurance.

They drive for maybe an hour before the RV slows and pulls to the side of an empty road. Shane’s jeep and Rick’s car have both stopped ahead, people gathering in a loose circle. Glenn and Daryl slip out of the truck and make their way over to join them.

“Is Keith alright?” T-Dog asks, dark eyes worried, and Glenn remembers how the man had pulled the geek off of him. He angles himself so T-Dog can see Keith’s grumpy face.

“Just unsettled.” Glenn says. “It’s been too exciting for him.” Keith’s little hands grasping Glenn’s shirt just emphasizes his statement. Amy and Andrea come over to check him and Keith, and by then everyone has left their vehicles. Glenn’s stomach drops when he doesn’t spot Jacqui.

“Where the hell is Jacqui?” T-Dog asks seconds later. Dale’s face falls.

“She made her decision.” Carol says quietly. Sophia is holding tight to her hand. A silence falls over the group, unsettling and somber. It feels like all they’ve done is lose people in the last few days.

“We’re not going to let this stop us.” Rick says firmly. Lori is under one arm, Carl under the other. Shane stands at his shoulder. “We’ll keep moving. There has to be someplace safe for us, we just need to look for it.”

“For how long?” Andrea asks. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest. Rick shakes his head.

“However long it takes.” He says. “We’ll avoid larger cities, try and find small towns to scavenge. Glenn can give us input on what will be the best option. For now, we’ll keep following this highway until dark. I want to get some more miles in.”

“How are we planning to sleep?” Dale asks. “The RV doesn’t have enough room for everyone. We should prioritize the kids.” Rick nods.

“If we find someplace on the road to stay the night, we’ll take it. I don’t want to sleep in the cars either. Worst case scenario is camping beside the road, the kids in the RV. I’ll call over the radio if that’s what we do.” Rick says, gets nods all around. Glenn presses a kiss to Keith’s brow and then his two beauty marks, and when he looks up both Shane and Lori have their eyes fixed on him. A shudder runs down his spine and he takes a subconscious step back to stand alongside Daryl. The other man wraps his hand around his waist.

“Decide where you’ll be and find out if you’re short on water or food now. In five minutes we’ll head out again, alright?” Rick asks. There’s nods all around once again and Glenn turns into Daryl’s side.

“Let’s stay in the truck for now.” He says, Daryl tilting his head towards him. He nods and runs a finger down the sole of Keith’s foot where it sticks out of the blanket. Keith kicks at the contact viciously, an unfriendly burble leaving his mouth. Glenn can’t help his smile at that, though it feels thin.

“Grumpy.” Daryl says. He reaches up and brushes back Keith’s curls, and Glenn has to take a deep breath to keep from doing something ridiculous like bursting into tears. His eyes burn in warning and he blinks a few times. Their escape from the CDC, the geek, the explosion—it had all been so close. So easily, one of them might not have made it out.

“Don’t do that.” Daryl says briskly. It might sound harsh to someone else but it helps Glenn anchor himself. He doesn’t have time to obsess over almost losing the last few people he cares about. He has to keep his eyes forward and keep moving. That’s the only helpful thing he can do.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, tucks his face into Daryl’s collarbone for just a moment. Daryl’s arms wrap around him and Keith, and Glenn feels a kiss be pressed to his ear. He takes a deep breath and pulls himself back together. Keith needs him. Daryl needs him. That’s what matters.

They resume driving a short while later. Glenn heats up a bottle before they get on the road; a full Keith is a sleepy one, which he would prefer to have when they’re driving. They simply follow the trail of cars in front of them until they finally pull over with about an hour left of light. Half a mile off the road stands a farmhouse.

They pull the cars around for an easy escape if need be. Daryl and Glenn join the circle of people again, Keith preemptively in his carrier. Glenn has Stev’s bow slung over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows at his waist. Daryl is carrying his crossbow.

“Four of us will go in and clear out the entire house, checking the attic and basement.” Rick says. “We’ll get rid of any walkers. If it looks safe enough, we’ll bed down for the night. If not we’ll get back to the road and move a little longer before camping. Any questions?”

“Who’s going?” Andrea asks. Rick glances around.

“Glenn and Daryl have silent weapons, so I’d like them to go. T-Dog is good with close combat as well. I’ll go too, to round it out. Everyone else will keep a watch out here and wait for a signal. One of us will whistle, once, if you’re good to come in. If that’s the case we’ll pull the cars closer to the house.”

No one objects to that. Amy steps up beside Glenn and gestures to Keith, a smile on her face when Glenn thanks her. He transfers the carrier and presses his lips to Keith’s little head. Daryl does the same and glares at anyone who’s watching, like he’s daring them to comment. No one does.

“He already ate, so if he’s fussing it’s probably his diaper.” Glenn tells Amy. “There should be a couple left in the RV.”

Since they have distance weapons, Glenn and Daryl lead the way to the farmhouse. Glenn automatically scans it like he learned to do in the city; any movement in the windows, any easy ways for geeks to get in, any evidence of gore. The door is tightly shut and the windows latched and dark.

“I’ll go around the back.” Glenn says quietly over the sound of the wind in the grass. Daryl nods and jerks his head to T-Dog, who moves to follow behind Glenn. They take a wide birth around the side of the house and Glenn notes the cellar door set into the ground.

The backside of the farmhouse is almost as pristine as the front. A long smear of blood is the only interruption, disappearing into the closed back doorway. Glenn points to make sure T-Dog has seen it and notches an arrow at his nod. They check the other side of the house, a large tree growing close to the side, and then return to the bloody door. After a quick, quiet communication, T-Dog moves to open it with Glenn ready a few feet back.

T-Dog swings the door open and lunges out of the way, lifting Glenn’s bat high in preparation to swing. The door remains empty, but Glenn can see blood spatters on the floor. Someone was bleeding freely when they came through here. It’s turned brown, so it’s not too fresh.

Glenn enters the house on silent feet. T-Dog is a few feet behind him. They check every room they pass and note the unsteady smears of blood along the wall. The trail ends in a pantry just off the kitchen, where a dry puddle of blood is in the middle of the floor. Glenn catches movement out of the corner of his eye and has his bow up and aimed before he blinks.

The geek is relatively fresh; it was an older woman, taller than Glenn with long greying hair. The blood probably came from the gaping bite wound to the outside of its shoulder. Glenn sends an arrow through its eye before it can take a step. Daryl and Rick round the corner of the hall just as the body hits the ground.

“Clear.” T-Dog says. Glenn nods as he goes to the body to collect his arrow.

“Clear on our end as well.” Rick says. “There’s a second floor to check before we bring the others in. Did either of you see an entrance to the basement?”

“Only the outside cellar doors.” Glenn says, wiping his arrow clean on the geek’s clothes. Since the tip isn’t dented he returns it to the quiver. “They had a chain on them, though.”

“Alright, upstairs and check for an attic. If there isn’t an entrance to the basement indoors we won’t bother with it.” Rick decides. The four of them move out of the pantry and towards the stairs, Daryl taking point with Rick behind him. T-Dog goes next and Glenn takes the rear, ears straining for any noises.

Most of the rooms are empty. The last room they check has a body in the bed; a thin, sickly-looking man, younger than the geek downstairs. There’s a gunshot wound to the side of his head and a gun in his hand. It’s recent; about as recent as the geek.

They wrap the body and bring it downstairs, where they do the same for the geek. Both are carried into a small back room where coat racks are the only adornments. Once that’s done, Rick goes to the porch to whistle to the others; Glenn ducks into the pantry to look over the food situation. The shelves are filled with dried foods and preserves.

“Good eatin’ tonight.” Daryl comments, coming up behind Glenn. He hums.

“We’ll be able to take a lot of this with us.” Glenn says. Daryl loops his arms around Glenn’s waist from behind and rests his forehead on his shoulder. Glenn covers his hands with his own and presses a kiss to his temple.

“Sorry for yellin’.” Daryl mutters. Glenn traces his fingers over the back of Daryl’s hands and leans his weight back into him.

“I forgive you,” he murmurs, turning his head to rest their temples together. Daryl sighs and slips his hands under Glenn’s shirt, splaying them over his stomach. For the first time since they left the CDC, Glenn feels himself relax a little bit. They stay like that as the others fill the house; taking a moment of peace for themselves. It’s only interrupted when Shane rounds the corner of the doorway and steps into the pantry. His eyes flick from their faces to where Daryl’s hands rest under his shirt, but he just nods to them and steps out again. Daryl’s arms tighten around him anyway.

“Let’s find Keith and a room for the night.” Glenn says, kissing Daryl’s forehead again. He heaves a great sigh and straightens up, hands sliding from Glenn’s front slowly. They leave the pantry and head to the front of the house where the others are moving blankets and supplies from the cars. Amy is with Andrea by the stairs, sleeping bags and a duffel at their feet. Amy waves to them as they head over.

“He was asleep the whole time,” Amy says before Glenn can ask, undoing the carrier for him. He peeks inside and smiles at Keith’s sleeping face.

“Thank you for taking him,” Glenn says. Amy flips her hair over her shoulder and shrugs.

“I like watching him. It’s no trouble.” She says. Glenn gives into his impulse and slings an arm around her shoulders, hugging her briefly enough to avoid reciprocity. Her eyes are soft when he pulls away.

“We’re all here, so we’ll decide who goes where now.” Rick says. Everyone quiets down to hear him. “There are three bedrooms upstairs. One bed needs new sheets and pillows. Two couches can be used down here. Two people will be on watch at a time, so if we squeeze a bit, everyone should get to avoid sleeping on the floor. Sound doable?”

“Two of us will be able to set up in the RV, if need be.” Dale chimes in. Rick nods gratefully to him.

“There’ll be three total watches for four hours each. Pair up with someone you don’t mind sharing a bed with and we’ll hash out who’s on watch.” Rick says. Chatter breaks out among everyone.

“Glenn, you probably shouldn’t take watch.” Andrea says within their small group. Glenn stares at her.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks. Amy and Andrea exchange glances.

“You hurt your head and lost a lot of blood. You should get as much rest as possible.” Andrea explains.

“Plus, your bloodwork results—” Amy cuts in, and Glenn tries to glare her into silence. It isn’t quite fast enough.

“What bloodwork? What does that mean?” Andrea asks, eyes going back and forth between the three of them. Glenn pinches the bridge of his nose.

“The doctor at the CDC looked at Glenn’s blood and said he’s got an iron and folate deficiency.” Amy says, words rushed, and Andrea turns to Glenn with her brows raised.

“And you didn’t think to share this?” She asks, and Glenn rolls his eyes.

“I don’t get how it’s a public issue—” he says. Andrea shakes her head and steps forward, mouth pulled tight in anger.

“And what if you’re on watch and you pass out from low iron? What if you’re developing organ damage, because you’re too proud? What if one of us had medicine that could help?” Andrea snaps. Her voice rises as she speaks, until everyone in the group is staring at them. Glenn feels his face burn and turns it away. Daryl just shrugs at him.

“What’s this about medicine?” Shane asks, hands on his hips, and Glenn desperately hopes for something to happen so he doesn’t have to deal with this conversation.

“Glenn has vitamin deficiencies.” Amy says. “He didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“Alright, in my defense, I found out this morning.” Glenn says, turns back to the group before Amy and Andrea turn him into some kind of self-martyr. “There hasn’t been a great time to discuss it.” That, at least, is enough for the two women to look a little contrite.

“I think I’ve got iron supplements in the RV.” Dale says, hand scratching his chin. “No dice on the other one, though.”

“That’s—thank you, Dale, but can we figure out watch before we start on this?” Glenn asks. He’s relieved when Rick nods in agreement.

“Okay, who wants first watch—Amy and Andrea, that works. Second watch will be T-Dog and Dale. I can take last watch with Shane. Any complaints?” Rick asks, looking around. While Glenn had objected to the idea of being removed from the watch rotation, he definitely wasn’t going to pass up the full night of sleep.

“Get your rooms settled and then come back down for dinner. Amy and Andrea, you can get your food and then head out.” Rick directs, and the group splits up.

“We’re takin’ a bedroom.” Daryl says, and nudges Glenn forward with a few fingers at his back. “I’ll grab our stuff. Go choose one.”

“Aye-aye, captain.” Glenn says, winning him an eye roll. He climbs the stairs after Carol and Sophia with Lori and Carl following, and heads straight for the room where the man’s body was. He didn’t want to make any of them deal with that.

He remakes the bed with linens from the closet and opens the window to clear out some of the dead body smell. Keith wakes when Glenn pulls him from his carrier and fusses grumpily as Glenn bounces him to keep him awake. He’d prefer it if Keith slept most of the night, and that won’t happen if he sleeps too much now. Daryl returns as he’s circling the room.

“Baby stuff, your stuff, my stuff.” Daryl says, setting the knapsack and backpack on the bed. Keith lets out an angry warble and Daryl lifts his head, amused look on his face.

“What’s th’little man angry about?” He asks. He rounds the bed and accepts Keith when Glenn hands him over, tickling his tiny belly with his fingers. Keith writhes in his arms and manages to catch him in the eye with his baby-sized fist. Glenn bursts into laughter and has to steady himself on the bed.

“Sorry, sorry, is your eye okay?” Glenn asks around his laughter. It takes him a few seconds to straighten up off the bed. He pulls Daryl’s hand from his face and peers at his reddened eye, occasional giggles escaping him. Keith is pressing his face mutinously into Daryl’s neck; there’s a soft expression on the other man’s face that confuses Glenn.

“What?” He asks, laugh subsiding, and Daryl shrugs the shoulder Keith isn’t pressed against.

“You’re beautiful.” Daryl says honestly. Glenn blinks at him for a few seconds, caught off guard, and then feels his face flush vividly.

“What the fuck—!” He squawks, covering his face with his hands. Daryl huffs a laugh and pushes Glenn towards the door.

“Food.” Daryl says, somehow not embarrassed by the ridiculous thing he just said. Glenn’s cheeks are burning.

“Why would you just say that?” Glenn hisses, tugging a bottle of formula from the bag. He also brings a bottle of water in case the water isn’t running. Hopefully the stove will work.

“It’s true.” Daryl says, unrepentant in the face of Glenn’s self-conscious ire. Glenn grumbles under his breath as they head down the stairs towards the pantry. Keith has emerged from Daryl’s neck only enough to glare at everyone around him.

They grab a few items and head to the kitchen to make up Keith’s bottle. The stove takes some encouragement, but soon water is boiling. Daryl rocks back and forth with Keith while Glenn divvies up their food.

Once the bottle is ready Glenn hands it over to Daryl, who murmurs sweet words to Keith until he accepts the nipple and clutches at the bottle with a little hand. Glenn leans his hip against the counter and watches Daryl. He’s got a soft look in his eyes, a little smile on his lips, holding their boy with careful arms. It makes Glenn feel like he’s falling and flying at the same time; he wonders, for the second time, if he’s in love. He’s starting to think he is.

“Not gonna eat?” Daryl asks, glancing up at him. Glenn shakes his head.

“I can wait for you.” Glenn says. Daryl hums and turns back to Keith, pressing a kiss to his curls. Instead of doing what he wants—slinging his arms around Daryl and professing how he’s starting to think he’s in love with him—Glenn starts heating their food up over the stove. He’s just finishing when Daryl sets the empty bottle on the counter.

“I’ll burp him.” Glenn says, reaching for Keith, and Daryl surprises him by pressing a kiss to his lips. His eyes automatically fall shut and he tilts his head, moves his lips gently against Daryl’s. He accepts Keith blindly and smiles a little at the hand Daryl loops around his neck.

“Someone’s feeling romantic,” Glenn murmurs into the kiss. Daryl huffs against his mouth and pulls back after one more peck.

Glenn gets Keith situated, accepting the dishtowel Daryl hands him, and bounces on his feet. He’s patting Keith’s back when Daryl holds a spoon to his mouth.

“Very sweet.” Glenn says, accepting it and closing his mouth around the utensil. He chews and swallows the food while Daryl eats his own spoonful.

Daryl feeds him the entire time he burps Keith and even after the baby has fallen asleep on his shoulder. He tries to be subtle, but Glenn notices how he gives him a slightly larger portion than what’s measured out. Glenn doesn’t call him on it, though.

The water in the house isn’t running, so they scrape the plates as clean as they can and leave them in the sink. Only a few of the others are still up. Rick and Shane are setting out their sleeping bags on the couches, and they exchange goodnights as they head back upstairs. Daryl’s hand finds it’s way to Glenn’s lower back as they pass Shane, and Glenn waits until they get to their room to ask him about it.

“Don’t like how he looks at you ‘n’ Keith.” Daryl says, frowns a little. “I’ve caught him watchin’ you two.” Glenn checks Keith’s diaper and considers that, chewing on his lip. They strip to their underwear in silence. Daryl goes to lock the door and Glenn remembers him doing that at the CDC; he wonders if geeks are the only thing he’s thinking of. They’re both settling into the bed, Keith wedged between pillows in the middle, when Glenn decides to speak.

“I’ve seen him watching us a few times, too.” He says quietly. Daryl stills on the other side of Keith for a few moments. “I think—I don’t know if it’s me or Keith.”

He hates the way his voice wobbles at the end, afraid of what it means if he’s watching Keith, afraid of what it means if he’s watching him. Glenn can’t help but remember the weight of Shane’s hand on his back and it sends a shudder down his spine. Daryl reaches out to him in the dim room and pulls him closer, hand curled around his nape.

“You’re not helpless.” Daryl says quietly, his voice firm. “If he tries somethin’—on you or Keith—you cut his dick off, y’hear me?” Glenn’s laugh is choked. “I know you’ll do anythin’ for Keith. You gotta take care o’yourself, too.”

“And you?” Glenn asks. He thinks about rephrasing it for a moment, but Daryl’s fingers thread through his hair and the other man shakes his head.

“You don’t need me. I know that. You know that. You’ve still got me, though.” He says. Glenn squeezes his eyes shut and desperately ignores the hot tear that slips from his eye. He nods and reaches across Keith to tangle his hand in Daryl’s short, taking deep breaths until he doesn’t feel shaky.

“잘 자요.” Glenn whispers, lifting himself up to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead. Daryl meets him in the middle, nose brushing his, and then he brushes a kiss to Keith’s face as well. They settle down on either side of their little boy, hands meeting and tangling, and Glenn lets himself remember this. The moonlight through the tree branches outside the window; the feeling of the cool sheets on his skin; Keith’s warm feet pressed to his forearm; Daryl’s hand in his.

No matter what comes, they had this. Even for a short while, he has this.

Rustling wakes Glenn up, hand automatically going to the knife under his pillow. Daryl’s “easy, jus’ me” settles him down as quickly as he woke. Gentle hands roll him onto his back and Glenn hums at the lips pressed to his cheek.

The rustling noises continue, as well as the sound of Daryl’s feet on the floor. Glenn isn’t able to fall fully asleep again with the noise but he dozes comfortably, splayed on his back in a way that feels like heaven for his spine. The bed shifts and Daryl’s warm body settles between Glenn’s spread knees. His hands rest on his thighs.

“You awake?” Daryl murmurs, sliding his hands up slowly. Glenn grunts and lolls his head back, enjoying the feel of Daryl’s calluses against his skin. His fingers tangle in the hem of his briefs and tug them once. When Glenn doesn’t say anything, just lifts his hips, they tug again, pulling them down to his knees where Daryl carefully slides each leg free.

Wet lips tickle the inside of each knee, followed by the lightest nip of teeth. Glenn gets a handful of sheet and pulls it over his face. He opens his legs a little wider, gives Daryl enough room to prop his thighs over his shoulders. His mouth sends goosebumps up and down Glenn’s legs as he moves closer to his groin.

Glenn can’t help his groan when Daryl bites down on the inside of his thigh and worries it with his teeth. His tongue laves over it, hot and wet, and when Glenn tries to close his legs Daryl just pins them open. It sends a hot thrill through his stomach.

Daryl moves his mouth all over the apex of Glenn’s thighs, leaving throbbing marks and kisses that has Glenn biting the blanket to keep from waking Keith. He’s fully hard by the time Daryl ghosts his breath over his dick. Glenn whimpers.

Daryl licks the length of him and closes his lips around the head, sucking gently, and Glenn’s legs try to squeeze shut again. Daryl moves his mouth and nips his stomach in punishment, slinging his upper arm over one of Glenn’s thighs to pin it down. The pain just sends Glenn shuddering.

His dick is licked again, Daryl’s tongue gliding from base to tip. He pins it against his stomach and drags his tongue over it repeatedly, hot and wet but not enough. Glenn arches his back and squeezes his eyes tighter shut, panting into the sheet he’s hiding his face with. Daryl just hums and drags his stubbly cheek over his base, peppering kisses over him.

Glenn’s free hand snaps down to grab a handful of hair when Daryl finally takes his cock into his mouth. His hips jerk unintentionally, entire body flushing at the feeling of the wet heat around him. Daryl sucks like he’s trying to pull an orgasm right out of his dick. Glenn tightens his leg over Daryl’s shoulder and rolls his hips, Daryl relaxing his mouth enough for Glenn to fuck himself over his lips. All it takes is Glenn’s head bumping the back of Daryl’s throat, the other man swallowing, and Glenn comes hard enough he yanks the sheets right off the corner of the bed.

Daryl slips Glenn’s leg from his shoulder and brushes a few kisses over his stomach. Glenn pulls the sheet from his face and looks down the length of his body to find Daryl kneeling between his thighs with a satisfied look on his face. His hips and upper thighs are covered in purpling hickeys.

“What was that for?” Glenn mumbles, voice hoarse this soon after waking up. Daryl leans over him and drags his nose along his jaw, hands bracing over Glenn’s shoulders.

“Maybe I jus’ wanted t’give you a nice wakeup.” Daryl murmurs, kissing the underside of his jaw. Glenn shivers when he nips the skin between his teeth and tugs a little. His arms come up to drag along Daryl’s bare sides and hook over his shoulders.

“Very nice,” Glenn says, turning his face to catch Daryl’s lips. They kiss gently for a few minutes, Daryl slowly lowering more of his weight until Glenn can feel the curve of his erection against the inside of his thigh.

“I hope that’s for me, too.” Glenn adds, rocking his hips up to hear Daryl groan.

“Wasn’t doin’ it for you t’get me off.” Daryl says, dropping his face into Glenn’s neck. Glenn laughs and slides a hand up to cup Daryl’s skull.

“And if I wanna get you off?” He asks sweetly, rolling his hips again. Daryl huffs against his neck.

“Won’t argue,” he says, grinding down against Glenn. He wedges a hand under Daryl’s shoulder and pushes him up, leaning towards the side dresser as soon as Daryl props himself up.

“You can fuck my thighs,” Glenn says, tugging the bottle of lotion from the first drawer and handing it to Daryl. “You seem to like them enough, after all.”

Daryl takes the lotion and presses an enthusiastic kiss to Glenn’s mouth, licking his lower lip and nipping his tongue when he gets the chance. Glenn widens his legs and lets Daryl sit up, who tugs his boxers down and pumps lotion into his hand. He smears it between Glenn’s thighs, just above his balls, and then wraps his slick hand around his dick. Glenn pulls his lip between his teeth as he watches Daryl’s head peek out between his fingers.

He folds his leg over the other in front of Daryl and crosses them at the ankle, enabling Daryl to prop his calves on one shoulder. He wraps an arm above Glenn’s knees and hauls him up, squeezing his dick into the space between his thighs. Glenn stifles his noise when Daryl presses hot and heavy on his sensitive dick.

“Y’good?” Daryl asks, already breathless and flushed red to his collarbones. Glenn arches his back and nods, eyes lidding as Daryl holds his thighs to his chest.

Glenn realizes he’s underestimated how intense this will be as soon as Daryl starts thrusting; his cock rides right over the aching marks on his thighs, gliding over his oversensitive dick. He feels himself start to harden and tenses up, Daryl groaning at the tighter squeeze. Glenn braces a hand over himself on the headboard and tries to shove his hips down in time with Daryl, biting his fist to stay quiet.

The stimulation rides that fine line of too-much, stomach jumping and tensing as heat builds between his legs. It’s hard not to watch the flushed head of Daryl’s cock pop out between his thighs, smearing pre-come on his bruised skin. It looks obscene.

Glenn drops his hand from his mouth and digs his thumb into his slit, fingers tugging his foreskin farther down. Pre-come is puddled on his stomach. He whines and presses his face to his shoulder as Daryl picks up the pace, hipbones probably bruising Glenn’s ass. It’s almost there, almost enough; Glenn squeezes his fingers around the head of his cock at the same time that he tenses his thighs, and Daryl lets out a string of swears as he comes. Glenn’s eyelids flutter shut and he spills over his stomach, hips rocking through his orgasm. Their heavy breathing fills the room.

Daryl lowers his legs off his shoulder and Glenn drops them to the bed, hip popping as he moves them. Daryl rubs his thumb over the joint and presses a kiss to it as he shifts, and Glenn—probably half-delirious from his two orgasms and a hell of a lot of endorphins—realizes that he is most certainly in love with Daryl, and would literally have a baby with him if he could.

“Gonna grab tissues,” Daryl murmurs into his skin. Glenn waves a hand in the air until Daryl catches it and he can squeeze his fingers.

“Keith?” Glenn asks drowsily. Daryl sets his hand down on the bed and gets off, walking a few steps before Glenn can hear the rustle of blankets. A warm weight is set on Glenn’s chest and he wraps an arm around Keith, his little man mostly asleep himself. Glenn steadies Keith with a hand on his back and sighs happily.

“He’ll prob’ly need a bottle soon.” Glenn says, pulling his knees up and relishing the feeling of bending them after holding them straight for so long. He pries his eyes open and watches Daryl pull on jeans and a shirt. He doesn’t bother to put on socks or fix his mussed hair; just tugs a bottle with formula from their bag.

“Be back in a minute.” Daryl promises. He kisses Glenn’s forehead, thumb gently tracing the healing wound on his brow, and then drops a kiss to the side of Keith’s face. His little nose wrinkles in distaste.

Glenn lets his eyes slide shut as Daryl unlocks the door and slips from the room. The pale morning light feels warm where it falls against his legs and side. Despite the cooling come on his stomach and chafing thighs, he’s comfortable. Keith is a reassuring weight on his chest, little back lifting his hand as he breathes.

For a moment Glenn lets himself imagine that this is his life and there aren’t undead roaming around outside. He imagines living in a home with Daryl and a baby of their own, imagines this is a normal lazy morning on a day off. He wonders how Daryl likes his coffee. Wonders if Daryl would have even given him the time of day, if the world hadn’t fallen to pieces around them. It strikes a sad note in his chest to think that they wouldn’t have met otherwise.

The door handle clicks as it turns, and Glenn rubs at his eyes and tries to make himself wake up a little bit.

“That was quick,” he says, turning his head to the side, and feels his lungs freeze in his chest when his eyes meet Shane’s.

The other man stares at him, eyes wide and clearly just as surprised to see Glenn. Before there’s a chance to even move, though, Shane’s eyes flick from his face to Keith, curled on his chest, and then lower—to the come splattered over his stomach, his soft dick; the obvious hickeys and teeth marks across his thighs. A flush spreads across his cheekbones. Glenn manages to make himself move and he folds in on himself, covering himself up and wrapping his other arm around Keith. The movement seems to shock Shane out of whatever trance he was in and he jerks back, slamming the door shut. Glenn just stares after him for a few long moments.

Should he—should he get up and find Daryl? Should he lock the door? Glenn blinks a few times and checks to make sure Keith didn’t wake from the noise. The morning had been so calm and sedate that Glenn feels wrongfooted from this. He wonders what Shane had been looking for; shudders, and wonders if he found it. The door handle clicks and Glenn rolls onto his back again.

“Girls were heatin’ water already, so it was fast.” Daryl says as he enters, closing the door behind him. The formula bottle is set on the dresser and Daryl leans over him, dragging a hot washcloth over his stomach. Glenn sucks in air when it smooths over his now over-oversensitive dick and the chafed insides of his thighs. They probably should have used more lotion, but Glenn isn’t upset. He finds he kind of likes the feeling.

“Grab me some underwear?” Glenn asks, shifting to sit more upright. Daryl nods and turns to his bag, rustling through it. Glenn turns Keith around in his arms so he’ll be able to nurse. Instead of tossing him the underwear, like he was expecting, Daryl climbs onto the bed and slips them over his feet, pulling them up his knees and over his hips when he lifts them. They’re a pair of black panties that Glenn doesn’t recognize, but he doesn’t say anything.

He accepts the bottle from Daryl and tests it briefly. It’s just cool enough for Keith and Glenn bounces the baby until he wakes up with an unhappy noise. The complaints end once he has the nipple in his mouth, though, and Glenn snorts as Keith’s eyes slip shut again.

“Feelin’ alright?” Daryl asks, lifting Glenn’s legs to drape them over his lap. Glenn chews the corner of his lip and debates telling him—but Daryl deserves to know. They’re his family.

“Shane came in earlier.” Glenn says evenly. Daryl’s entire body goes still. “I think he was looking for a different room. He certainly seemed surprised to see me, at least. He left pretty fast.” Daryl’s hands tighten where they rest on his thighs, almost painful, but release instantly.

“I’m gonna put a round up his ass.” He snarls, teeth grit. Oddly enough, seeing him react like this almost makes Glenn feel better; he can brush off the last bit of fear he had felt. He looks at Daryl’s tense jaw and the careful way he’s holding his legs, and smiles.

“Did Rick say anything about heading out?” Glenn asks. Daryl takes a moment before turning to face him, an adorable look of confusion on his face.

“Are we leaving soon?” Glenn asks again, hears his amusement leak into his voice, and Daryl frowns.

“Nah, didn’t see him.” He says. Glenn hums and looks back down to Keith. He’s making good headway on the bottle.

“Shane comin’ in didn’t bother you?” Daryl asks, clearly confused. Glenn idly stretches his legs out and Daryl slides one hand higher on his thigh, thumb tracing the shape of the marks he left.

“I was more surprised than scared, in the moment he opened the door and I realized it wasn’t you.” Glenn says. “When he looked at Keith, and me, and I—I felt vulnerable, so yeah, I was scared then. But you—make me less scared.” Glenn flushes a little, feeling like an idiot for saying that, but Daryl huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

“Me, of all people.” Daryl mutters, but he’s got a smile on his face that makes Glenn feel warm.

“If no one else is up, we can go back to bed?” Glenn asks hopefully. Daryl shrugs.

“Don’t see why not.” He says. Glenn sighs in relief and busses Keith’s forehead. He’s been in a car or sitting around for most of the last few days, but he feels exhausted, entire body tense and sore.

Daryl’s thumbs rub circles in his muscles as Keith finishes nursing. Glenn gives him the usual perfunctory burping, spit-up minimal, and Daryl takes him to change his diaper. Glenn rolls onto his stomach and stretches his aching shoulders, arching his back to try and ease the tightness in his spine. He slumps against the mattress and listens to Daryl’s baby talk, amused to note how soft his voice gets.

Someone knocks at the door and Glenn groans, burying his face in the pillow. His vision of falling asleep again is fast disappearing. The door swings open before Daryl or him can speak and he hears Andrea’s voice chastising Amy as she marches into their room.

“Nice ass, Glenn,” Amy says, leaning across the bed to smack the crease of his thigh. Glenn grabs the pillow next to his head and whips it at her without looking, smiling into the sheets at the sound of her yelp.

“Leave him alone, Amy. Poor guy looks like he was mauled.” Andrea says. Her voice sounds incredibly amused, and Glenn remembers what his thighs look like as his ears flush red. Daryl makes a sound of annoyance.

“Y’jus’ here to harass us?” He grunts, climbing onto the bed next to Glenn. He pointedly tugs the sheets up and over Glenn’s lower half. The bed bounces as one of the girls—probably Amy—flops onto the mattress.

“We’re wondering what you’re going to do now, since the CDC was a bust.” Amy says, her hand landing on Glenn’s calf over the sheets and staying there.

“And by that she means she’s wondering, and I’m hoping you’ll stay.” Andrea chimes in. Her voice sounds farther away, like she’s sitting in one of the armchairs across the room.

“We’ll do whatever Glenn wants.” Daryl says, sounding as surly as he always does around other people, and Glenn smacks the outside of his thigh gently with his hand.

“You’re a part of the decision-making process, too.” He grumbles. “Don’t put all the responsibility on me.” Andrea laughs.

“There’s not any reason for you to go, though, is there?” Amy says. She sounds worried, and Glenn feels his shoulders tense as he thinks of Shane. Is that a reason to worry? Is he just making a problem out of nothing? But Daryl had noticed something, too.

“Right now, we aren’t planning on leaving.” Glenn says, turning his head to the side. He can just see Amy over the curve of his shoulder. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, glowing gold in the morning light. “We haven’t really talked about it, though.”

“Too busy doing something else to talk, I’m guessing.” Amy says, giggling when Glenn tries to glare at her. Daryl drops a hand to his hair and cards his fingers through it, careful around tangles. He hadn’t realized how long it was getting. Beyond Amy, Glenn can see Andrea watching him and Daryl with a strange look on her face. Before he can ask her anything there’s a timid knock at the partially open door. Sophia’s head pokes in.

“Is Glenn in here?” She asks. Glenn pushes himself to his elbows, Daryl’s hand sliding down to rest over his shoulder blade.

“Is everything alright, Sophia?” He asks. She smiles at him and scurries into the room.

“Dale asked me to give these to you.” She says, holding out a bottle that rattles with pills. Glenn takes it from her and peers at the label, confused, before realizing they’re the iron supplements Dale had mentioned yesterday. He sets the bottle on the dresser and smiles at her.

“Thank you.” He says, and she smiles at him over her tangled fingers. He’s about to ask her where her mother is when Daryl leans over him and pats the limited open space of the bed.

“Hop onboard, Miss Sophia.” Daryl says. Sophia’s grin widens and she kicks her shoes off, scrambling onto the bed. Glenn lowers his chest to the mattress again and sighs, feeling off-kilter and faintly nauseous. Sophia leans against his side. Daryl’s hand returns to his hair, and he lets his eyes slip shut.

He doesn’t think he falls asleep, but time has clearly passed when someone’s voice rises in concern and a hand shakes his shoulder. He pries his eyes open and rolls onto his side, Amy and Andrea looking down at him with worry.

“Wha—?” Glenn mumbles, dragging a hand over his eyes. Someone pushes him the rest of the way onto his back and he blinks up at the two women leaning over him.

“Glenn, are you feeling alright?” Andrea asks. Her hand presses to his forehead, then his cheek, and he realizes she’s checking for his temperature. He bats her hand away.

“Tired and achy, like everyone else is, I’m sure.” He says, heaving himself up to a sitting position. Amy and Andrea exchange glances that he pointedly ignores. “Where’s Daryl and Keith?”

“Daryl went to get you breakfast in bed, because he’s actually a sweet gentleman under all that redneck.” Amy says, Andrea rolling her eyes and shoving at Amy’s shoulder. Glenn cracks a smile. “He brought Keith with him, of course.” Glenn nods and covers a yawn with his palm, stretching towards the ceiling and feeling his spine crack pleasantly.

“Is there a reason Daryl told us not to let Shane in here?” Andrea asks casually. Glenn doesn’t even realize what she’s asked for a few seconds.

“He said that?” He asks, voice climbing in surprise, and the two girls exchange a look Glenn can’t decipher.

“What’s going on with Shane?” Amy asks, scooting closer to Glenn on the bed. Glenn drags his hands through his hair and sighs, debating making up a reason. The girls might understand more than anyone else, though.

“Daryl says he’s seen Shane looking at me and Keith weird.” Glenn finally admits. “And I think I’ve noticed it, too. So—and for other reasons—neither of us want Shane near me or Keith.”

“He’s done something, too, hasn’t he?” Andrea asks, gaze intense, and Amy whacks her arm.

“He doesn’t have to do something to make you uncomfortable.” She says, and Andrea puts a hand up. The look in her eyes is what Glenn guesses is her lawyer look. He doesn’t want to answer, and his silence is incriminating enough. Andrea’s face twists in fury, and Amy looks horrified.

“What did he do? What happened?” Amy asks, looking between the two of them. Glenn looks out the window in the room and watches the branches of the tree sway. He doesn’t want to tell them. It’s nice to have someone to commiserate with, but—

“We can’t help you or Keith if we don’t know what happened.” Andrea says, calmly, and Glenn flinches, because he’s heard that exact wording from his friends and family, in the aftermath of his sophomore year.

“He walked in on me this morning.” Glenn says, cuts off whatever Amy was going to say with that look of realization on her face. “It was just me and Keith. I don’t think he meant to, he seemed surprised to see me, but—I was naked and—not decent, and Keith was on my chest, and he just—he just stared at us. And instead of apologizing or, or explaining, he just slammed the door and ran off.”

“When he and I went to get the radiator hose, I didn’t—I did hit my head, that’s true, but it was because—he pinned me down while I was pulling out the hose, and it reminded me of—” Glenn adds, cuts himself off and swallows. His eyes are fixed on his lap and his tangled fingers. “I had a flashback of when I was—was raped in college. Because he put his hand on my back and held me down over the engine. And it was because of geeks, I know, I know it wasn’t his fault, I—”

Whatever else he was going to stammer out is cut off; Amy and Andrea both throw their arms around him, clutching him tightly but without hurting him, and he wraps an arm around each of them because he’s at a loss for what else to do.

“Oh, Glenn,” Amy whispers, voice so sad and horrified and understanding.

Andrea doesn’t say anything, but the way she presses her forehead to his temple and gently cards her fingers through his hair tells him everything he needs to know. Glenn tightens his hold on them, eyes squeezed shut to fight the sudden stinging, and swallows tightly.

“I just—I hope you don’t but do you ever—you get a feeling in your gut, a—a ‘I can’t trust this’ or ‘this is going to be bad’ but about a person?” Glenn asks, and both the girls nod their heads. “Sometimes when Shane is looking at—at me or Keith, I get that feeling, like I’m going to have to—I don’t know, defend him or myself?”

Again, the girls nod like that makes sense, and Glenn suddenly realizes that maybe it does. Maybe people who have experienced that kind of violence—or grown up knowing it could happen to them—know the feeling he’s talking about. Maybe he hasn’t actually been losing it the past several years since he was assaulted. Maybe his reactions have all been normal.

“If your gut tells you that Shane can’t be trusted, then listen to it.” Andrea says seriously, pulling back. She tucks a few locks of his hair behind his ear. “You’re not alone in this. You have Daryl, yes, but you have me and Amy too, now.”

“We’re here to help, or even just listen if you want to talk.” Amy adds. She straightens up and removes her arms from around him but doesn’t move away.

“Have you told anyone else about your assault?” Andrea asks. Glenn clears his throat and nods.

“I’ve talked to Daryl about it.” He says. Andrea’s expectant gaze makes him want to fidget. “I never told any friends or family.”

“And Daryl reacted in a way that made you feel safe and comfortable?” Andrea asks, like she’s looking for something. Glenn remembers the way she had looked at him and Daryl earlier and starts to understand.

“He took care of me.” Glenn says firmly. She holds his eyes for a moment or two before nodding. Amy has a soft smile on her face.

“I’m glad you two found each other.” She says. Glenn laughs a little and looks down at his tangled fingers again.

“I’m glad, too.” He says. And then, softly, continues speaking. “I love him. I’m in love with him. However you want to say it.”

“Good, because that man is smitten with you.” Amy cuts in. Andrea snorts into her hand.

“Not to ruin a soft moment, but yes, he is enamored.” Andrea says. Glenn flushes and feels a mix of satisfaction and glee well up in his stomach.

“The way he looks at you—” Amy starts to say. Glenn is actually very interested to hear this, but the door swings open at that moment. Daryl stands in the doorway with two plates in his hands and Keith strapped to his chest.

“Alright, enough naggin’,” Daryl grumbles, moving to the bed and handing a plate of food to Glenn. “Scram. Let ‘im eat in peace.”

Glenn can’t help but notice that Daryl’s ears are a brilliant, furious red.

They spend half of the day at the small farmhouse. It’s not a viable option for the long term, since it lacks running water, so they take what they can and prepare to move on. Glenn climbs into the attic with T-Dog and finds a treasure trove of baby supplies—clothes, toys, blankets, a carry cot. It’s all clearly old but he couldn’t care less. It’s things he won’t have to scavenge for in the future.

T-Dog helps him haul it all down the narrow ladder and out to the RV. The bulk of the things will stay in the truck with Daryl and Glenn, but the carry cot and some of the blankets and clothes go into the RV for lack of space. When that’s done Glenn goes looking for Daryl and Keith. He finds them in the room they stayed in, clothes spread across the bed. Keith is on a blanket in the middle of the floor; he’s viciously swinging his wolf toy around.

“Anythin’ you want?” Daryl asks, nodding to the clothes. When Glenn steps close enough he slings an arm around his waist, and Glenn leans into his side. The clothes are probably from the young man who’s body they moved from the room, but Glenn’s scavenged from dead people enough that it doesn’t bother him anymore.

“Will any of it fit?” Glenn asks. He picks out two flannels that can double as blankets for Keith.

“You’re skinny enough.” Daryl says, sounding somewhat disgruntled about it. It’s enough to bring a smile to Glenn’s face. He pulls away from Daryl and grabs a pair of canvas pants, hands undoing his zipper and button to try them on. Daryl packs the two flannels away.

“I found some things for Keith in the attic.” Glenn says as he steps out of his jeans. He tugs the canvas pants on and pulls them up to his waist, where they hang low and a little loose. They’ll fit well if he puts on a bit more weight so he removes them and hands them over to Daryl.

“Blankets, clothes, a carry cot that we can keep in the RV.” Glenn says when Daryl makes an inquisitive noise. He frowns and turns back to Glenn after packing away the clothes.

“The fucks a carry cot?” Daryl asks, stepping over to Keith and placing him back in the center of the blanket when he wiggles too close to the underside of the bed. Glenn finishes pulling his jeans up and tries to remember the English word for it—he knows the Korean word, but can’t quite grasp the English equivalent.

“A—like a Moses basket.” He says, hopes it’s close enough, and Daryl hums.

“Won’t have t’sleep in the carrier.” Daryl says approvingly, and Glenn nods. That had been his first thought as well.

They finish going through the clothes and then pack away a sturdy quilt to replace the threadbare blanket they usually shared. Keith is bundled up in Glenn’s arms and they head downstairs, where people are slowly packing up the vehicles. Sophia waves to them as they pass, wearing a new button down and better boots than her old shoes, and Glenn uses Keith’s little hand to wave back. It makes Sophia laugh.

“If everyone is ready we can ship out again.” Rick says. “Same deal as before; honk once to get everyone to stop. We’ll continue down this highway. Our main priority for the rest of today and tomorrow is to find water.”

Daryl rearranges a few things in the truck before they climb in. Once everyone is settled, Rick leads the way with his car and the rest of the vehicles fall in line. As they’re driving back to the road Daryl holds something out to Glenn. He takes it and hears the familiar rattle of pills; it’s the iron supplements Sophia brought this morning. Glenn takes the recommended dosage for adults and tucks the container into his bag.

They drive for an hour, and then two. The end of the third hour is creeping ever closer when they finally pull to a stop; the road is cluttered with dozens of vehicles and a pileup. Dale pulls the RV as far into the crowding as possible before stopping. Daryl puts the truck in park and reaches out to catch Glenn’s shoulder, brow furrowed.

“Bring your bow.” He says. Glenn nods and transfers Keith to his carrier, handing him over when Daryl holds a hand out. Daryl’s crossbow is easier to use with Keith than Stev’s bow is.

They climb from the truck, Glenn checking to make sure his knife is still on his belt, and then move over to meet the others in front of the RV. Rick waits for everyone before he starts speaking.

“We’re running low on gas and water foremost, so those are our priorities.” Rick says. “Dale will be on top of the RV on watch. I want Andrea, Shane, and Amy looking for water. Daryl, Glenn, T-Dog and I will be siphoning gas. Lori, you and Carol will take Sophia and Carl to look for anything useful—food, medicine, clothes. Everyone will stay within sight of the RV.”

There’s a round of agreements at that. Amy, Andrea and Shane immediately head off to look for water, while Glenn and the others siphoning gas gather the cannisters from the back of Shane’s jeep. They split in two directions; T-Dog and Daryl go one way, while Glenn and Rick move towards the road. It makes sense Daryl and Glenn each have silent distant weapons, but he doesn’t particularly like it. He presses a kiss to Keith’s head and Daryl’s lips before they go their separate ways.

Rick is particularly bad at siphoning gas; he coughs up gasoline on his first try, so Glenn takes over. He’s experienced enough at crimping the tubing to avoid an unfortunate mouthful. Rick leans against the car and watches Glenn with a shrewd gaze.

“You weren’t joking about the rough patch.” Rick finally says, the last of the gas from the car in the cannister. It’s maybe three gallons.

“I hope you’re not conflicted about something.” Glenn says, pushing himself to his feet and hauling the cannister to the next car.

“Like what?” Rick asks, a trace of amusement in his voice, and Glenn grins at him around the tubing in his mouth.

“Like my dubious history that directly benefits our survival.” He says around the plastic, and then gets to siphoning. Rick laughs and finally uncrosses his arms.

“I actually wanted to ask a favor relating to that dubious history.” Rick says, tucking his hands into his pockets. Glenn lifts his eyebrows as he crimps the tube and pulls his mouth off it.

“Would you be willing to teach Sophia and Carl some things? How to hotwire a car, pick a lock, self-defense—” Rick says, and Glenn has to hold a hand up to stop him before he laughs so hard he attracts geeks.

“What kind of car thief do you think I was, huh? Picking locks?” Glenn asks incredulously, shakes his head. “I can teach them to hotwire a car, sure, and how to jimmy one open, but I don’t know how to pick a lock. All my self-defense comes from being stuck in Atlanta for a month with thousands of geeks and a baseball bat.”

“A month?” Rick asks, stares at Glenn. Apparently no one had told Rick about that.

“I was in Atlanta when everything started.” Glenn says, shaking the tube out so they can move on. “Me and Keith—he’s my nephew, I don’t know if anyone said—were trapped in my apartment during the bombing. I stayed in the city for about a month before leaving.”

Rick looks like his world has been turned upside down. He stares at Glenn with wide eyes, mouth working. He’s just starting to speak when Dale’s shout catches them off guard, turning to look at him. He’s pointing out in front of them, arm jerking in urgency. Glenn whirls around, hand going to his knife, and—

“Holy shit.” Rick breathes. The group—the herd of geeks approaches them in shambling waves. Glenn’s stomach goes tight and sick, because while he’s seen this many geeks in one place, he was always on a roof or several floors of locked doors away from them.

“Under the car.” Glenn says, kicks the gasoline cannister so it spills on the pavement. Rick takes a step back, turning his head towards where Lori and Carl were, and Glenn lunges for him.

They’re of a similar height; Rick has maybe an inch or two on him but outweighs Glenn by thirty pounds. He has to kick off the car behind Rick when he gets his arm around the other man’s neck to bring him down. The impact on the pavement is unforgiving, gasoline pungent and wet against their clothes, but they both manage to squirm under the SUV before the geeks get to them.

Glenn can feel Rick’s heart pounding against his chest where they’re pressed together. One of his shoulders lay under Rick’s back, the weight uncomfortable, but Glenn would cut his own hand off before he made a noise here.

And then the geeks are around them.

The sound is something that has haunted his nightmares: that sickening shuffle-drag, the scrape of feet not lifted enough. Glenn screws his eyes shut and then wrenches them open again; the noise is worse in the darkness of his eyelids.

He has to hope that Daryl and T-Dog noticed the herd and had time to hide as well. Daryl would take care of Keith, Glenn has no doubt, but there’s little that can be done in the face of this many geeks. Too many grasping hands, too many gnawing mouths. The thought opens a chasm in his stomach

They wait, and wait, gasoline clinging to their clothes. The geeks pass, their shuffling dying off, and Glenn begins to think that maybe they’ve made it through this. A few minutes drag by without noise and Glenn exchanges a look with Rick. They nod, a beat off of synchronizing, and then the silent air is torn by Sophia’s scream.

They roll out from under the car on opposite sides and are on their feet in seconds.

Glenn hops the road railing and tears down the uncut grass. He’s just fast enough to see the lurching steps of two geeks disappearing after Sophia into the trees and he moves towards the spot, ragged sneakers sliding in the loose dirt. Rick is shouting something to the others from behind him.

“Find Sophia!” Glenn yells over his shoulder. The woods close around him. He clears a downed log and notches an arrow as he moves, fingers moving on instinct. There isn’t time for the usual safety measures of running with a bow when there are geeks to consider.

Rick crashes through the undergrowth behind him, likely following him by sight instead of tracking, and Glenn curses as his eyes desperately scan the ground. He wishes he had more time to learn tracking from Daryl; wishes he could move slower, take his time. He doesn’t have that option, though.

Glenn rounds a tight cluster of trees and runs directly into a geek. His notched arrow rips straight through its neck, missing the spine, and they tumble to the ground in an ungraceful bundle. His head slams off of something and sends stars ricocheting across his vision, the forest floor dipping and weaving as he tries to scramble to his hands and knees. Desperate fingers grasp for an arrow even through his bow is tangled in the geeks arm, its body half-under Glenn’s.

He finally yanks an arrow free of his quiver and punches the geek’s face, buying him the few seconds he needs to drive the bolt through its eye. By now he recognizes the feeling of blood running down the side of his face. His eye and cheekbone throb with pain in time with his heartbeat, nauseating and bad enough Glenn wonders if he’s broken a bone there. Even if it’s broken—shattered, even—he has to find Sophia.

Glenn rips the arrow free with a sickening slurping noise. It takes him too long to untangle his bow string from the geek’s arm; his eyes are having considerable trouble focusing. There’s too many bows, and then too many arms, and then too many of his own hands, even though he only feels two.

Eventually he gets his bow free and hauls himself to his feet. He has to steady himself on a tree, unsteady on his legs like a newborn deer, but he forces himself to push off and totter forward. Hopefully Rick continued on and was able to find Sophia; Glenn would keep searching until nightfall before turning back. His brain wasn’t scrambled enough for his sense of direction to fail, and he knew Daryl would wait, even if the others didn’t. Hopefully Daryl won’t do something drastic like come looking for him.

Sophia’s trail is gone, lost in the tumble of leaves and slurry of dark spots in Glenn’s vision, but he continues in the same vague direction he was going before he hit his head. He has an arrow notched even though he half-doubts he could hit the broadside of a barn with his head like this. He doesn’t try to obscure his path; anything more than walking where he intends to go is beyond him right now.

Time jumps beyond him, sometimes passing so slowly that Glenn feels like there’s syrup dripping from his skin. Sometimes he blinks and the sun is in a completely new position. By the changing light, he can guess that he’s been in the forest for hours. If he doesn’t find Sophia soon he’ll have to head back.

As if the universe is giving him a piece of good luck, Glenn comes up on the edge of a ravine and spots the white and blue of Sophia’s button down. With his failing vision it looks like there’s two of her, and six geeks after her. They’re all at least a hundred yards from him at the bottom of the ravine.

“Sophia!” Glenn yells, lifting his bow and drawing his arrow back. The geek closest to her multiples by two, by three; he was never as good a shot as Stev, but even with a head wound he can’t miss from here. The geek and it’s double drop to the ground with his arrow in its temple. Almost simultaneously, the ground under Glenn’s foot crumbles, and his failing sense of balance sends him down the slope.

Instinct kicks in again. His free hand flies to his quiver, closing over the top tightly enough to keep any arrows from falling free. He doesn’t have time for anything else; Glenn’s fall is uneven, and an impact with a tree at his shoulder sends him tumbling head over heels, bow in an iron grip. His head bounces off of—something, leaves whirling past him, dirt spraying, the incline too steep for him to catch himself—

His ribs slam into something hard and give under the pressure. Glenn’s entire body whites out for a moment at the pain. The rest of his fall—spent in a whirlwind of pain—seems short, and Glenn splays on his side at the bottom of the ravine. For a few moments all he can do is wheeze around the squeezing, blinding pain in his side. The few other broken bones he’s sustained don’t even compare.

“—nn! Glenn!” Sophia’s cries are what rouse him from his stupor. He drags his elbow under himself and pushes himself slowly, painstakingly up. Shaking fingers dig through the leaves until they close around his bow. When he opens his eyes, Glenn sees three tilted Sophias running towards him, blood smeared across her nice button down.

Glenn tries to get his mouth to cooperate, tries to call to her, but his tongue is three-times too big and tastes like blood. When he moves his jaw it clicks disconcertingly in his ear. Sophia skids to a stop next to him, dropping to her knees in the leaves and dirt. She wobbles and wavers in front of his eyes.

“How m’ny?” He slurs. His mouth is clumsy, thoughts moving too slow and fractured to put into words. Sophia clutches at his upper arm and tries to help him sit up.

“There are—two more, only two more, Glenn—” She says desperately, voice breaking, and Glenn rolls himself onto his back. He notches an arrow with his eyes squeezed shut; his double vision makes his sight more of a hindrance than a help. The sound of a geek growling makes Sophia clutch him tightly. Her little body is shaking against his arm.

“Got it, got it,” Glenn grits out, pries his eyes open. The geek is only a handful of feet from them. Close enough. He lurches upright, drawing the arrow back with a gasp of pain. It lights up his broken ribs like a fucking city block; the draw is barely half, but it has to be enough. He doesn’t have the strength for anything more.

The arrow buries itself in the geeks eye. It’s not a clean through and through, only lodged halfway, but the geek drops in a pile at his feet. Glenn drops back to the ground and whines high in his throat at the agony it sends through him. He can’t take a full breath anymore.

“There’s—another, Glenn, one more—” Sophia says. Her voice is tear-thick but she’s trying so hard to keep it even. A small hand brushes against his forehead and pushes a few sweat-soaked pieces of hair back. Just like her mother.

He can’t draw another arrow, not on his own. It’s either have Sophia help him or wait for the geek to get close enough to use his knife. He doesn’t like the idea of either, but one puts Sophia in more danger than the other. Glenn fumbles for another arrow with fingers that feel numb.

“Need help—” He pants, feels like his chest is getting smaller with every inhale. Maybe the pain is just getting bigger.

Sophia’s tiny, pale hand joins his on the string. They pull it back together, the bow wavering as Glenn fights to keep it aimed; the geek shambles closer, one leg nearly useless. Glenn heaves in a breath that almost knocks him unconscious.

“Now.” He whispers, too out of breath for anything else. Sophia’s fingers release at the same time as his. The arrow rips through the geeks skull and it falls to the ground, upper body landing on the other crumpled geek. Glenn’s exhale rattles through his chest.

“Y’bit?” Glenn wheezes. His eyes are half-shut; it’s too difficult to make them focus right now.

“No, I didn’t—I’m not hurt. The blood is from a walker I took down.” Sophia says. Her hand scrambles into his and he folds his fingers around her’s tightly, squeezing in reassurance. His mouth quirks.

“Tha’s a girl.” He says approvingly, proud of her. Sophia’s laugh is watery and threadbare.

“You’re hurt.” She says. Glenn forces his eyes open and blinks a few times at the blurry canopy above him. He’s hoping he’s not imagining it when it doesn’t seem to be moving so much.

“Took a fall.” He says. Sophia sniffles, and he tugs on her hand before a new wave of tears can begin. “Help me up, your mom’s gotta be outta her mind.”

“Daryl’s probably really worried, too.” Sophia says, crawling behind him to help him sit up. Glenn grimaces as he goes breathless at the movement—or maybe it’s the thought of Daryl’s reaction when he gets back. Either are possible.

Getting him to his feet is a messy, uncoordinated process. Glenn’s legs don’t want to support his aching, battered body, new pains revealing themself as he gets vertical. His shin feels deeply bruised and his shoulder doesn’t want to move. Eventually, though, Sophia gets him upright and braces herself under his more cooperative arm. He hands her his knife.

Keeping the sun on his left shoulder, Glenn and Sophia begin limping towards the gentler incline of the ravine. It’s tough going with his head swimming and body in agony. It’s harder and harder to breath evenly, breathes whistling out of him and his inhales growing smaller and tighter. Sophia is bearing too much of his weight by the time they get to the top of the ravine.

“Forward,” Glenn mumbles, head hanging for a moment. Sophia’s blond head bobs in agreement, one small hand curled tightly around his knife. He’ll have to get her a weapon of her own when they get out of this fucking forest.

They limp onwards. Any branch or log on the ground is an obstacle, and Glenn knows he won’t be able to get up again if he falls. He’ll have to send Sophia onwards if that happens. She’s huffing and puffing under his weight. They’ve been walking for—a long time. Maybe an hour. They need to rest, but Glenn knows he’s only moving because he hasn’t stopped yet.

“That’s the—the stream, we’re almost there.” Sophia says breathlessly, the two of them stumbling past a thicket of broad leaves bordering the water. It trembles, shakes—a geek shoves through the trailing branches and lurches into Sophia, mouth agape.

Glenn isn’t even thinking when he shoves the arm around Sophia’s shoulders into its mouth.

Teeth close around his forearm with brutal force, squeezing, his arm lighting up in pain, bones protesting—

Sophia lets out a furious yell and slams Glenn’s knife into the geek’s temple, her body taking it and Glenn down to the ground. He’s winded for the—too many times, now, today. The idea that he’s been bit and he’s infected now should be a bigger deal; should be the foremost thought on his mind, but all he can focus on is how much he wants a full breath of air and can’t get one.

“Please don’t be bleeding, please, please, please—” Sophia sobs, hands shoving ineffectually at the geek’s jaw. Glenn rolls over and pulls the knife from it’s temple. He barely has the strength to plunge it into the jaw joint, leveraging it open, but he manages. His aching arm is finally released from between the geek’s teeth and he slumps back.

“Bleedin’?” Glenn asks, voice hoarse and wheezy. Sophia’s hands drag over his tender skin and close around his hand once again.

“It didn’t break the skin.” She says, and then lets out a muffled whimper. “Oh, Glenn, it didn’t break the skin—”

His relief comes with a resurgence of nausea, and he rolls onto his side away from Sophia as best as he can manage. His bile is thin and tastes like death, and Glenn can’t help his gasping laugh, even as it burns through his chest like magma. He can see Keith again, and Daryl. He doesn’t have to die here.

“Just a little farther,” he rasps, and he can hear Sophia taking deep, steadying breaths.

“A little farther.” She repeats, sounding far more confident than he did.

Glenn doesn’t remember how they get him upright again; his entire body is shrieking at him, vision spotting and blinking, but somehow Sophia is under his arm again with his now-bloody knife ready in her hand. They must make the oddest three-legged person in the world.

Glenn forces himself onwards. Stopping can’t even be an option, at this point. The forest thins around them, letting in more dusky light. Night is fast approaching. Glenn knows that he’s no better than geek bait right now.

“The—I see the road! I see the road, Glenn, please just—a little farther!” Sophia begs. The next few yards feel like an eternity. Every breath feels like a stab wound, and takes in less air each time. Sophia tugs him on to the grassy slope next to the road desperately, one hand pressing on his lower back to keep him moving. They stumble through a gap in the guardrail and Glenn’s legs finally go out from under him.

He slumps against the bumper of a car and wheezes for air, one arm curling around his busted ribs. He’s only half-aware of Sophia running from him. Her boots beat against the pavement like a drumbeat in his head—thud, thud, thud, thud. She’s yelling but Glenn can’t make out the words.

He could have sat alone for a minute or an hour and he wouldn’t be able to tell. One moment he’s alone, the breeze cool against his grimy face; the next moment two beautifully familiar hands are framing his face, a low voice sweet in his ears.

“Glenn, open your eyes—Glenn, please look’t me,” Daryl says, pleading, and Glenn wraps his fingers around one of Daryl’s wrists and pries his eyes open.

“Hey, handsome.” He whispers. One eye won’t open completely. This is fine, though; Daryl’s close enough that Glenn can make out his face. There’s a freckle near his right ear that he hasn’t noticed before.

“Sophia said y’were bit,” Daryl says. He sounds near frantic, the hand Glenn isn’t clinging to patting his body down. It pulls Glenn’s arm from his chest and turns it over. When he looks down, there’s the red indents of human teeth encircling his forearm. His skin is empty of blood.

“Ribs.” Glenn forces out, closing his eyes against a renewed wave of dizziness. Daryl’s hand goes to push his shirt up and he sucks in a breath. Glenn doesn’t look, this time.

“T’the RV, c’mon,” Daryl says, letting go of his shirt and gently sliding his hand free of Glenn’s. “The others are at a—a house with a doc, we’ll get y’patched up.”

Daryl’s arms slip under his knees and around his back. Glenn wants to warn Daryl against throwing his back out, but he can’t quite get the breath for it. Everything lurches sickeningly when Daryl hauls himself to his feet with Glenn pressed against his chest. He swallows convulsively to fight down his nausea.

“Y’did amazin’, findin’ Sophia.” Daryl huffs. “Knew y’would.”

Glenn wants to tell him that it was half-luck. He wants to tease Daryl for breathing so hard; he wants to ask after Keith. All he can do is haul in desperate breaths and squeeze his eyes shut against his wobbling vision.

“Open th’door!” Daryl yells, heart thumping wildly in his chest. Glenn wants it to be soothing but there’s an iron bar around his chest that’s slowly tightening.

Daryl glances his foot off the door as he climbs into the RV but Glenn can’t find it in himself to mind. He’s lowered gently onto the bed, Daryl climbing up behind him to keep him upright, one of his hands tightly grasped by the other man. There’s the sound of shouts and people entering the RV before the engine starts up.

“Keith?” Glenn wheezes. Daryl’s thumb is tracing quick circles against the side of his hand, the other arm under one of Glenn’s shoulders. Daryl is warm against his back.

“I have him right here, Glenn, I promise he’s alright.” Amy’s voice says. He blinks his eyes open and sees her sitting on a chair across from him, Keith’s carrier strapped to her chest. Her face is pale and stressed.

Reassured that his people are around him, Glenn lets his eyes fall shut and focuses on dragging in painful breaths. His heart is thundering in his chest. It’s harder and harder to make himself think, to pay attention to anything other than the pressure on his chest. The RV’s rumbling engine sends tremors through his body.

Again, time skips ahead of him—or maybe they were already close to whatever doctor’s house they were heading to. There’s little more than half an hour left of light when they pull to a stop and Daryl is sliding from the bed.

“C’mon, sweetheart, a little longer.” Daryl mutters, brushing a kiss to Glenn’s cheek. The endearment sends warmth through Glenn’s cold, shaking body, and he feels his lips twitch. His sweet, sweet redneck.

Daryl lifts him again with a grunt. A whine escapes him, entire body seizing up tight with pain, and Daryl swears under his breath. He’s carried from the RV—down the steps, a breeze against his sweaty skin—and he can hear the sound of the other group members calling out his name.

“Move yer ass!” Daryl snarls, climbing another larger set of stairs. Glenn watches him shove by someone and kick open a screen door through his eyelashes. His vision is starting to tunnel and he’s not sure if it’s the head injury or something else.

“Where’s that fuckin’ doc?” Daryl yells, stomping through the house. Glenn would chastise him if he had the presence of mind to do it. He’s lowered, again, onto something that feels segmented and vaguely like a couch. Daryl keeps his arm around his back.

“What’s this about?” Comes a voice—male, southern. Glenn grabs at Daryl and grasps onto the front of his shirt, his breaths little more than a shallow jerk of his chest. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There are definitely things happening around him—strident voices, hands on his body, his chest; his shirt being removed. Glenn’s really starting to think that he’s going to die when a sharp bite of pain in his upper chest is followed by the sweet release of that awful, heavy pressure in his chest. His eyes fly open as he can finally take a deep breath again. Daryl’s stressed face is the first thing he sees.

“The needle is letting the air out that built up in his thoracic cavity.” An old white-haired man is saying. “It’s known as a tension pneumothorax; trapped air put pressure on his collapsed lung, heart, and healthy lung.”

The old man—presumably the doctor—is doing something near his collarbone. Glenn only has eyes for Daryl leaning over him. The pain of his broken ribs is still present but with every second he can breath easier and easier. It’s heavenly.

“Why th’long face?” Glenn mumbles, lifting an arm up to cup Daryl’s cheek. The other man leans into the contact.

“Yer a fuckin’ idiot, is why.” Daryl says, voice tight. He blinks furiously before bending and pressing his mouth to Glenn’s.

“He’s—move, let me—tell me he’s okay!” Glenn hears Amy yell. He turns his head to the side and sees a brunette woman holding her back. Keith begins wailing, and Glenn automatically goes to haul himself upright. He collapses with a punched-out groan and an angry noise from Daryl.

“Maggie, let her by!” The doctor calls. Amy shoves by the brunette and rushes over to Glenn, already fighting with the straps of Keith’s carrier. He smiles at the sight of his little boy’s red face.

“Did my boy miss me?” Glenn rasps, accepting Keith from Amy. He cuddles the baby to the unbroken side of his chest and presses a lingering kiss to his hair. His curls tickle his nose, and Daryl’s hand drops to brush a few back.

“He’s yellin’ at y’for gettin’ hurt so often.” Daryl says, dropping to his knees next to the couch. Glenn huffs a laugh and immediately regrets it, gritting his teeth at the flare of pain. The brunette woman—Maggie—helps slide a pillow behind his head and upper shoulders.

“I hope you’ve realized that you’re injured quite badly, young man.” The doctor says. He accepts a metal platter from an unfamiliar older woman and sets it on a nearby table. “Those ribs are broken in several places. You’re no longer retaining air within the pleural cavity, but whatever broke your ribs has done considerable damage to your lung as well.”

The doctor takes a cloth from the platter and wipes away the blood on Glenn’s face. It sends shocks of pain through his skull as the tender area is touched. He grits his teeth as the old man palpates around his eye socket and cheekbone.

“It looks like you’ve managed to fracture the bones here, as well.” He says. His hands disappear and reappear with a suture and hemostat. Glenn adjusts Keith on his chest and wills himself to be strong, Daryl’s hand comforting around his nape, when the doctor turns to Maggie.

“Numb around the area, please.” The doctor says. Maggie grabs a few things from the platter and fusses with them, her actions blocked by the old man. When she turns back she has a needle with clear fluid in it.

“This’ll just help with the pain from the stitches.” She says, southern accent stronger than the old man’s. She leans over Glenn and he closes his eyes as her hair brushes his face. There’s a pinch at the end of his eyebrow and the feeling of something being injected. Within a few minutes, that part of his face goes completely numb. It’s a relief to not have to feel it as the doctor does the sutures.

“I’m going to wait and see how you do with the needle decompression. I don’t want to give you a chest tube if I don’t have to.” The doctor says. He wipes his hands clean and gives Glenn and Keith’s grumpy form a soft look. “You’ll need to be careful lifting and carrying your boy around. It would be very easy to collapse your lung again, and your ribs are going to need several weeks to heal. I’m sure your head isn’t feeling very good, either.”

Glenn pointedly does not mention that he still occasionally sees two of the doctor.

“Thank you for helping me.” Glenn says. He relishes every breath, even though it hurts. He can breathe again. The old man pats his knee. His clean skin is an odd comparison to Glenn’s dirty, blood-stained jeans, and he seems to realize it at the same time as Glenn.

“I’ll tape down the catheter in your chest. Why don’t you go use the shower? It would be very bad if you developed an infection.” The doctor suggests. Like hell Glenn is going to argue with that. “Maggie can show you where it is, and we’ll let you borrow some clothes for the time being. Someone will need to help you.”

“I got ‘im.” Daryl cuts in. He hasn’t uncurled from over Glenn’s form, and he wonders what’s making Daryl so defensive. Is it just the fact that he’s injured?

“I can take Keith again.” Amy says. “We’ll go sit with Lori and Carl until you’re done.”

Glenn smiles gratefully at her and hands Keith back over after pressing his nose to his curls for a few moments. Daryl’s cheek brushes his forehead as he kisses Keith’s head. Maggie is unabashedly watching them, a look of curiosity on her face, though Glenn tries to ignore it. He doesn’t want to invite questions when he’s hurt so badly and Daryl is on edge.

“Who else is hurt?” Glenn asks, slowly sliding his feet to the floor with the help of Daryl. The old man glances up at him from where he’s arranging things on the platter.

“The young boy, Carl.” He says. Glenn freezes with a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “He was shot by my friend Otis—purely accidental. The bullet went through a deer first. Otis didn’t see him.”

“He’s going to be alright?” Glenn asks, looking up at him. The old man’s mouth twists under his white facial hair, and he glances at the darkness settling outside the window.

“If Otis and your man Shane make it back in time with what we need, then yes.” He says. Glenn exchanges a look with Daryl and lets himself be levered up, splaying a hand across his bruised and swollen ribs like it’ll help. Daryl keeps an iron grip around his waist. They waddle towards the stairs, Maggie a few steps ahead of them and glancing over her shoulder.

“Glenn?” He hears. When he looks up Rick is standing in the doorway of another room looking pale and wan. He staggers over to him and braces a hand on his shoulder, eyes searching. “Sophia? Is she alright?”

“Not a scratch on her.” Glenn says. Rick’s body slumps in relief. “She took down a couple geeks, too.”

“Atta girl.” Daryl mumbles. Rick nods vigorously and squeezes Glenn’s shoulder.

“You’re alright?” Rick asks, eyes roving over him. “No close calls?” His gaze catches on the bruising of his forearm and he freezes.

“No broken skin.” Glenn says. Rick relaxes again and sighs. Daryl huffs impatiently and jerks his head at Maggie, who is standing on the stairs to give them some space. Rick clears his throat and takes a step back.

“Carl is going to be fine.” Glenn says, taking a wobbly step towards the stairs. Rick drags a hand over his mouth. “Shane would go to hell and back for you and your family, you know that.”

Daryl reaches the end of his patience and practically lifts Glenn up the first few stairs, bearing most of his weight. It’s hard going either way. Every breath, every step sends pain shuddering through his ribs, and Glenn can only grit his teeth and bear it. He’s wheezing by the time they reach the top of the stairs.

“First room on the right.” Maggie says, nodding to an ajar door. “I’ll get a change of clothes for you.” Glenn thanks her and lets Daryl direct him to the bathroom. It’s a relief to find a stool in the bathroom he can settle on while Daryl gets the shower running.

“You’ll join me?” Glenn asks, looking up at Daryl. The other man glances over his shoulder as he tugs the curtain shut.

“Not gonna let y’slip ‘n’ crack your head again.” Daryl says, crossing the tiles to lean over and ghost a kiss against Glenn’s newly sutured eyebrow. Both have wounds now.

Daryl lets him unbutton his jeans but slides them off to keep him from bending, tugging his underwear with them. He kisses Glenn’s hipbone as he kneels and Glenn stores it away with the feelings of Daryl calling him sweetheart and nursing Keith. His sneakers and socks are tugged off as well.

“I’ll get in first with th’stool, then help you in.” Daryl says, stripping quickly, and Glenn nods. He’s already exhausted just thinking about showering. If the water isn’t hot he’s going to cry.

Daryl helps Glenn up and places the stool in the tub first. They’re about to step over the lip, Glenn clinging tightly to Daryl’s forearms, when the door opens and Maggie steps inside. She has a bundle of clothing and towels in her arms. Her eyes sweep over the two of them; if she has an issue seeing two naked men in her bathroom, there isn’t any sign of it. Daryl glares at her until she steps out again.

“Alright, let’s get this done.” Glenn says, prodding Daryl’s attention back to him. The other man turns back to him with a huff.

“Nice ‘n’ easy.” He mutters, swinging a leg over the lip of the tub. Glenn chews his lower lip. “No need t’rush.”

Daryl steps fully into the tub, the spray of water flattening his hair. Glenn carefully eases his leg over, thankful for the rubber pad providing some grip on the bottom, and heaves a sigh when both his feet are steady on the bottom. Daryl smooths his damp hair back from his forehead and turns him to stand under the spray. It’s hot against his back.

“Feel okay?” Daryl asks, hands looped around his waist. Glenn nods and tugs him closer, arms going around his shoulders so he can lean against him. Daryl’s warm, wet skin is one of the best things he’s felt. The hands on his waist slide up and spread out over his upper back. They stand pressed together for a few long moments before Glenn feels the shaking start, running through Daryl’s body in waves.

“I’m alright.” Glenn whispers. He lets Daryl tuck his head into his neck and kisses his ear. Daryl’s chest heaves with a repressed sob—and then another, and another, and Glenn knows the wetness on his shoulder isn’t only the shower water.

“I’m okay—a little beat up, yeah, but I’m gonna be fine. We’re all still fine.” Glenn presses his reassurances into Daryl’s wet hair; he lets the other man hold him as tight as he wants, despite his aching body. He wants to give him whatever Daryl needs to reassure himself that another person hasn’t left him.

“Need t’take better care o’yerself.” Daryl finally says, voice strained. He lifts his head and presses their foreheads together. His eyes are red-rimmed and tired, but Glenn doesn’t think he’s ever seen a prettier shade of blue.

“That’s your job.” Glenn says. His mouth curls in a smile as Daryl rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Got my work cut out for me.” He murmurs, kissing the corner of Glenn’s mouth. Glenn lets his eyes slip shut.

Shortly after that Daryl maneuvers him onto the stool. He makes sure to wipe down every part of his body, from his toes to behind his ears, and Glenn lets himself enjoy the attention. Daryl’s fingers through his hair feels like heaven. It’s also especially nice to get to see Daryl naked, even if the pain and exhaustion keeps him from expressing his interest. He trails his fingers over each of his tattoos and doesn’t ask about the scars when Daryl starts to look nervous.

“Ready?” Daryl asks. He had only given himself a cursory wash. Glenn, starting to feel lightheaded from the steam and being upright, nods. Daryl cuts the water off and helps Glenn out of the tub, wrapping a towel around him and helping to pat him dry. They’re both careful near his ribs. Daryl takes his bruised forearm into his hand and wipes it gently, fingers soft around the growing bruises. Glenn kisses him to get him moving again.

“I need a nap.” Glenn says tiredly, ignoring Daryl’s snort as he steps into the briefs and sweatpants Maggie had provided. The t-shirt is big on him, sitting low on his collarbones, but it’s soft just like the socks. This is maybe the most comfortable he’s been in weeks.

Daryl redresses swiftly, toweling his hair vigorously and drying Glenn’s hair more gently. His two sets of stitches are pat dry and Daryl checks to make sure the little catheter the doctor left in Glenn’s chest is still alright. The bathroom door opening sends a wave of cool air into the steamy room.

“We set up the guest room for you.” Maggie says, stepping back from the doorway so Daryl can help Glenn through. “You need to sleep carefully with your ribs, so you’ll be there for a couple days.”

“Thank you.” Glenn says earnestly, his arm over Daryl’s shoulders and most of his weight on him. As they descend the stairs Maggie catches hold of his elbow to help steady him and Glenn can feel Daryl tense where they’re pressed together. Sophia waits at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a clean sweater instead of her dirty blouse.

“Glenn! You’re okay!” She calls. Glenn smiles and wraps an arm around her when she hugs his waist.

“Thanks to you.” He says, smoothing down some of her wayward blond hair. “You practically carried me out of that forest.”

“You wouldn’t have been hurt at all if not for me.” Sophia says, looking up at him with earnest and sad eyes. Glenn shrugs a shoulder and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“None of us were going to stop looking for you until we found you.” He says softly. He can see Daryl nod out of the corner of his eye. Carol steps up behind Sophia and wraps her hand around his bicep. Her eyes are watery.

“Thank you, Glenn.” She says. Her voice trembles. “I can’t—there’s no way I’ll ever be able to repay you.” Glenn shakes his head.

“It’s not something to repay, Carol.” He says. Carol blinks her eyes quickly and smiles, hand squeezing his arm. She steps back and guides Sophia with her. T-Dog is just beyond them, a bandage wrapped around one forearm. When they pass through the living room where Glenn got his stitches both Andrea and Amy get to their feet, Keith in Amy’s lap. Glenn has his arm up for him before he’s even untangled from Daryl.

“You keep getting more and more beat up, Glenn.” Andrea tries to joke. Her fingers brush the side of his face, light over the bruising and swelling, and Glenn would snort if it didn’t hurt so bad. He cradles Keith to his chest and kisses his little boy’s hand when he splays it over his jaw.

“Not a good habit to have.” The doctor suddenly says, stepping over to them from a separate room. He has a stethoscope around his neck and a scale tucked under one arm. “Glenn, I’d like to check your weight and have a listen at your breathing, if you don’t mind.”

It’s not like he can say no, considering what the doctor has done for him, so Glenn nods and lets Daryl take Keith from him. He’s about to step on the scale when headlights flash by the window and Rick bursts into the room.

“They’re back, Herschel!” He says, out of breath and desperate, and the doctor hands the stethoscope to Maggie.

“You know what to listen for.” He says, Maggie nodding, and then he’s crossing the living room. Amy and Andrea exchange looks and Glenn realizes it must be Shane and Otis returning with the things that Carl needs.

“Step on the scale, please.” Maggie says, smiling a little when Glenn looks back at her. He nods and steps onto it, Amy’s hands hovering by incase he needs support. The scale settles and Glenn winces. He hasn’t weighed this little since before his growth spurt in high school.

“You can step off it.” Maggie says, eyebrows up as she reads the number. She doesn’t say anything specific though as she straightens the stethoscope and takes the end in hand. “Lift your shirt, please. I’ll just need you to breathe normally for me.”

The tool is cool against Glenn’s skin. He breathes as evenly as he can, though his breath always hitches at a certain point in his inhale and exhale. Maggie moves the stethoscope to several parts of his chest and back before nodding and pulling it away.

“Your breathing sounds okay so far. It’s a good sign, means we hopefully won’t have to put in a chest tube. Have you had any trouble breathing?” She asks. Her fingers smooth over his broken ribs and palpate gently, feeling the bumps and breaks under his bruised skin.

“Not like I did before the doctor stuck me.” Glenn says. Maggie’s smile widens a little at that and she finally steps away. Daryl immediately steps up to his back and slings an arm around his waist, Keith leaning himself against Glenn’s upper arm.

“I’ll get some ice for your chest. When you lay down, you want a little bit of an incline. It’ll help the breathing.” Maggie says. Glenn nods and lets his shirt fall. She turns and steps away, moving around a ragged and wild looking Shane in the living room doorway. His eyes are wide and fixed on Glenn.

“What happened to you?” He asks, leaning against the door frame. He’s notably keeping weight off of one leg.

“Took a fall while looking for Sophia.” Glenn says. There’s something fragile about Shane right now—he doesn’t want to push his luck. Amy’s fingers intwine with his. “Broke my ribs and had a collapsed lung. The doctor fixed it.”

“Yeah, Herschel’s good like that.” Shane says absently. His eyes flick to Daryl and Keith. Glenn fights the urge to do or say something that would get Shane’s eyes off of his boy. He’s barely able to stay standing, let alone handle Shane on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“Go lay down, like the lady said.” Shane says, glances over his shoulder at the closed-door hiding Herschel and Carl. “Your boy needs you to heal up fast.”

Glenn doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he lets Amy and Andrea support him over to the guest room set aside for him. The bed is big enough that he’s hoping Daryl and Keith will be able to stay with it. It seems like Daryl is of the same mind, eyeing the width.

“I’ll get some things from the truck.” He says. Glenn settles Keith on his lap, resting against his bent legs, and lets Amy and Andrea fuss over him as Daryl leaves. He has no idea when Keith last ate, or when he was last changed. It feels like he’s lost so much time.

“You fell?” Andrea asks, settling on the bed beside him. She cards her fingers through his damp hair. It makes Glenn want to pass out and sleep for a week.

“I fell a couple times.” Glenn admits, bracing Keith with a hand on his tummy and letting his baby play with his other hand. “I literally ran into a geek and hit my head on something. Fell down a ravine later, busted my ribs. Got bit on the arm and fell when Sophia killed the geek.”

“How did you get bit without bleeding?” Amy asks, tracing her fingers over the livid bruises. It looks hideous.

“Sophia got it in the eye with my knife before it could tear the skin.” Glenn explains. Keith pulls one of his fingers into his mouth and gums at it eagerly. “I had to pry the jaw open with the knife.”

“Fuck, Glenn.” Andrea breathes. Amy looks horrified. It’s hard to feel anything but numb about it all, though; he found Sophia and made it back to his family. That’s what matters. That’s all that he can let matter.

“I’ve got an ice pack for you.” Maggie says, stepping through the door. Andrea shifts away from her seat next to Glenn so she can reach his chest. Glenn tugs his shirt up and shudders when the cold towel-wrapped bundle is set down. Maggie’s fingers trace the scarring on his side from the window in Atlanta as she straightens.

“Once my dad finishes with the young boy he’ll come check in on you.” She says. She smiles as Keith pats the towel with wonder and nods to the two girls as she leaves. Amy and Andrea exchange a look and Glenn sighs. He knows that look.

“What was that?” Andrea hisses, eyes on the doorway where Maggie disappeared. Amy has a hand pressed to her mouth.

“No wonder Daryl has been so—so territorial.” She mumbles into her fingers. Glenn tousles Keith’s hair with his spit-soaked hand and smiles at his gleeful little shrieks. He hadn’t even realized that Daryl might be responding to Maggie.

“How does she not get that you two are together?” Andrea wonders, settling on the bed again. Glenn winces as he’s jostled. The cold of the ice pack makes it harder to take even breaths.

“You two literally have a baby.” Amy agrees. She finally drops her hand from her mouth but just starts picking at the ends of her hair.

“Why are you two so invested?” He asks, letting his head fall back and rest on the pillows behind him. Andrea helpfully reaches around him and adjusts them to provide more support. “I thought girls were supposed to support other girls.”

“Not when one of those girls is a homewrecker!” Amy says, scandalous and too loud. The door opens a little wider and Daryl frowns at them with full arms.

“Who’s a fuckin’ homewrecker?” Daryl grumbles. He crosses the room and sets the things from the truck on the bed. Glenn can see Keith’s carry cot stuffed full of formula, diapers and clothing, and Daryl’s knapsack full to bursting. Glenn’s bat is knotted to the strap. The quilt they just picked up is bundled among it all.

“She’s not a homewrecker.” Glenn says, tries to be placating. Amy pulls the quilt out and starts refolding it with short, jerky movements.

“Not yet.” She scoffs venomously, eyes sharp. Glenn turns his wide eyes on Andrea, who shrugs.

“Y’okay?” Daryl asks, climbing onto the bed on the other side of Glenn. He frowns and rubs at the bottom curve of his ribs. Keith follows the movement of his hand and pokes at it.

“I think it’s getting harder to breathe.” He admits, trying to keep his voice low. Both of the girls hear him anyway.

“Like—before? Like the tension thing?” Amy asks, scrambling across the bed to him. Glenn tightens his jaw as the movement of the mattress sends pain through his chest. Daryl steadies him with a hand on his stomach, just above where Keith is sitting.

“I’m not sure.” Glenn says. He hauls in a deep breath and feels that odd sensation of fullness, of not being able to breathe any deeper. He swallows around the knot of fear in his throat.

“I’ll go get Maggie, or the doctor—” Andrea says, sliding off the bed. Glenn grabs at her hand to stop her.

“He’s helping Carl right now, I’m not going to bother him.” Glenn says, shakes his head when Andrea tries to protest. “I’ve got a bit of time before it gets too bad to breathe. I’ll just wait here until they’re done with Carl. It’s alright, I promise.” Andrea gives Daryl a look that is both beseeching and angry.

“Doc said Glenn needs a chest tube if th’needle don’t work.” Daryl says. His voice is low and tight, and when Glenn looks at him he’s got a muscle jumping in his jaw from how tense he is. “Doubt that farmer girl can put one in. We’re stuck waitin’.”

Glenn slides a hand onto Daryl’s forearm and squeezes gently. The other man closes his eyes and leans his head forward, rests it on Glenn’s shoulder. Glenn can see how his throat works for a few moments after.

Andrea eventually subsides, moving to sit at Glenn’s feet with Amy. They tangle their hands together and talk in low tones, occasionally glancing at the open doorway. Glenn lets his eyes fall shut and relaxes on the thick mattress. It’s the nicest thing he’s been on in—honestly, years. Probably since the last time he was home. It’s easier than it should be to relax into Daryl’s warm body curving around him and listen to the girls’ low voices.

Sometime later the door swings open. Glenn pries his eyes open, breath coming noticeably harder, and glances up to see Dr. Herschel step into the room. Maggie is close behind him.

“Still doing alright, Glenn?” He asks, voice concerned. Glenn doesn’t get a chance to respond.

“He said it’s harder to breathe and he’s starting to wheeze.” Andrea says, turning to the doctor. Herschel immediately tugs the stethoscope from around his neck and places the ends in his ears, stepping forward. Glenn wearily removes the ice pack and pulls his shirt a little higher. Herschel repeats Maggie’s earlier listening before removing the stethoscope and handing it off.

“I’m going to tap your chest, Glenn. Try to keep breathing normally.” Herschel says. Glenn nods and lays back. He’s unsure of what the doctor is looking for but he doesn’t like the concerned expression on his face when he straightens up a few minutes later.

“I was afraid of this.” Dr. Herschel mutters. Daryl is all tense muscle next to Glenn, one hand helping to support Keith. “I’m afraid that there’s still air leakage—I’ll need to give you a chest tube if you’re to recover, Glenn.”

“How’s that going to work?” Amy asks. Her voice is almost panicked. “We’re not—this isn’t a hospital, we’re not in an operating room.”

“If I don’t give him a chest tube, Glenn’s chest will continue to fill with air.” Dr. Herschel says evenly. “Eventually, the pressure will collapse his other lung, leaving him to suffocate to death, or his heart will compress to the point where it can no longer pump blood to his brain. It doesn’t matter where we are not. There isn’t an option, if you want him to survive.”

“Do we have what we need, dad?” Maggie asks. She’s got a concerned look on her face, her gaze flicking from her father’s face to Glenn’s exposed chest.

“I won’t be able to anesthetize him. There isn’t enough. Everything else, though, we should have.” Dr. Herschel says. Daryl stiffens at Glenn’s side but it takes a few minutes for him to understand what’s been said.

“So I’ll have to be awake for it.” Glenn says. His stomach rolls queasily.

“I can’t risk sedating you, not with the state you’re in.” Dr. Herschel says apologetically. “I have painkillers I can give you that may help. It’s going to be very difficult and painful, but you won’t be able to recover otherwise.”

“You’ll probably need to have the others hold me down.” Glenn says. The sensation of breathlessness is getting worse with every inhale. He looks up at Amy and smiles sadly.

“Could you keep an eye on Keith for a little longer?” He asks. Amy’s lower lip wobbles.

“Of course I can, Glenn.” She says. Keith goes unwillingly, face crumpling when Glenn lets go off him. Daryl slides an arm under him and levers him up.

“I’ll do it in here, Glenn. You’re not going to want to move when we’re done.” Dr. Herschel says gently. “I’ll have you take your shirt off. Patricia will be in to wipe down the area and finish preparations. I’ll ask the other gentlemen in your group to come assist.”

Dr. Herschel leaves the room and Maggie steps after him, sending Glenn a smile that’s trying to be comforting. He can’t make his lips move in response. He doesn’t know what getting the chest tube will entail and half doesn’t want to.

“You’ll stay with me?” Glenn asks. He hates how his voice trembles. Daryl presses a kiss to his temple and keeps Glenn bundled to his chest.

“Not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.” Daryl murmurs. The pet name gets him to smile; he turns his head and lets their lips brush gently. Daryl drags his hand up and down his shoulder blade and they sit together for a few long moments. Amy and Andrea give them both some space.

“Need help with the shirt.” Glenn finally says, lifting his head to meet Daryl’s eyes. He knows he probably looks half-dead and vulnerable, but there’s the sweetest emotion Glenn’s ever seen in Daryl’s eyes. The other man nods and kisses the space between his eyebrows before shifting. They strip off his shirt and Daryl helps Glenn scoot down on the bed until he can lay flat. It’s harder to breathe like this.

An older woman steps around the door and sets a serving platter on the bed. There’s rolls of gauze, some tubing and what looks like plastic baggies, packets of sutures, scalpels and hemostats. Glenn chooses to look at the ceiling instead.

“My name is Patricia, I’ll be helping Dr. Herschel.” Patricia says. She carefully lifts Glenn’s arm and lets it rest above his head, opening a few alcohol wipes to wipe down his chest and side. Her touch is gentle enough it barely hurts his ribs.

“How many people has Dr. Herschel done this on?” Andrea asks. She’s leaning against the wall with her arms tightly crossed. Patricia looks up at her with a bewildered look on her face.

“He hasn’t done this on a person.” She says, almost affronted. Glenn’s stomach sinks somewhere a few feet into the ground. Daryl goes still above him.

“Th’fuck does that mean? He not a doctor?” Daryl asks. His voice is frighteningly quiet. Patricia puffs up like an angry bird.

“Dr. Herschel is a doctor of veterinary medicine.” She says. “He’s performed this procedure on numerous dogs. There’s never been a reason for him to do it on a person before.”

Glenn can’t help but burst into laughter.

It’s agony on his ribs, of course; tears well up in his eyes and roll down his face. Even with the pain he can’t stop. It makes him breathless, wheezing and heaving at the thought of being treated by a veterinarian. His laughter may be slightly hysterical.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry—” He gasps, looking up when Daryl clasps his face in his hands. His breaths are wheezes now.

“It’s okay, you’re okay—it’s gonna be fine, Glenn,” Daryl says, thumbs smoothing over his face in an attempt to calm him down. His brows are furrowed and it makes Glenn want to smooth them out.

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew.” Patricia says softly. She looks somewhat guilty and Glenn waves her off.

“Better than one of us trying.” He says. His voice is going ragged around the effort of breathing. Patricia finishes wiping down his side and spreads crinkly blue cloth under him and around his side. Daryl doesn’t move his hands from his face.

“Patricia?” Dr. Herschel says. He enters the room with a string of the others following—T-Dog, Shane, and Rick, as well as a young man that Glenn doesn’t recognize. T-Dog and Rick both wince when they get their first look at his ribcage.

“He’s ready for you.” Patricia says, stepping back. Herschel nods and turns to the others, who fan out around Glenn and kneel on the bed or stand next to it.

“Daryl and Rick will focus on holding down your head, shoulders and one arm.” Dr. Herschel says. “T-Dog, Shane, and Jimmy will take your legs and other arm. This procedure will require me to make an incision on your side, near your armpit; it will be about level with your nipple. I’ll have to force the tubing through the tissue in the gap between your ribs. I’ll move as fast as I can.”

“Don’t worry about speed,” Glenn wheezes. “Let’s just get it right the first time, yeah?” Dr. Herschel nods with a sad look on his face. The others take it as their cue to grab hold of him. The doctor—the veterinarian pulls on gloves and picks up a scalpel. Glenn turns his face away and willingly bites down on the cloth someone holds up to his mouth.

Glenn doesn’t try to keep track of what’s happening. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the hands on his face, on the way Daryl had sounded when he called him sweetheart, on how Keith’s eyes look in the sunlight. It’s not enough.

He doesn’t quite lose consciousness; he’s aware of his surroundings, even only vaguely, and knows Daryl talks to him the whole time. Glenn wouldn’t be able to repeat it, but what matters is that it’s there. Someone is stroking his sweaty hair back from his face. Daryl’s lap is still under his head.

“There he is.” Dr. Herschel says. Glenn forces his eyes open and blinks tiredly at the ceiling. Amy—who is the one stroking his hair—has a red-faced Keith in her arms. Maggie appears at Dr. Herschel’s side and lays a cool washcloth on his forehead.

“I’m incredibly impressed with you, Glenn. You handled that very well.” Dr. Herschel says. Glenn blinks at him and decides that he’s too tired to respond. He can breathe again, though there’s a hotspot of slowly dulling agony on his side just below his arm pit. Maggie holds out two small pills and a glass of water.

“The best idea is to take these and sleep for a while.” Maggie says softly. Glenn manages to lift his arm but his entire body is shaking too badly to take the water and pills, let alone drink. Daryl carefully leans over him and takes them from her.

“I got it.” He mutters, folding over Glenn. He opens his mouth so Daryl can give him the medicine and pour in a small mouthful of water. It feels amazing going down, so he tilts his mouth towards the glass and lets Daryl give him mouthfuls until it’s drained. He feels the tiniest bit less shaky.

“Daryl and your son will be remaining in here with you for the time being.” Dr. Herschel explains. “I’ve told him what to look out for in regard to complications and given him the painkiller. I’ll be sleeping on the couch, in case you or Carl need anything. The best thing for you now is to rest as much as possible.”

“Thank you,” Glenn manages, voice so hoarse he wonders if he was screaming the whole time. Dr. Herschel pats him on the hip and takes his leave. Maggie adjusts the blankets and his quilt around him carefully; he doesn’t remember when they moved him under the covers. It’s probably better if he doesn’t.

“Does it hurt bad?” Daryl asks. His fingers have replaced Amy’s and are dragging through his sweaty hair in a way that should feel gross but is mostly very nice. Glenn takes a deep breath and relaxes into Daryl’s lap under his head.

“Can feel the tube in my chest.” Glenn mumbles. “Starting to hurt less, though.” Daryl hums.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Glenn?” Amy asks. Her voice is quiet and unsure. It feels like too much work, but Glenn rolls his head to the side and looks at her. Her eyes are swollen and red like she’s been crying, and Keith is fussing unhappily in her lap.

“I can take him now, Amy.” Glenn says. He starts to lift one leaden arm, but Daryl leans over him carefully and takes Keith for him.

“Y’ve done enough.” Daryl says brusquely. “Get some sleep.”

Anyone else may have taken it the wrong way, with Daryl’s low, short words, but Amy smiles tremulously at the two of them. She presses a kiss to Glenn’s sweaty forehead and tickles Keith’s back as she leaves and closes the door behind her. With the absence of everyone else, the room feels big and empty.

“Was it that bad?” Glenn croaks. Daryl sits with him for a few moments in silence. Keith is slightly happier cuddled into his chest, little face mashed against Daryl’s shirt.

“Y’didn’t scream.” Daryl finally says. “Just made these—awful, hurt noises, like y’were an animal in a trap. Th’noise o’the tube goin’ in was—” He shakes his head and readjusts Keith needlessly, thumb dragging along his skin. Glenn wraps a hand around the underside of his thigh and rests his head against it.

“M’sorry.” Glenn mumbles. His eyelids are starting to feel too heavy to lift. The pain in his side has settled to a dull throb. “I’ll try an’ get better fast.”

He thinks he hears Daryl chuckle as fingers return to his hair. A puff of air brushes his face before warm, dry lips land on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his chin. He pouts his lips pointedly until they press there as well.

“Yer daddy’s silly, ain’t he, Keith?” He hears, Daryl’s voice fond and soft, before he falls asleep.

Glenn wakes twice during the night; the first time he rolls too far from his back and jars the tube painfully, stitches holding it in place and tugging at his skin. He gasps awake and clutches at his side in the dark. Daryl wakes as well—or maybe wasn’t even asleep—and turns on the bedside lamp for him. Keith is sleeping on his chest.

“Glenn?” Daryl asks, his voice raw and vulnerable from exhaustion. Glenn takes a few seconds to catch his breath before answering.

“Rolled too far, m’good.” He manages. There’s a hitch in his voice that he can’t hide. Daryl prods him into taking another dose of painkiller and drinking an entire glass of water and then holds his hand tightly in the one not steadying Keith.

The second time Glenn wakes up he has to piss so bad he almost doesn’t make it out of the bed.

Daryl, predictably, wakes the instant Glenn starts shifting under the blankets. He hadn’t turned the lamp off so Glenn can watch him wake—eyebrow twitching, lips tightening, and then his eyes are open and alert. Inexplicably, Glenn thinks of the scars crossing Daryl’s back.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers, brushing Daryl’s short hair back from his forehead. He’s careful not to lean too much. “I just need the bathroom.”

Daryl shakes his head and hauls himself up. On an armchair that has obviously been dragged into the room is Keith’s carry cot, where he snoozes peacefully. Glenn watches his sweet sleeping face for the time it takes Daryl to round the bed.

“Y’ain’t goin’ anywhere without me for a month.” Daryl grumbles. He wraps an arm around Glenn’s back and braces his hand against his hipbone. They go slow, Glenn’s ribs aching with every step, any roll in the carpet or furniture leg a danger in the dark. Dr. Herschel is a snoring lump on the couch in the connecting living room.

“Bathroom by the stairs.” Daryl whispers, steering Glenn towards it. He eases the door shut once they reach it and Glenn leans against the sink to catch his breath. The light flickering on momentarily blinds him, and he’s startled when his vision finally adjusts. A stranger looks back at him from the mirror.

The Glenn in the mirror has a drawn and pale face, whatever weight he’s managed to gain since leaving Atlanta disguised by his clear exhaustion; he has an eye swollen almost shut, his lower lip chewed raw. The left side of his ribcage is a mass of bruising. The ribs are indistinguishable from the swelling. The tube jutting from his side leads to a plastic baggie taped to him. He looks like a strong breeze would break him.

“C’mon, piss and back to bed.” Daryl says, his hands slipping around his waist from behind. With Glenn’s slumped posture and bony frame, Daryl looks bigger than the one inch he has on him in height. He looks like he could snap Glenn in half.

He sits on the toilet seat and can’t find any shame in that. His legs are trembling just from the trek to the bathroom. It’s tempting to ask Daryl to carry him back, but he stands on his own and lets Daryl tug his sweatpants up for him so he doesn’t have to bend over. The small effort is exhausting. His handwashing is mostly just resting his hands under the flow of water.

Daryl leads him back, supporting most of his weight, and it’s a relief to be lowered onto the soft bed and let his tired muscles relax. Glenn half-heartedly tugs their quilt over his legs. He’s too warm for all the blankets Maggie had piled on him earlier.

“Keith’s been alright?” Glenn asks. His eyes are shut but he can feel Daryl sliding onto the bed and adjusting the covers.

“Fussed a little after y’fell asleep. Changed his diaper ‘n’ fed him, ‘n’ then he passed out on my chest.” Daryl speaks into his pillow. His voice comes out muffled. Glenn reaches over with his closer arm and drags his hand down his back, feeling the way his muscles are knotted tight through his shirt. There’s a well of guilt in his stomach.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he says quietly. Daryl grunts and lifts his head to fix a glare on Glenn.

“Fuck off with that.” He says. It’s hard to take him seriously with how droopy his eyes are. “Gonna worry if yer hurt or not. Get used to it.”

Glenn laughs at that—groaning when it sends a bolt of pain through his ribs. Daryl pushes himself up onto his elbows and starts to reach for Herschel’s painkillers, but Glenn waves him off.

“I’m gonna be in pain while this heals.” Glenn says. “I won’t take painkiller for every little thing.” Daryl shakes his head but settles on the bed again, catching Glenn’s hand in his and tugging it to his face. His breaths are warm against their tangled fingers.

“Wake me if y’need anythin’.” Daryl says. His lips brush the back of Glenn’s hand. Glenn squeezes his hand gently. He falls asleep like that, on his back and his face turned to Daryl. It means he wakes with a crick in his neck but he gets to watch Daryl’s sleeping face for a few minutes, so it’s a win-win.

“I think this can come out today.” Herschel tells him three full days after the tube went in. He’s fiddling with the little plastic bag at the end. “There aren’t any signs of air leakage. I’ll check again tonight after dinner, and if there still isn’t bubbling, I’ll remove it and stitch you up.”

Glenn would jump for joy if it wouldn’t hurt his ribs. He hasn’t been able to do anything with the tubing in—not even hold Keith, who has yanked at it every time he’s close enough. It’s been bed rest and hobbling to the bathroom for days. Glenn is itching to get up and move around.

“What if his lung collapses again?” Carol asks. Her and Sophia have come in to see him every day, Sophia bringing flowers and feathers and all kinds of little trinkets. Daryl has started calling her a magpie for the habit.

“I’ll keep an eye on it, of course, and Glenn will let me know if he has any troubles breathing, but it should be healed enough to prevent another tension pneumothorax.” Herschel explains. “We’ll place the tubing again, if we must, but I don’t want it in if he doesn’t need it.”

“How much can I move around?” Glenn asks, dropping his arm when Herschel steps back. “When the tube is out, I mean.”

“I’d recommend bed rest for another week and a half, at least,” Herschel says. “Your chest has undergone significant trauma; it’s going to take a long time to heal. Your ribs won’t be completely healed for seven or eight weeks, most likely. Longer, considering what I’ve heard about your recent dietary troubles.”

Andrea mentioning Glenn’s vitamin deficiencies to Herschel had won him a number of supplements to take. As much as he wanted to be annoyed by the mother henning, he understood how worried his friends have been for him.

“Short walks are probably fine, though, dad.” Maggie says. She’s standing near the door frame. If Daryl were present he would be glaring at her; he had dragged himself away for the first time since Glenn’s injury to go hunting in the property around the Greene’s farm. Carol has Keith in her lap.

“Short walks wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Herschel concedes, sighing. “Glenn, you need to understand that you are seriously injured. You need to rest. Your body has been through a lot of stress lately.”

Glenn nods, avoiding a possible argument, and smiles at Maggie in response to her victorious grin and wink. She’s a funny person with a dry sense of humor that’s surprised Glenn into laughing a few times. While he’s worried about Daryl, Amy and Andrea’s dislike of her, he doesn’t mind her presence.

“I can show you around the farm!” Sophia says, climbing onto the bed. She doesn’t budge up against his side only because Carol has chastised her a number of times about jostling Glenn, though it doesn’t bother him too much.

“He won’t be able to walk too far, Sophia.” Carol says, letting Keith yank at her fingers. “Glenn has a lot of healing to do.” Sophia’s face falls, as it often does when she thinks of how Glenn was hurt, and he flicks her gently on the forehead.

“You’ll have to show me the best sneaking spots.” He says, grinning at her. The affronted expression on her face melts into one of happiness and she nods eagerly. Carol shakes her head with an amused look on her face.

“Assuming Daryl lets you out of his sight.” Carol reminds him, and Glenn mocks rolling his eyes. Sophia hides a giggle behind her hand. “That boy frets more than a first-time hen does.”

“Daryl is a mother hen!” Sophia laughs. Glenn wiggles his fingers into her side and smiles as she shrieks in laughter. Keith burbles loudly in response.

“Does that make me a rooster?” Glenn asks her. He wickedly digs his fingers in as Sophia tries to respond until she can only sputter and flail about. She falls to her side, legs unfolding, and one heel catches him squarely in the sternum—

“Motherfucker,” he gasps weakly, curled around his ribs and bent at the waist. Both Sophia and Carol’s voices are raised in concern, and he tries to wave them off with one hand.

“Sorry, I’m good,” he wheezes, scrabbling for a pillow to press to his front for a little support. Sophia has tears in her eyes. “It’s okay, really, you didn’t even hit the broken part—”

“Just lay back for a bit, Glenn,” Carol insists, Keith cradled in one arm. She’s halfway across the room like she was on her way to get Herschel.

“I’m sorry, Glenn, I’m so sorry—” Sophia says. She’s huddled in on herself as if she’s scared of hurting him again. He catches hold of her elbow and pulls her closer until she can lean against his shoulder, the two of them reclining on the mountain of pillows Daryl insists upon. Glenn takes a deep breath and smiles at the two of them when the pain dulls to the usual levels.

“No harm done.” He says. Sophia sniffles and nods, and Carol settles back into the armchair. Keith is blissfully unaware as five-month-old babies usually are. They’re kind enough to regale him with stories of the farm and give updates on the other’s, including the potential storm brewing in Shane. Carol says it in passing, but—Glenn suddenly understands the need to note angry men, and feels a horrific sort of kinship with the other woman.

Eventually they leave for afternoon chores. Glenn feeds Keith—the only thing he can do without him trying to grab the chest tube—and lets him nap on the bed next to him. Maggie had been kind enough to bring a few books to him, so he’s been working through a western romance novel that is most definitely outlawed in some states.

He’s just gotten to one part that’s got his eyebrows lifted in sheer surprise when Daryl returns from his hunting trip. The other man marches into the room with mud still on his face and clothes, and Glenn watches an almost physical layer of stress melt off of him when he sees Glenn and Keith in one piece.

“Y’alright?” Daryl asks gruffly, like he didn’t just run into the room, and Glenn marks his place with a smile.

“Herschel thinks the tube can come out tonight.” Glenn says. Daryl’s eyes flick to his side and then back up to his face. He kicks off his shoes and sets his crossbow aside, stripping his dirty jeans as well before climbing onto the bed. He carefully navigates Keith’s sleeping body.

“Anythin’ hurtin’ today?” He asks, smoothing his hand over Glenn’s front.

“Not any more than usual,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. Daryl leans forward and kisses the line of his collarbone, and Glenn tugs his fingers through the little tufts and spikes of his hair. He smells like sweat and dirt and sunshine, and Glenn kind of wants to taste it.

“Keith’ll be happy.” Daryl mutters against his skin. Glenn grins at that.

“Is Keith the only one?” He asks, teasing a little, and feels Daryl’s teeth scrape his skin in reproach.

“’M not gettin’ nasty with y’till you’re all healed.” Daryl says, pulling upright, and Glenn gapes at him.

“That’s—Herschel said eight weeks!” Glenn exclaims. Daryl shrugs.

“Ain’t no skin off my back—I got a good right hand. ‘M not gonna hurt you.” Daryl says. It’s sweet of Daryl to worry about him like that, and Glenn appreciates it, but he also kind of wants to have sex with his—partner? Co-parent? Two months is a long time to go without.

“Sophia said she kicked you.” Daryl says abruptly. His thumb glides along the length of his sternum and sends a shiver down Glenn’s spine.

“It was an accident, and mostly my fault.” Glenn says. “I was tickling her and her leg caught me. It didn’t even hit my ribs.”

Daryl mutters something that Glenn doesn’t catch. Before he can ask about it, the other man carefully pushes him horizontal and slides Keith next to him. Daryl stretches out on his side and splays his hand on Glenn’s hip.

“Taking a nap, old man?” Glenn asks humorously. Daryl huffs at him with his eyes shut.

“Fucking mud.” He mutters, which both explains nothing and explains everything. Regardless, Glenn lays there quietly and watches Daryl’s face as he dozes. One arm stays looped around Keith and the other drapes over his stomach, hand overtop Daryl’s. They’re still like that when Beth, Herschel’s youngest daughter, brings a platter of dinner for them hours later.

Herschel removes the tube with practiced ease, but it’s still deeply discomfiting. He stitches the entry-point shut and requests Glenn takes it easy for the next several weeks to let his lungs and ribs heal. Knowing Carl is healing quickly makes Glenn wonder how much longer Herschel is willing to put up with them in his house.

“When is Rick planning on moving on?” Glenn asks Daryl quietly. He’s finishing up replacing Keith’s diaper and glances at the closed door before answering.

“He hasn’t said.” Daryl says. He lifts Keith up with an exaggerated motion that sends Keith into wiggles of delight, and Glenn presses his smile into his pillow to hide it.

“Carl’s up ‘n’ movin’, ‘n’ you jus’ need t’take it easy, so I figure soon.” Daryl says, sliding onto the bed and handing over Keith to Glenn. He cuddles his little boy to his chest and peppers kisses on his face, delighted to hold him again without having to worry about the chest tube. Keith grabs the ends of his too-long hair and tugs with all the strength of a five-month-old; he’s just as pleased to be with his most familiar person again.

“The hot shower was nice.” Glenn says off-handedly. He’s so caught up in the infant in his hands that he almost misses how Daryl stiffens.

“That th’only thing you’ll miss?” He asks. There’s a tense current to Daryl’s voice that has Glenn on-edge immediately.

“I mean—the bed, too, probably.” He says, looking at the other man. Daryl’s jaw works, turning away, and Glenn suddenly thinks of Maggie and how the others have been treating her.

“Is this about Maggie?” He asks. Daryl doesn’t give an obvious response, but Glenn can see how his brows are drawn together and knows what discomfort and anger looks like on him.

“Y’might like t’stay with her.” Is all Daryl says after the silence stretches on too long. Glenn feels a bit like he’s missed a step in the dark; confused, and annoyed, and a little scared.

“Do you want me to stay with her?” Glenn asks. The question comes out with a waver to it, and Daryl’s head jerks around.

“I want her t’get her fuckin’ eyes off you!” He snarls, quiet and curled in on himself like it’s costing him something to speak. “I wanna—all I can think of is hidin’ you ‘n’ Keith somewhere safe, away from these strangers ‘n’—‘n’ people with greedy eyes ‘n’ I—”

Daryl bites his words off and rolls away, coming to his feet next to the bed. He starts pacing with his hands balled up into tight fists and tucked under his arms. Glenn shushes Keith’s loud, inquiring noise and watches Daryl carefully. His shoulders are up like he’s expecting to be hit.

“I ain’t lettin’ anyone put a hand on you two, ‘n’ with you hurt I can’t—my head’s all screwed up, all I can think on is you—is you gettin’—someone tryin’ somethin’ ‘n’ I’m not there.” Daryl grits out. Glenn idly bounces Keith on his stomach and turns those words over in his head, trying to make sense of it. It’s not shocking or surprising to hear that Daryl is deeply protective of the two of them. Glenn knows that he’s overprotective of Daryl and Keith, even though Daryl certainly doesn’t need it. The wording catches Glenn’s attention, though, the hesitance with which Daryl spoke, and—

“Daryl, they’re—I’m not gonna get raped—” Glenn hisses, eyes flicking to the closed door. Daryl whirls around to face him with an ugly expression on his face.

“I close my eyes ‘n’ all I can see is you cryin’ ‘n’ beggin’ ‘n’bleedin’—” Dary snarls. His voice cracks on the last word and he turns to face the wall again, shaking his head viciously. Glenn steadies Keith against his chest and heaves himself off the bed, grunting as his ribs twinge.

“Daryl, will you please listen to me,” Glenn starts, shuffling around the corner of the bed with a hand on it to steady himself. Daryl glances over his shoulder and double takes at seeing him upright.

“Th’fuck are y’doing up?” He asks, moving over to Glenn and steadying him with his hands at his waist. Glenn wraps the fingers of his free hand around Daryl’s wrist and smiles at him. Keith is turned so he can pat at Daryl’s chest and tug on his shirt.

“I wanted you to look at me.” Glenn says. He leans close enough to peck Daryl’s jaw and watch his cheeks flush, even though they’re—is this a fight? A spat?

“Y’distract me too much.” Daryl mutters, fixing his gaze to the side. Pinks dusts his nose and cheekbones. Glenn’s smile widens. He kisses Daryl’s face again just because he can. The other man slips one hand around his back, fingers splayed low enough to touch the line of his sweatpants.

“I want to stay with you.” Glenn murmurs into the line of Daryl’s jaw. “If you wanted to leave tomorrow, we would go. I told you that me and Keith are your family now.”

Daryl stills for a heartbeat before turning his head back and pressing his lips to Glenn’s. The kiss is firm but not forceful, Daryl sliding his hand a little higher on Glenn’s back to steady him. He only pulls back when Keith makes an annoyed noise.

“Too good for me.” Daryl mumbles. Glenn opens his mouth to respond but he just shakes his head and starts walking Glenn backwards to the bed.

“Y’need t’be layin’ down.” Daryl insists. Glenn huffs and lets Daryl lift him onto the bed by his thighs, grasping a bicep to feel the way his muscle flexes. Keith burbles against Glenn’s chest at the movement. He lays back on the pillows and looks up at Daryl, traces the line of his jaw and the little bump of his nose with his eyes.

“I was serious when I said we’re staying with you, Daryl.” Glenn says softly. He rolls his head against the pillow to watch Daryl round the bed to get to Keith’s things on the dresser. “We’re a—you said you wanted us to be a family. You and me, as—we’re Keith’s—we’re his caretakers, and I want to be your—I want us to be partners.”

It’s hard to get the words out, instinctual embarrassment at the honesty, and Glenn watches how Daryl’s ears flush a violent red as he listens. He halts his rustling in Keith’s carry cot to stand still. His shoulders are hiked up around his jaw.

“Don’t know how t’be a good dad.” Daryl says gruffly. His shoulders slowly drop until his hands hang at his side. A little onesie for Keith is clasped in a fist. “Don’t know—know how t’be someone’s partner.”

“As if I know any more than you,” Glenn says, lets a little laugh slip into his words. Daryl huffs but doesn’t turn around. “Can you come over here? Please?” It takes him a few moments, but eventually Daryl turns and walks to the bed. He clambers on and keeps his eyes averted from Glenn and Keith, and it makes Glenn’s heart hurt.

“Please look at me.” Glenn whispers. He lays his hand upright on the sheets and waits, giving Daryl the time he needs. It takes a few long minutes but eventually the other man turns his head and reaches out when he sees Glenn’s hand. Keith extends his chubby little arm and waves it towards their hands, as if he’s also trying to touch.

“You and I can figure out how to be good parents together.” Glenn says. He keeps his tone low. “We can figure out how to be good partners, too. Whatever comes our way we’ll handle it together, okay?” Daryl laces their fingers together and nods slowly. He scoots closer on the bed until he can lean over Glenn, his hipbone pressing to the curve of his shoulder.

“M’not gonna let someone hurt y’like that again.” Daryl says lowly. Glenn’s fingers tighten around his without meaning to. “’N’ if someone tries—I know y’can handle yourself. I’ll do whatever y’want me to.”

“I don’t want you going around thinking that everyone is going to try something like that.” Glenn says. Daryl tilts his head away to stare at the pillow under Glenn’s head, brows pulled tight together. “It’s not—I’m—I don’t want you driving yourself crazy. I want you to look after yourself, too.”

“I c’n look after myself jus’ fine.” Daryl scowls. Glenn feels an indulgent smile grow on his face and he lifts their tangled hands to brush a smear of mud from Daryl’s face. Warmth blooms under his finger.

“I know you can.” Glenn says. “I can, too—me and Keith were fine for a month in Atlanta. When I was—was assaulted, I was a kid. I was alone and vulnerable and didn’t know how to fight back. That’s all different, now.”

Daryl’s jaw works for a few moments before he nods. Glenn squeezes his hand and the other man folds in on himself as if in slow motion, resting on his side and curling over Glenn’s head and shoulders. One hand slips under Glenn’s neck and tangles in his hair.

“I’ll try t’be better.” Daryl mumbles into Glenn’s hair. “Be—be friendlier t’Maggie. Not smother you. Don’t want t’make y’leave.” It stuns Glenn, to think that Daryl has been afraid of doing something to drive him away this whole time.

“We’re not going to leave you, Daryl.” Glenn insists, craning his head back to try and meet the other man’s eyes. Daryl shoves his face into the pillow and refuses to look at him. “You’re not—there isn’t anything you would do that would make me leave. I promise.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything to that, face hidden from Glenn’s eyes, and Glenn huffs in annoyance. He clasps Keith to his chest and tries to roll onto his side, using the arm that’s holding Daryl’s hand to heave himself up. It gets Daryl to lift his head, at least.

“Th’fuck’re y’doin’?” Daryl growls, straightening up to press Glenn back to the bed. Glenn shoves himself up and rolls into Daryl swiftly enough the other man can’t stop him, ending up on his back between Glenn’s folded legs. He stares up at him.

“You’re stuck with me, Dixon.” Glenn says, pressing on Daryl’s chest with their entwined hands. Keith is draped over Glenn’s shoulder and kicking his legs at the excitement of moving. There’s an ache in his ribcage but it’s easy to focus on the warm of Daryl’s hips and stomach under his thighs instead.

“I’m not going to let you drive me away, or scare me off, and I won’t let you convince yourself we’re better without you.” Glenn says. He shakes his head when Daryl opens his mouth to object. “You wanted in on this family. You’re stuck with us. Me and Keith, we’re not letting you go, got it?”

Glenn glares down at Daryl with narrowed eyes, sure he looks ridiculous with a baby draped over his shoulder and his bruised, sutured ribs, but unwilling to fold on this. Daryl’s body heaves with a sigh after a few moments, shifting Glenn, and calloused hands fall to land on Glenn’s thighs.

“Nothin’ could make me wanna get rid o’you two.” Daryl mutters. “Best thing that’s happened t’me is meetin’ you.”

It simultaneously sends a blush across his skin and makes his heart melt, to hear Daryl say that. Glenn leans over to press their lips together on instinct and makes a strangled noise when his ribs protest. Daryl hauls himself up so he’s sitting, shifting Glenn onto his thighs, and wraps his arms around his back.

“Always pushin’ too much.” Daryl mutters, steadying Keith and giving Glenn a moment to breathe through the bolt of pain. Glenn huffs and rests his head in Daryl’s neck.

“If we leave here, I won’t have the opportunity to take it easy for long.” Glenn mumbles into Daryl’s skin. The other man shifts under him and shakes his head.

“Th’others try t’make you do somethin’ ‘n’ we’ll leave.” Daryl says. He turns his head until he can press his lips to Glenn’s hair, tugging him forward on his lap until Keith is snug between them and their hip bones press together.

“One problem at a time.” Glenn offers, Daryl snorting and nodding at his words. It’s never been the way Glenn’s handled things—he’s always been the sort of person to take things on all at once. The end of the world isn’t the worst place to try and change some habits, though.