In The End | Daryl Dixon

Chapter 67: My Mercy Prevails

A/N: I'm so sorry for not posting! My laptop's battery has been shit since August, and now it's not charging when I'm on it. So I'm getting it replaced tomorrow hopefully! Here's a short chapter!  Merry Christmas! 

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I pulled the van to a stop once Carl and I reached the gas station. He jumped out, grabbing the gas canister from the back as we scanned the lot full of broken-down cars, most stripped bare or left to rust.

Being back in Alexandria felt strange. Like stepping into someone else's life—one I vaguely remembered but couldn't fully connect to. I had dreamed of this moment, of breathing fresh air without a guard watching my every move. But now that I was here, I felt... disconnected. Like freedom wasn't something I could feel anymore.

I swallowed hard and stepped out of the van. The sun hit my skin, and for a second, I let it warm me—tried to remember what it felt like to be human again.

"You sure you want to do this?" Carl broke the silence as he turned back to me.

I smiled at him—a practiced thing. It didn't reach my eyes, and we both knew it, but it was enough to make him stop asking. For now.

"I'm fine, Carl."

I stepped toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder—gentle. "Let's find some gas, so we can get this plan going."

He gave me a nod, but his eyes lingered a little too long, like he didn't believe me. Couldn't blame him. I wasn't even sure I believed me.

We walked to the pumps in silence, the crunch of gravel under our boots the only sound. I scanned the area, one hand resting near the gun on my hip, just in case.

"Hi." An unfamiliar voice called out.

Carl dropped the canister with a metallic clunk, both of us instantly drawing our weapons. I scanned the lot, raising a brow when I didn't see anyone. The voice kept talking.

"I'm okay! I mean—I'm not," the man stammered, his tone pleading and desperate. "I've been shot at. Someone threw a microwave at me."

Carl and I exchanged a look, brows furrowed, and slowly began weaving through the rows of rusted, overgrown cars. The voice was close, but still hidden.

"Whatever you have of good, spend on the traveler," the man went on, voice shaky but sincere. "My mom said that. That helping the traveler—the person without a home—that's everything."

I slowed, heart thudding harder now. There was something off. Not threatening—at least not yet—but strange. Like this guy was either completely harmless... or completely unhinged.

Carl kept moving, gun steady, steps careful.

"Carl—" I whispered.

He didn't answer. But I saw the way his grip tightened on the handle of his pistol.

"I'm sure you've seen things. Been through things. You don't trust people. I get it. I don't either."

He paused.

"My mom—she also said that... May my mercy prevail over my wrath."

That made me freeze.

I don't know why, but those words hit somewhere deep. Maybe because mercy wasn't something I felt capable of lately. Not after everything. Not with the way revenge had rooted itself in me.

Carl rounded the corner of a dented minivan and raised his weapon.

"Don't move!" he shouted.

I rushed to catch up, weapon at the ready—only to find a man in torn clothes with his hands in the air, eyes wide, face smeared with dirt and fear. No gun. No weapon.