Changing To Adapt ➵ TWD

➵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪxᴛʏ ꜰɪᴠᴇ

"Daryl." Lucas stutters out his name, panting as he drops another corpse at his feet, pulling back his blood splattered arms. "We- we've gotta go."

He doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to interrupt, but he's kept the surroundings clear for as long as he could while Daryl was grieving, and it's only getting harder. Stray walkers have been following the noises from earlier.

Lucas jelly-legs the next walker, sighs in relief when it simply crumples to the dirt. He glances briefly over his shoulder at the loud but shaky exhale.

Daryl stands up, staring blankly now down at his brother's corpse. His crossbow hangs limply from his fingers. With a nod, Daryl leads the way back, never making eye contact with the boy.

Yanking his crowbar free from the walkers head, Lucas purses his lips and follows. He throws a last glance towards Merle and his breath almost gets stuck in his throat. Turning his eyes back to Daryl's raised hackles, Lucas grinds his palm into the cut on his upper arm, parting his lips only to uselessly close them again.

The prison was bustling with activity when they walked through the gates, too much to focus on and yet not enough to take his mind off what had just happened.

He manages a "told you I'd be back" to Michonne as he passes, feeling her questioning stare when Merle doesn't follow, but Daryl is gone from his sight just as quickly as they entered, and Lucas has to pick through Rick's words over the buzzing around him - something about "your arm" and feeling the sting of Hershel wrapping the cuts and "are you okay" and "pack your things" - to latch onto the ones he understood the most. An order.

Lucas strips his room bare and shoves his belongings into bags with a savagery that causes avoidance.

"We're ready." He hears from downstairs, Michonne's gentle tone. Through the gap in his doorway, Lucas sees Rick on the perch, soaking in the last moments of peace.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Lucas blows a breath through his nose and stares at the bags by his feet. He's ready. He is.

It doesn't feel like it.

"Lucas."

His head shifts in Rick's direction, standing at the entrance of his cell. The man tilts his head in a gesture toward the exit, his tired eyes looking around the empty walls, an echo of what they used to be. He's hoping, praying, that they'll have the chance to come back to it.

Lucas grabs his bags using his good arm, and stops in front of Rick. But he doesn't know what to say.

Rick looks down at him and smiles, something dispirited, and gently nudges Lucas past him.

Waiting at the bottom of the stairs for them is Michonne, "You ready?" She nods towards Lucas.

"I'm always ready." Lucas says with faux confidence, taking the steps two at a time. He jerks his chin up at her in greeting and continues, passing through the gate to the cafeteria. Leaning against the exit, he waits for them, taking in the prison for what could possibly be the last time.

Michonne thanks Rick for taking her in, despite his initial choice to accept the Governor's deal and hand her over. Before Merle had taken it into his own hands, Rick had decided not to go through with it. This is news to Lucas, and it helps him relax against the archway.

"If you didn't have that formula, I wouldn't have taken you in."

"You could've just taken the formula." She says back.

"Well," Rick lowers his voice, "It must've been something else, then."

Raising an eyebrow at the wall, Lucas wonders what that could possibly mean, and keeps the door open for the two of them to exit.