Future Ghosts • TWD

127. Lyin'.

Rosie didn't return to Hilltop until a few hours after her little disappearing act. When she got back, she tried to get some sleep, but ultimately couldn't. She already struggled enough with nightmares, but the anxiety that had become more and more intense as she pushed through the day only made it harder to fall asleep. Her mind just wouldn't rest. She felt like shit for embarrassing Ian and maybe even making him hate her, she was feeling mad at herself for smoking that cigarette, and she couldn't stop worrying about the group that had gone out to find Eugene. They should have been back by now. Daryl was the best tracker any of these people had ever met. He should have found Eugene and brought him back to Hilltop. But they were all still gone.

It was just a few hours after the sun first rose that Rosie finally began to hear the rumbling of the engine on Daryl's motorcycle. She was sitting at one of the picnic tables and drawing in an attempt to avoid absolutely everyone. She had seen Gage, Rodney, and Addy walking around. They'd all sent her either worried or judgemental glances, but Rosie didn't give a shit, she decided. She hadn't seen Ian or Henry, though. She assumed they were just hiding away, avoiding her so no one would be embarrassed.

Anyway, when the group returned, they were just walking their horses with them rather than riding them. On the back of one of the horses was a body. Rosie didn't recognize it at first, but as the horse trotted closer, further along the path, she could see the hair. Long, light brown hair pulled up into a bun. It was Jesus. At first, just that little ounce of hope left inside of Rosie told her that he was just unconscious, that he was ok. But as the sun shone down and bounced off of his pale, pale skin, she could see that he was really, truly dead.

On the back of another one of the horses was a girl- a girl Rosie didn't recognize. She had long, brown hair and some overgrown bangs that fell over the white cloth tied around her eyes. She looked dirty, like she'd been out there for a long time. Her skin was coated with dirt, along with her blue jeans and pink shirt. Was this who killed Jesus? She didn't look very old. She looked to be just about Rosie's age. But that didn't make her incapable of killing Jesus.

Daryl got off of his motorcycle and helped get Jesus down off of the horse for a proper, respectful burial. Jesus had been the start of this all. Without Jesus, there would be no communication between Alexandria, Hilltop, Oceanside, or the Kingdom. Without Jesus, half of these people who now considered each other family would never have met. He brought everyone together, and now he was dead. Rosie's throat felt dry, and she almost wanted to cry again, but she was all cried out. There were no more tears left to fall. Her eyes were already puffy and red, but she tried to keep that hidden by looking down at her sketchbook, not meeting anyone's eyes. She wanted to cry for Jesus, because he deserved to be cried for, to be mourned, but Rosie couldn't cry anymore. That lump in her throat stayed a lump, and she swallowed it back, trying to ignore it.

Once Jesus was taken care of- respected, like how he deserved- Daryl went to Rosie. When Rosie heard him coming, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, just to try and get rid of any evidence that she had cried at all within the past few hours. She closed her sketchbook and shoved it into her backpack, along with her pencil, before getting up.

"What happened?" she asked as Daryl got closer. She hoped that if she asked about what had happened to him, he wouldn't ask about what happened there when he was gone. Daryl didn't look like he had been crying, because he was tough and he almost never cried. But it was clear that he was hurting. That he was angry for Jesus and trying to keep it all together.

"Bunch a' shit that shouldn't have happened," Daryl grumbled, pulling Rosie into his side for a moment. After giving her that half-hug, he glanced down at her face and rubbed his thumb beneath her eye. Rosie looked down. "You been cryin'?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.