Catch Fire | Daryl Dixon

BLAME

Kennedy's POV

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. I blinked awake, the events of the previous day crashing down on me like a tidal wave. For a moment, I just lay there, trying to gather the strength to face another day without Rick. But when I reached out for Daryl, the space beside me was empty. His absence hit me like a cold shock, and I sat up quickly, wincing as the movement sent a sharp pain through my shoulder.

I looked around the room, but there was no sign of him. His crossbow was gone, and the lingering warmth on the bed told me he hadn't been gone long. I tried to tell myself he'd just left early, maybe to clear his head, to find some way to deal with the grief that was weighing on all of us. It wasn't unusual for Daryl to take off on his own when things got too heavy, so I pushed down the rising panic in my chest and tried to believe he'd be back soon.

Willow stirred in her crib, her little face scrunching up as she woke. I reached down to pick her up, careful not to jostle my injured shoulder too much. The bandage was tight, but the pain was a constant, dull throb that I couldn't ignore. I'd have to change it soon, but right now, I just needed to focus on getting through the day.

With Willow in my arms, I made my way outside, hoping the fresh air would help clear my head. The morning was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the whole world was holding its breath. As I stepped out into the open, I spotted Glenn and Tara standing a little ways off, their heads bent close together in conversation. Glenn's expression was serious, almost guilty, while Tara kept glancing between him and something in the distance.

As I approached, they looked up, and I could see the tension in their faces. Glenn's eyes met mine, and I could tell something was wrong. There was a weight to his gaze, something that made my stomach twist with unease.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice coming out more strained than I intended.

Glenn hesitated, his eyes flicking down to Willow and then back to me. He looked like he didn't want to say whatever was on his mind, but after a moment, he took a deep breath and just came out with it.

"I had the chance to kill Negan," he said, his voice heavy with guilt. "Michonne... she let me into the cell. She gave in. I could've done it."

My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I couldn't process what he was saying. The whole plan, everything we'd done, had been leading up to this. Daryl and I had distracted Rick, had taken the risks, all to give Glenn the chance to end this, to finally put an end to Negan. But he was standing here, telling me he hadn't done it.

"He was struggling," Glenn continued, his voice tight. "Begging me to end it. But... I couldn't do it. It wasn't that I didn't want to. It's just... seeing him like that, broken and begging, it was more satisfying than I ever thought it would be. I... I thought it would be enough."

I stood there, holding Willow close, my mind racing. The weight of his words pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. Rick had died for nothing. He was out there, sacrificing himself, because Daryl and I were buying Glenn time to kill Negan, and Glenn hadn't even done it. All of it, Rick's death, the fight with Michonne, everything, felt pointless. Like we'd set this chain of events in motion, and now we were all trapped in the fallout.

I didn't know what to say, didn't know how to process the guilt that was clawing its way up my throat. My mind kept circling back to the same thought, over and over: Rick was dead because of us. Because of me.

"Kennedy?" Tara's voice broke through my spiralling thoughts, soft and concerned. She was looking at me, her expression full of worry. "Ken, say something."