can't help falling||c.g DISCONTINUED

five

"Sometimes, to stay alive, you gotta kill your mind."

***

There was a blockage in the road—abandoned cars cluttered across the lane. Without needing to say anything, everyone got out to help clear the way. Glenn headed toward a rusted sedan, yanking open the door. A corpse slumped forward and crashed to the ground with a thud. Without hesitation, Glenn stomped on its skull.

Over and over.

Bone cracked. Blood splattered. It was already dead, but Glenn didn't stop.

Each stomp was a release of something deeper. Grief. Rage. Helplessness.

"Glenn," Maggie whispered, but he didn't hear.

When he finally stopped, his chest was heaving. His face twisted in disgust, not at the walker—but at everything else.

"You didn't kill him," he said, breathless. His voice shook—not from fear, but fury. "The Governor."

Rick stayed calm. "That's not why we went back."

"No. That's right. You went back for Daryl," Glenn snapped. "And now he's gone again. And the Governor? Still alive."

"Daryl was the priority," Rick said, voice level, eyes unreadable.

"I should've been there with you," Glenn fired back, stepping forward.

"You were in no condition," Rick said firmly.

"But my girlfriend was?" Glenn shouted, turning toward me. "Skylar was shot, Rick!"

I didn't say anything. Couldn't. I just stood there, shrinking into the silence, my wound aching in agreement.

"Glenn, this isn't about us," Maggie said gently, stepping beside him.

"It is, Maggie. I should've been there," Glenn said again, softer this time, like he was finally admitting it to himself.

Rick's voice was sharp now. "You didn't come with us because you could barely walk."

"What about her? What about me?" Glenn demanded. "Do you even know what he did to her?!"

Maggie stepped in fast. "Leave it alone!"

But Glenn wasn't done.

"Do you know?" he asked again, looking Rick dead in the eyes.

I looked away. The air had changed—thick, heavy, electric with pain.

"And after everything we did—risked—Daryl just takes off with Merle?" Glenn growled.

He wasn't wrong. Daryl had left fast. No goodbye. No explanation. It stung.

"He had his reasons," Rick said tightly.

"Bullshit," I muttered under my breath.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Rick," Glenn shot back. "But it doesn't change the fact we're up to our necks in shit. Again."

Rick threw his arms up. "You want me to turn the car around? Go beg Daryl to come back? Roll out the welcome mat for Merle while we're at it?" His voice dripped sarcasm. "This is the hand we've been dealt."

Maggie stepped forward, arms crossed, trying to defuse the fire. "Let's just move these cars, get back. We'll talk when we've rested."

I could feel her hand on my shoulder as my eyes welled up.

"You can talk all you want," Glenn muttered. "I'm done."

The silence that followed was louder than the shouting.

We got back into the car. Daryl wasn't with us.

When we finally rolled through the prison gates, Carl and Carol were waiting. They swung them open like they were holding up the last bit of the world.

I climbed out slowly, my body stiff, my leg throbbing. Carl ran to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I collapsed into his hug and started crying.

"They're gone," I sobbed. "Daryl's gone."

Carol's eyes filled with tears, too. She pulled me into her arms, and I knew then—we both felt the same kind of hurt.

Pain hummed through my leg like electricity. I tried to walk, but my body was folding in on itself.

"I was shot," I gasped out.

Carl moved fast. "Dad! Help me!"

He slung my arm over his shoulder, and Rick came up on the other side. Together, they rushed me through the halls, calling out.

"Hershel?! Hershel!"

The old man limped out of his room, eyes going wide when he saw me. "Bring her to the infirmary."

They laid me down gently, and Carl never let go of my hand.

"We need to set up the IV, clean the wound, remove the bullet, and stitch her up," Hershel said calmly, already preparing supplies.

"Carl," I whispered. "Stay with me."

He nodded, face pale. "I will."

I smiled faintly, holding onto that.

The IV didn't hurt, but then Hershel pulled out the alcohol, and I tensed.

"This is going to sting like hell. You need to stay still."

I tried. God, I tried.

But the second it touched my skin, I screamed. My whole body twisted away instinctively.

"Shhh," Carl murmured, brushing the hair from my face, his voice trembling.

Now came the worst part.

"I need to extract the bullet. But if you move, it could cause more damage," Hershel warned, glancing at Rick.

He nodded grimly. "Hold her down."

Rick gripped my legs. Carl squeezed my hand so hard I thought it might break.

The second Hershel started digging, white-hot pain exploded through me.

I screamed until my throat burned.

Tears ran down my face. I couldn't stop shaking. My mind was spiralling out, begging for it to end.

Carl.

I watched her break apart in front of me. Skylar was strong—but this was too much. Too raw. She clung to me like she was drowning.

"Hold her down!" Hershel yelled.

Rick tightened his grip. I felt so helpless.

"You're hurting her!" I shouted. I didn't mean to yell, but I was scared. Scared of losing her.

Then, suddenly, she went still. The screaming stopped.

"Skylar?" I whispered.

She had passed out.