Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

The Aftermath

I sat on the back porch steps, watching the twins attempt to murder each other in what I generously categorized as "structured outdoor play." Which, to be fair, was just called playing before the world ended and parenting became a full-contact sport.

Dom was sprinting full speed toward the fence like it had just insulted his entire bloodline, legs pumping, arms flailing, absolutely committed to whatever imaginary vendetta he'd cooked up. Behind him, Niya was hauling ass in pursuit, her shorter, chunkier legs working overtime, face set with the kind of determination usually reserved for war crimes and the last cookie.

"GET BACK HERE!" she shrieked, voice carrying across the yard like a battle cry.

Dom, being both brave and deeply stupid, glanced over his shoulder and laughed.

That...was his first mistake.

His second mistake was underestimating his sister.

Niya didn't slow down. Didn't hesitate. Didn't even blink. She just stuck her foot out mid-sprint like she'd been trained by a professional hitman and took him out at the knees.

He went down hard.

Limbs everywhere. Dignity nowhere.

And because karma is a petty, vengeful little gremlin, she went down with him.

I sighed as they hit the ground and immediately escalated from "playful sibling rivalry" to "cage match behind a Waffle House at 2 a.m." They rolled once. Twice. A third time for dramatic effect. Then came the hair pulling. The wild, uncoordinated kicks. One of them attempted what I'm pretty sure was a headbutt but looked more like an aggressive hug that got away from them.

All the while, Chief Ramhorn circled them like a cracked-out UFC referee who had absolutely lost control of the match but refused to admit it. Barking. Spinning. Fully invested.

I dragged a hand down my face.

It wasn't like I needed a DNA test to confirm these were my kids, they came shooting out of me like angry little cannonballs, but wow. The redneck and feral assassin genes were strong with these two.

With a groan, I pushed myself to my feet.

My leg protested immediately, a tight pull along the scar that made me grit my teeth for half a second. It still wasn't right. Probably never would be. But it held. No wobble, no dramatic collapse. Just a dull, persistent ache that reminded me I wasn't invincible. Still, I moved faster than I used to, crossing the yard before someone lost a tooth, or an eye.

"Alright, Gladiator Arena is closed," I muttered, grabbing them both by the backs of their shirts and hauling them off the ground like feral kittens.

They kept swinging because of course they did.

Dom kicked wildly, missing his sister by a solid six inches and almost taking out my knee instead. I shifted just in time, shooting him a look that promised consequences.

Niya, not to be outdone, took a deep breath like she was about to deliver a heartfelt speech...and instead hacked up what can only be described as an impressively committed loogie.

She launched it.

With confidence.

With intent.

And with absolutely zero aim.

It missed Dom entirely and landed squarely on her own chin, where it clung for a horrifying second before beginning a slow, tragic descent down the front of her shirt.

I stared at her.

She stared at me.

Dom went dead silent.