The Third Dixon [The walking dead OC x OC]

Season five, chapter one

Measi sank onto the wooden floor of the boxcar, the echoes of gunfire and shouting still ringing in her ears. Her fingers hovered over the knife in her shoe, but she couldn't bring herself to lift it. The weight in her chest was heavier than any backpack, heavier than any fight she'd survived.

Her throat tightened. That stupid, annoying charm dangling on the side. That backpack. Every detail screamed Nathan—his presence, his laugh, the way he'd brushed past her shoulder as they'd scavenged together. It was him.

A quiet shuffle made her look up. Glenn's eyes met hers, soft but hollow. He didn't need to speak.

"I—I saw it," he said slowly, as if saying it out loud might make it untrue. "I'm the one who took the backpack with me ... Nathan. I—I didn't want to... but..." His voice broke. He knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulders as she trembled. 

"He... he can't be. He's... he's too careful. He wouldn't..." Her voice faltered, swallowed by a choked sob.

Glenn's hand found hers. "I'm sorry Measi." he admitted, voice low. "I really am, he's gone."

The truth hit her like a punch she'd felt coming but couldn't dodge. All the moments—the nights in the watchtower, the quiet mornings, the plans whispered in the dark—they were gone. Stolen in a heartbeat. Her chest ached, tight as iron.

She curled into herself, resting her forehead against her own knees, as if proximity might trick her mind into thinking he was there. A scream wanted to break free, but it caught in her throat, raw and jagged.

"He... he made it this far," she whispered to herself, voice trembling. "He couldn't have... he wouldn't have..."

Glenn's gaze didn't leave her. "He fought. He fought like hell. But... sometimes that's not enough."

Her fingers closed around the straps, holding on as if she could pull him back from the silence. Tears slid down her cheeks, unheeded, mixing with the soot and dirt from the world outside.

"I should have—" she began, voice breaking. "I should have—"

Glenn shook his head gently. "No. No one could've done anything. Not then, not there. He... he's gone. And it's not your fault."

She stared at the floor, the backpack, the tiny watch. Each tick of imagined time between heartbeats screamed at her. Gone.

For the first time in months, she felt utterly alone. Every fight, every run, every small victory... meaningless without him.

Her hands tightened, gripping the bag as if holding it could somehow keep a piece of him alive. She let herself cry fully now, unafraid, letting the grief wash over her. She whispered his name into the darkness, over and over, until her voice hoarse, until all that remained was silence—and the echo of a world without Nathan.

The container reeked of sweat, fear, and the faint tang of metal. Shadows moved along the walls as everyone strained to see through the thick haze of smoke that had been released outside. The chatter from the others—plans, worries, whispered calculations—buzzed around her, but Measi couldn't focus on any of it. Her grip on Merle's knife felt heavier than ever, a reminder of the violence that was already in her hands but that she couldn't afford to use effectively in her current state.