𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 - The Walking Dead

ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ sɪx

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ sɪx || ᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇᴅ
4x11

✾

Ottilie clutched Bucky tightly in her arms, her tiny hands gripping the bear so hard she could feel the rough stitching around its neck. The messy thread didn't matter to her, what mattered was that Bucky had been saved.

Her dad had torn the bear apart in a fit of anger long ago, ripping through its soft fabric as easily as he tore through the peace in their home. She still remembered how she felt when she seen it all ripped up on the floor.

But Daryl had been the one to fix it. He took the time, despite his awkwardness, to ask Carol how to sew. She'd offered to do it for him, but Daryl insisted on learning it himself. It took him a while, but he had done it. When he handed the newly-stitched Bucky back to Ottilie, she had been overjoyed, throwing her arms around Daryl and thanking him for saving Bucky, just like he saved her and her sister. That's who Daryl was to her and Addy. Their savior.

She dreamed of Daryl then, of how safe he made her feel. She wished he was here, everything was always less scary when he was by her side. But suddenly, Ottilie's dream was shattered as a jolt pulled her out of sleep. Her eyes flew open, adjusting to the dim room. At first, she was disoriented, but then her eyes found Rick, standing near the bed, his expression tense, worried. He met her gaze, his finger pressed firmly to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. Her heart started to race.

Before she could fully comprehend, Rick was by the door, pressing his body against it, trying to stay out of sight. Ottilie heard it too now — the sound of footsteps and voices, muffled but unmistakable. Strangers were in the house and there were more than one of them. Ottilie rubbed her eyes, trying to wake herself up fully, but everything felt strange, her mind still hazy from sleep.

Rick was moving again, rushing over to her, his hands gently gripping her shoulders as he lifted her from the bed and placed her on the floor. Her legs felt shaky beneath her, but the urgency in Rick's movements made her follow his lead. He pointed to the space under the bed, and Ottilie hesitated for a moment, still groggy. But when the footsteps drew nearer, she scrambled onto the floor and crawled under the bed as Rick gestured.

It was cramped under there, the floor dirty and covered in dust. Ottilie tried not to think about it. She pressed herself as far back as she could go, trying to make herself small. Rick joined her, sliding under the bed next to her. He handed her Bucky, the bear's stitched neck rough against her fingers as she clung to it. Ottilie grabbed Rick's hand, squeezing it for comfort. He squeezed back, though his eyes were constantly scanning the room above them. She could see the tension in his face, the way his breath came out heavier than usual.

Rick's eyes darted toward the door as he reached for something, and Ottilie watched as he slid back out from under the bed just long enough to grab a water bottle. They couldn't give away any signs of them.

She barely registered the action before she saw movement, a shadow passed by the door, and her heart jumped into her throat. A man with a large gun slung over his shoulder walked past. Rick quickly slid back under the bed with the water bottle, his movements silent but hurried.

Ottilie clutched Bucky closer, holding Rick's hand with her other as fear started to well up inside her. These men seemed dangerous. The tension in the air was thick and suffocating, and every little sound seemed louder in the silence. Ottilie's thoughts wandered back to the prison, the gunshots, the chaos that had likely hurt Addy. She felt her chest tighten.