I could see it through the trees: the rusty old prison sat in the field ahead of me. The sight felt like a blessing. I didn't slow, not even to catch my breath. I burst through the tree-line, sprinting towards the gates. I whipped Merle's gun outta my pocket and pointed it towards the sky. I fired it into the air. I immediately began to regret what I'd done as I thought about the noise I'd just made. I prayed no biters would swarm me as I stopped outside the fence. No one was running outta the prison.

"C'mon, c'mon," I whined to myself, growing anxious as I turned around to see a few biters emerge from the woods. My heart almost ripped through my chest by how hard it was beating; it made me feel woozy. I grabbed onto the fence to balance myself, wheezing with every breath I took. I could hear the prison door finally creak open. I stuffed the gun in my pocket once I saw someone approaching me. "Hey," I called out to them, still trying to catch my breath. "I—I..." I lost my train of thought as Rick cranked open the door just enough so I could get through. I stumbled over the threshold, the door slamming shut behind me. He held his gun at my head.

"Put your hands up," he growled, cocking his head to the side. I obeyed him, slightly confused. Did he not remember me? I put my hands up and out in front of me. "Any of those crazy bastards with you," he questioned me with venom in his voice.

"No, I'm alone," I promised. "I've come alone the other times. You can trust me."

"If your father comes here to get you, I'm handing you over," Rick snarled. My eyes widened in fear, my heart sinking; he figured it out and I was the enemy now, I was a part of the enemy's side, the enemy's side that shot his son. "Walk," he demanded. "Now." I slowly began to walk, returning to limping along the way. He followed me in close proximity up the trail, his gun aimed at the back of my head. My legs shook in fear as I entered the prison, the sunlight fading away. Everyone stared at me in surprise, completely silent. I kept walking until he spat at me: "Here." He opened the door to an isolated cell. I shuffled inside, my back to him. I was petrified to turn around, afraid he'd shoot me. I felt him yank Merle's gun out of my back pocket before locking me in the cell. I slowly turned around to face him, my whole body shaking. He glared at me, everyone else staying back. "You try anything, so help me god, you'll be dead before you know it and that's a promise. You understand?" I quickly nodded. Rick turned around, leaving me alone. Carol began to approach me, careful of every move she took.

"What happened to you," she asked, looking me over in horror. I stayed silent, afraid to do anything. "Where's Merle," she wondered, her eyes fixed on me in worry. I felt my breath hitch in my throat, the fear of his well-being hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"He-he's still back there," I whispered, my lip beginning to quiver. "S-someone has to go get him."

"I can," Daryl spoke up, stepping out of the shadows. A small jittery feeling arose from deep down in my stomach; I was confused why I felt it.

"No," Rick became ornery. "Not after what happened a few days ago."

"He's in danger," I cried. "He's gonna kill him."

"You wanna pull us further into war," he challenged me, his eyes filled with intensity. "Yeah, that's right: we're at war with your people now."

"Merle's my blood," Daryl argued. "If you think ye're keepin' me here, you ain't thinkin' right."

"If anyone, and I mean anyone, dies on our side," Rick huffed. "That's on you." he glared at Daryl, then me. "If something happens that puts all of our lives in danger, you will be punished for it. We can't just keep making exceptions anymore." He stomped off after staring the both of us down. At the moment, I felt more worried than regretful. What was gonna happen to me if something or someone caused the group trouble? I glanced over at Daryl. His eyes were locked on mine as he stood near a table across the way. I nervously looked away, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding in. I sat down on the cold concrete floor, wincing at the pain that plagued my body. My once clean pants had now been soaked with blood where my cut had been.

I didn't notice Daryl had moved to stand near me, his sudden closer presence startling. He handed me a red rag outta his back pocket through the bars. I carefully took it from him, the wet fabric making my fingertips slick. I wiped my face, wincing at the pain that rushed through my body when the water touched the slash on my cheek. I had a realization which instantly caused me to feel guilty: this wound had reopened as well and I had moped up all the blood with Daryl's rag.

"Sorry," I muttered, my head down in shame.

"S'okay," he said as I handed the rag back to him. He took it from me and stuffed it back into his pocket. Why wasn't Daryl resenting me like Rick was? Why wasn't he acting like the demeaning asshole he was when I first got here?

"I-I was gonna give you Merle's gun but Rick took it," I admitted. "I think that you should have it, not me." He bit his thumb nail, looking at the ground in brief silence.

"I'll figure out a way to get in there," he mumbled. "Into Woodbury." It went silent, the both of us not knowing what to say next. I gazed up at him, staring at him staring at me intently.

"What," I asked, touching my cheek. I quickly pulled my fingers away when they burned the wound. "It's the cut, isn't it?"

"He do that to you," he wondered, leaning up against the bars.

"Why, you think it's fake," I challenged, defending myself in case he was gonna go on a tirade like he used to. "You saw what I looked like during that fight... my father's the son of a bitch who kidnapped your people, not me. I didn't have nothing to do with tricking anyone into anything. I'm nothing like him." I left Daryl speechless. He struggled to find the right words to say, his face becoming red in the process.

"Bitch," he hissed under his breath in frustration before stomping off.