This one's set after 'Flower Crowns', but it is not anywhere near as fluffy.

It's actually really, really dark. It deals with miscarriage, a whole lot of grief, and the way people deal with said grief. It has a (sort of) happy ending, as in they begin to heal and move on, but there is no giggling or sunshine or rainbows.

It also deals with infant-walkers (well, just the one) and so some caution should be implemented when reading this. It's not graphic, but if you don't want to read it, you won't hurt my feelings.

It was Maggie and Glenn who went on the most recent run. This time, they were after herbicides to clear the ever-persistent weeds from the garden, as well as the usual requests; soap, flour, and clothing for the children who were growing almost as quickly as the weeds that clung to the stalks of the vegetables.

Carol met them at the gate and ushered the car in, watching for walkers as she did.

"Ain't seen any for the last five or six miles." Maggie offered. "Who're you waitin' on?" She teased, knowing full well that it would be Daryl outside the wall, stamping through the forest, taking out his frustrations on any walkers unfortunate to cross his path.

"He should be back soon. I think he just… I think he was over all the noise, to be honest. It's too crowded for him today."

Maggie hummed sympathetically and Glenn nodded in condolence. "We need you to come check something out for us, if you can?"

"Can it wait?" Carol questioned. "I was going to wait for Daryl to get back."

Glenn shook his head. "We found some kids."

"Are they alright?" She asked, stepping closer to peer through the back windows of the cab. "We don't have much formula left over… How many?"

"Two. They're in the back, they didn't like us much." She only then noticed the bright red scratches running the length of Glenn's forearm. "And they're too old for formula, six or seven, I'd say. Boy and a girl."

She climbed into the back seat of the truck. "Daryl can manage the gate by himself. Let's meet our two newest members."

"Carol." Glenn twisted in his seat to face her, his hand reaching out to cover hers for a moment. "If it's too much… Let me know, I'll send Beth and Tara to look after them instead."

"It won't be. They need looking after; I'm the only one with experience at being a mother so it makes sense."

The rest of the journey to the farm buildings happened in silence.

Daryl knew he was being unfair, slipping out at dawn with only a quick "Goin' huntin', be back this afternoon." tossed over his shoulder at a sleep-addled Carol. But the reality of it was, he didn't want to be around her today.

Not her, specifically, but everybody who would give them pitying looks when they thought the pair weren't looking, or offer them sympathetic smiles over breakfast, or pat them comfortingly as they passed by. He just wasn't in the mood for anyone's shit.

Their baby hadn't made it, shit happens.

But that didn't mean it hadn't hurt. It still hurt, a month on. And the whole damn place would have a shroud of quiet grief over it for the whole day, and he didn't feel like assuring everybody that yes, Carol was fine. No, he didn't want them to take over to give him a break.

He shouldn't have left her to deal with them by herself, but he'd already been gone half the day and didn't see the point in rushing back. He reached the tree with the hunting blind in it, and swung his bag up ahead of him, before climbing up onto the platform. He ate a quick lunch from his pack before loading his crossbow and settling in to wait for some game to pass by. He managed to distract himself for a while, watching birds flitting from tree to tree or re-sighting his crossbow, but eventually, as always, his mind wandered.

Carol was pale-faced but smiling as she weeded the garden, her small bump visible beneath her tank top. She hadn't been feeling well from the moment she'd woken up that morning, but she'd only stayed in bed as long as he'd stayed with her. He'd banned her from heavy lifting or spending too much time in the sun, but she'd taken the kids and gone gardening. He'd sent Carl to call her for lunch as everybody gathered around the cooking pit. She'd rolled her eyes and pecked him on the chin when he suggested she rest for the day. They'd all jumped to their feet as Carl half-carried, half dragged her into the meeting area, hollering for help. He'd scooped her up and carried her into their medical clinic, let Bob work on her.

The crackle of braches drew him out of his head. A small deer, smaller than he would've hoped, grazed on foliage within range. He raised his crossbow, but his hands were shaking so hard he missed by almost six inches. The deer bolted off through the underbrush and he dropped his forehead onto his forearm with an agonized groan.

It was Maggie who told him. He'd staggered out of the room where Carol lay semi-conscious and slumped against the wall, head in his hands, trying to block out the frantic murmuring from the room but unable to stray too far from her.

"Daryl." She'd croaked, tears tracking down her face. She'd kneeled in the dirt next to him and stroked his hair. "She lost it."

She'd stayed unconscious for three or four hours. Actually, that wasn't true. She'd woken up long enough to sob into Daryl's chest as he cried silently into her hair. Bob had given her something, a sedative, and Daryl had retreated to the furthermost picnic table to grieve.

It was Maggie again. She sat next to him, a large shoebox cradled in her hands. In it, a blue blanketed bundle. "His lungs-" She cleared her throat, tears still running down her cheeks. "He wasn't formed enough to make it. Daryl, I'm so sorry." He reached for the box.

"We gon' bury him." He whispered shakily.

Maggie leaned into him, kissed his shoulder. "Yeah. When Carol wakes up."

"She'll be alright?"

"She's gonna be just fine." Maggie soothed. "You okay by yourself for a while?"

"I'll be back soon." He croaked, his entire body shaking slightly. He toyed with the edge of the soft blanket as she walked away.

"Fuck." He muttered to himself. "Ah fuck."

He was trapped in his memories.

He'd pulled himself together and was about to head back when the blanket-wrapped bundle moved. For a moment he'd felt hope so strong his knees gave out, like nothing he'd ever experienced aside from the moment Carol had sliced off his blindfold at Terminus. His hands flew to either side of the box.

Maggie must've got it wrong.

He must be breathing.

He was alive.

And then came the raspy hiss, tiny and muffled and feeble, increasing as he touched the bundle, uncomprehending. The squirming grew frantic and his blood ran cold. "Fuck." He croaked, a sob rising from his chest, choking off his air. "Ah fuck."

The wriggling, snarling, wrapped-up walker-infant was trying to get to him.

The low animal keen escaping him was scaring all the game away. The absurd thought struck him as he pushed himself up and rested against the trunk of the tree. He scrubbed the tears from his cheeks.

He hadn't done it, in the end. He stood there for eons, bowie knife gripped in his hand, trembling with full-body shudders that struck him in waves. Eventually, he'd staggered back to the buildings. Glenn stopped him.

"He turned." He whimpered, too grief-stricken to care what he sounded like. "Shit, Glenn, I can't… Someone has'ta-"

Glenn wrapped him in the only hug he'd had since Merle that hadn't come from Carol. "I'll get someone."

The sun had shifted by the time he pulled himself back to the present and calmed himself down. With a grunt at the stiffness in his body from sitting too long, he hauled himself up and dropped down to the ground. Crossbow slung over his shoulder, bag on his back, he began trudging back towards the farm.

Carol's eyes itched from the antiseptic lotion she'd been dabbing on the two new children. They were physically okay, if a little underweight. They were both skittish though, and hadn't settled enough to talk to her until she'd drawn the curtains, shut the door, and left them alone for a good fifteen minutes.

Michael and Rosie. Despite their feral appearances and scraped skin, matted hair and filthy bodies, they were polite, and Rosie had a lisp. She pronounced her name 'Wosie' and Carol couldn't help but coo over them both as she and Maggie bathed them and dressed their scratches.

In all honesty, she'd had a much better day than she had expected. The solemn air of the residents had dissolved once they began focusing on their own chores, and the arrival of the children had sparked a sense of triumph in everybody.

The baby weighed on her mind, but she wasn't suffering like she imagined Daryl to be. She'd lost three others, after Sophia. The others had been Ed's fault, and this one was probably due to her age. It wasn't like she was incomplete without a child. She had Mika, Luke, the other children from the Altlanta group that had joined them before they ever found the farm. Baby Rhee was always happy to be bounced on her lap, and she was busy enough throughout the day that her life felt full and happy.

That her happiness was only possible after the apocalypse was not wasted on her.

"Baby."

She looked up at the door to the infirmary. He was leaning against the frame, crossbow dangling in his hand.

"Hi." She smiled. "Good hunt?" She pushed away from the sink and crossed the room to meet him. His crossbow hit the floor and his hands came up to cup her face. They were clammy from when he had scrubbed them clean only minutes ago, but she leaned against his right palm anyway.

"Ya been cryin'?" He worried. "Shit, should'a stayed here today." He pulled her into a hug, laying his cheek against her temple.

"No, no," She offered. "Some new kids arrived today… The antiseptic spray irritates my eyes, is all." She leaned back. "Are you all right?"

His eyes were still rather red, apparently.

"Fine. Didn't mean ta leave y'here all by yourself all day. 'M'sorry."

"You're here now." She pecked him on the end of his nose. They both laughed softly. He bumped her nose with his and kissed her gently. "So everything's fine."

I'm sorry! *Hides under the desk in case people start throwing things at me*

But like I said in the summary, the companion/alternative fic is called 'To Win' and it's basically my attempt to redeem myself for this horror of a headcanon.

Any reviews are appreciated! Constructive criticism is highly valuable to me so if anyone has anything they don't like/would like to see changed (about my writing in general, not the plot of this particular story), then please, let me know!

Thank you for reading!

(And again, sorry.)