ꜰᴏᴏʟ'ꜱ ᴍᴀᴛᴇ || ᴛᴡᴅ

025: ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ

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Danny made Hershel promise not to tell Sami, and now that Sami had gone on a run, he knew he hadn't.

Danny was sick. He was in the death row cells, and felt as if he should be. His chest felt like someone had grabbed his spine through the front and was twisting it. His nose was stuffy, making him sneeze continuously, which only made his headache worse. He was sweating like god-knows-what, his clothes sticking to him, and a lot of things weren't making sense. He'd coughed up blood multiple times, but hadn't choked on it. Yet.

Hershel came in, though he wasn't sick, to give them all a drink he'd made of berries to soothe their throats. It tasted sharp, and made Danny gag a little a stick his tongue out, but it wasn't as bad as any of the sickness.

He'd given Danny one of his inhalers, though it didn't do much, and a cold, wet rag on his forehead.

Lizzie was in there, too. She seemed pretty okay. Though, Danny wasn't sure what to make of her. 

"We're little now." She told him one of the days in death row. "But if we don't die, we'll get big. Still me, still you, but different. It's how it is. It's what happens when people die. We all change. We all don't get to stay the way we started."

He picked up his whiteboard as they sat upstairs, legs dangling off the edge, like he'd do with Sami, and wrote on it. 'Not like walkers. I don't want to grow up and kill and eat people.'

"You might." She looked down at her pants, checking her knife was under her shirt.

Danny tapped her arm, and gestured to his knife - on his belt, t-shirt tucking under his jeans and button-up shirt loose enough that he could reach it easily. Lizzie nodded, and copied him.

"Carol said I shouldn't be afraid." She continued looking at her knife. "But . . . I don't know how not to be. How are you not afraid?"

He took the whiteboard again, placing the wet rag from Hershel on the back of his neck. He was getting very tired.

'I trust my brother. He'll save me. He always does.'

Sami, meanwhile, having lost the car, was walking towards a gas station, telling Daryl about whatever he could think about - from pop-culture, to memories, to random facts.

"Then, completely serious, Diaz climbs back into the boat - doesn't notice his pants are gone - off goes the sello with them."

Michonne burst out laughing.

"Stop." Daryl looked away, trying not to laugh at the stupidly long story. "You're not funny."

"That sello was." 

Daryl stopped, walking over to a large vine-covered something, pushing some aside to reveal a car. "Sami?"

"Si, si, I've got it." He sighed, pulling the door open and messing around with the wires, trying to start the car. But there was no juice. Battery dead. He supposed this would happen more and more as cars aged, and time went on. He wondered if someone had his car from back home. It was nice. Had a old dog bobble head his Dad had in his own car. It was weird to think of that. If it still existed somewhere. If it didn't.

Luckily for them, the gas station also served as a car repair shop, so they just had to search it.

After clearing the front of vines and walkers (and Tyreese once again going a little mental at a walker) they got inside.

Tyreese had been going a little crazy since loosing Karen. Sami understood it, of course. If he had someone and cared for them that much, like if Sinead was still with him, and in America with him, he'd probably go mental if she died anyway, never mind the way Karen went. Telling her she would get better, only for someone to kill her, burn her body - she was fine the day before, murdered and gone just for being sick the next.