They’d survived.

The group had come so far since Atlanta. They’d lost people—good people. Hershel. Lori. Beth. Andrea. Dale. T-Dog. Tyreese. Too many to name. Shane, his patrol partner from before the world fell apart… Rick had killed him with his bare hands after he lost control and turned on them.

They’d made it through Atlanta, Hershel’s farm, the prison, Terminus—mile after mile, hardship after hardship—until they finally landed in Alexandria. A safe zone. A real one.

Rick had his doubts, naturally. How could he not? A walled-off community with real houses, electricity, running water? It felt like a dream. Or a trap. But he was their leader, and the group—especially the kids—needed rest. Stability. Safety.

Deanna, Alexandria’s leader, seemed sharp. Calm. Reasonable. Rick was hardened, like the rest of his people, and it was clear that most folks behind these walls had no idea what the world had become. Not really. Deanna admitted some of them hadn’t even killed a walker. That was… troubling.

Staying here came with a risk. His people could grow soft. Comfortable. Vulnerable. But goddammit, they needed this.

Deanna had been interviewing each member of the group, one by one, to see if they were a good fit.

Only one was left.

Daryl.

Rick trusted him with his life. But he also knew Daryl was… difficult. Antisocial, guarded, slow to speak. Like a feral dog that only just started letting people touch him. Given what Rick knew about Daryl’s past—and after meeting Merle—it wasn’t surprising. They’d all seen the scars, even if by accident.

On paper, the two of them shouldn’t be friends. A sheriff and a backwoods troublemaker. When they first met, they’d butted heads constantly. Now? They were brothers.

Rick rubbed a hand over his beard, watching as Daryl paced in front of the house, waiting for Deanna to call him in.

After a moment of quiet thought, Rick crossed the street to him—his right hand, his second.

“Hey, Daryl,” he said, voice low and calm, falling naturally into that old sheriff’s tone. De-escalating. Gentle. Soothing. “Listen… you want me to come in with you? Or would you rather do it on your own?”