˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

It took a while before anyone made a move, the two groups locking eyes in tense silence. Finally, Daryl stepped forward, his crossbow steady in his grip.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, walking closer to the inmates.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them shot back.

"He's bleedin' out. We gotta go back," Rick urged, trying to staunch the blood flowing from Hershel's leg. "Come around here. Put pressure on the knee."

Maggie quickly rose to her feet and took over from Rick, pressing her hands firmly on Hershel's knee.

"Why don't you come out of there?" Daryl growled at the inmates. "Slowly."

Reluctantly, the five inmates emerged from their hiding spot, cautiously approaching Daryl at the door.

"What happened to him?" one of the inmates asked.

"He got bit," Daryl spat back.

"Bit?" That same man started to take his gun out, making Lunette stand up—with a wince of pain—and make sure her presence was known, as well as her knife's.

"Woah, woah, woah. Easy now," Daryl said almost mockingly. The guy put up his gun, aiming it at Lunette. "Nobody needs to get hurt."

"You have medical supplies?" Glenn barged past the inmates into the cafeteria without waiting for an answer.

"Whoa, where do you think you're goin'?" the tallest guy asked him, but Glenn simply ignored him.

Everyone turned their heads as the sound of the dead ones banging against the door increased. The guy holding the gun turned his head back to Daryl. "Who the hell are you people, anyway?"

"Don't look like no rescue team," another inmate chirped in.

"If you're seriously still waiting for a rescue team, you're about to be incredibly disappointed," Lunette said with a narrow of her eyes.

"What?" That same inmate said, eyebrows knitting together. "What are you—"

Glenn returned from the kitchen with an improvised stretcher, pushing it towards Maggie and Rick. They carefully lifted Hershel onto it, more blood seeping from his leg. With Hershel secured on the stretcher, they began to push him towards the door.

"Come on! We gotta go," Rick urged as he called for more help, Glenn being quick to pitch in.

"Holy Jesus!" an inmate exclaimed at the sight of Hershel, his eyes widening in horror.

"T! The door!" Rick yelled.

"Are you crazy? Don't open that!" another inmate yelled, but he got ignored as T-dog swung the door open, grabbing the first dead one by its collar and slamming it against the wall, driving a weapon into his head from under his chin.

"Daryl! Lunette!" Rick called out, the two still rooted to the spot, watching the inmates.

T-dog rushed over to Lunette, helping her lean on him as they made their way out. "Let's go," he urged, motioning for Daryl to follow as they hurried after Rick down the corridors.

•

Lunette positioned herself back on a table, now in the safe haven of Cell block C, though her knife was still tightly in her hand. As they had hustled back to the cellblock, they caught wind of the inmates whispering, following their lights and ultimately tracking them down to the cellblock.

Daryl and Lunette opted to wait them out, knowing they'd likely follow. Daryl propped one leg on the bench behind Lunette, his crossbow aimed at the dark corridor beyond the open door.

Before long, their footsteps grew louder until silence fell, both Lunette and Daryl knowing they were just around the corner. And sure enough, the guy with the longer black hair was the first to emerge from the darkness, cautiously entering the room with his friends trailing behind.

"That's far enough," Daryl warned.

"Cell block C." The black-haired guy pointed towards the cells. "Cell 4. That's mine, Gringo. Let me in."

"Sorry. Had to borrow it for a minute," Lunette spat, sarcasm lacing her voice. "Hope you don't mind."

"Today's your lucky day, fellas. You been pardoned by the state of Georgia. You're free to go," Daryl said, matching the sarcasm.

"What you got goin' on in there?" the guy asked.

"It ain't none of your concern."

"Don't be tellin' me what's my concern." He whipped out his gun again, prompting Lunette to straighten her shoulders, ready to act, but Daryl was already on his feet, stepping closer with his crossbow aimed at the man's head.

"Chill, man. Dude's leg is messed up," the taller inmate spoke. "Besides, we're free now. Why are we still in here?"

"Listen to your friend," Lunette remarked.

"I gotta check on my old lady," another inmate chimed in., making Lunette's heart clench, though her face showed no signs of it.

"A group of civilians breakin' into a prison you got no business bein' in... got me thinkin' there ain't no place for us to go," the black haired inmate said.

"Why don't ya go find out?" Daryl grumbled.

"Maybe we'll just be going now..." a blonde haired man said, obviously trying to get the situation not to escalate.

"Hey, we ain't leavin'!" the black-haired guy spat.

"You ain't coming in either," T-dog interjected, stepping forward.

"Hey, this is my house, my rules! I go where I damn well please!" the black-haired guy argued.

Lunette scoffed. "Go find a new damn house. Plenty to pick from nowadays," she sneered.

"Tough talk for someone with a fucked-up leg," the black-haired guy taunted.

"If you come any closer, I'll give a whole new meaning to 'fucked-up leg'," Lunette shot back.

The black-haired man took a menacing step forward. "You think you're funny, huh?" he sneered.

"I'm not joking," Lunette retorted.

The black-haired man's lips curled into a cruel smirk, his eyes narrowing with malice. "You got a mouth on you, girl," he growled, taking another step closer. "Shame if someone were to shut it for you."

"Try it," she challenged, her voice low and steady. "See how that works out for you."

She could see the anger burning red in the man's eyes as he clenched his fists by his side, his glare boring into Lunette's eyes. She couldn't care less, her only response to his stare being a slight narrowing of her eyes, which only seemed to fuel his rage further.

"You think you're tough, huh? Bet you ain't so tough with a bullet in your skull."

"You're all talk," Lunette shot back. "A coward hiding behind a gun."

His eyes flashed with rage at her words, his fingers tightening around the grip of his weapon. "You got a death wish, girl?" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom.

"More like a wish for you to get the hell out of here," Lunette retorted. "You and your sorry excuse for a gang."

"That's it!" the black-haired guy growled, lunging forward.

But before he could make another move, Daryl stepped forward, his crossbow trained on the man's chest. "Ain't gonna tell ya again," he warned. "One more step and you'll be tastin' the dirt on the floor."

"We ain't leaving!" the guy yelled, his anger palpable.

Daryl stood his ground. "There ain't nothin' for ya here!" he shot back. "Why don't ya go back to your own sandbox?"

Amidst the yelling, Rick entered with a calming hand up. "Hey, everyone relax. There's no need for this," he commanded, gaze flickeren from Daryl and Lunette to the inmates.

The black-haired guy turned to Rick. "How many of you are in there?" he asked.

"Too many for you to handle," Rick replied calmly.

The man glanced back at Daryl and Lunette, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. "You guys rob a bank or something?" he asked, his tone accusatory.

Lunette met his gaze head-on. "Would saying yes make you leave?"

He gritted his teeth before looking back at Rick. "Why don't you take him to the hospital?"

This question made everyone fall into a silence, exchanging questioning glances. Lunette fought the urge to laugh. These inmates seemed oblivious to the world outside the prison walls, locked away in their own isolated reality.

"How long have you been locked in that cafeteria?" Rick asked, his tone serious.

The man shifted his grip on his pistol, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his demeanor. "Goin' on like ten months."

The same amount of time since the outbreak began.

"Sorry to tell you this, but—" Lunette began, but Rick raised a hand, silencing her.

"You go back and help the others with Hershel," he directed.

Lunette huffed but complied, sliding off the table. She had no desire to be outside with her injured leg. Keeping her gaze on the dark-haired man, she maneuvered around Daryl and returned to the prison cells, the eye contact broken by the intervening walls.

She made her way to Hershel's cell, finding the others gathered around his bed, except for Carl, who leaned against the doorframe. Her grimace deepened as she observed the towels soaked in blood wrapped around Hershel's leg.

"Is he doing okay?" Lunette inquired, startling the group.

"For now," Carol responded, her gaze drifting to her blood-stained arms. "If he gets through this—"

"When he gets through this," Lori corrected, meeting Carol's gaze.

Carol paused, her attention back on Hershel's leg, casting a heavy silence over the group. Lunette bit her inner cheek nervously, scanning each face.

"We'll need crutches," Carol finished her sentence. "Right now, we could use some antibiotics, painkillers, sterile gauze. There's got to be an infirmary here."

"If there is, we'll find it," Lori assured.

Carol glanced at Lori, eyes softening in pity. "You've got to be worried sick about delivering the baby."

"Look at me." Lori turned to face Carol. "Do I look worried?""

Lunette studied her face, a light frown making its way onto her face at the dark circles shadowing her eyes, tousled hair that sprang in every direction, and the harsh lines on her face whether those were from dirt or something else.

"You look disgusting," Carol said, though with a gentle voice.

Lori let out a breath of laughter. "So do you." She turned back to Hershel, gently stroking his forehead with her hand. "We'll get through this."

Lunette stared at the elderly man with a frown. Just a few hours ago he had fixed up her leg for as much as he could. If he hadn't been there, she might have died. Now he was lying on his deathbed. Without a leg even.

She straightened her shoulders when an idea bubbled up in her head. Carol said they needed supplies from a possible infirmary. None of them were able to go. Carol might be too scared, Lori was pregnant, Beth and Maggie were too busy worrying about their father, Carl was just a child, and Glenn didn't seem to be up for it either. And the rest had gone outside, as Lunette had heard doors open and close just a few moments earlier. So it was up to her to get the supplies. She had to earn her keep one way or another, right?

With that, she spun around and headed back to where the inmates had been standing a few minutes ago. As she walked she checked her belt for her knife, finding that it was still there. That was good. She wouldn't have to... borrow any weapons. She snatched a flashlight from off of the table, flicking it on and off to test it.

She turned around with furrowed brows as she heard light footsteps behind her, finding Carl following her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What are you doing?" he shot back at her.

"Getting Carol the stuff she needs."

"Can I come?"

Lunette stifled a laugh. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen," Carl replied proudly, lifting his chin.

"No." Lunette resumed walking, tightening her belt as she headed for the door.

"I don't want to sit around doing nothing!" Carl called after her, his footsteps quickening to catch up.

"Be glad you can sit around doing nothing, kid," she sighed.

"Please let me help," Carl pleaded.

Lunette stopped abruptly, turning to face him with a firm expression. "No. I'm not going to be responsible for your safety. You're a kid. Stay here." With that, she opened the cell door, walked through, and closed it firmly behind her.

She flicked her flashlight on and shone it down the corridor, illuminating every crack and hole she walked past. Her other hand hovered just above her knife, her ears straining to hear any snarls or groans, or even a stumble.

What she did hear was a shuffling sound behind her, which made her groan out loud. She turned around, seeing Carl sneakily following her.

"You serious? Go back," she urged, raising her eyebrows. "Carl, I mean it."

"You can't tell me what to do." He shrugged, quickening his pace to catch up to her now he had been caught. "You're not my mom."

"That's—" Lunette sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "I'm saying, if anything happens to you, I'm responsible. Your parents will kill me if you even get a tiny bruise on your face. Go back."

"You can barely even walk!" Carl pointed out. She was, indeed, still limping. "I can be your back-up."

"A thirteen year-old's gonna be my back-up? Shit, I don't have to worry anymore."

"I've been out there, too! I know what to do and what not to do. I'm not as little as you think I am," Carl scoffed.

"Yes, you are. I will drag you back by the collar of your shirt if I have to," Lunette hissed back.

The boy shrugged. "So do it. I want to help my family! And if I can't do it alone, I want to come with you. What if you fell while walkers were coming after you? I could help you!"

Lunette huffed in annoyance as she glanced around when Carl raised his voice slightly. "Shh!" she hushed him with a wave of her hand. "Okay, fine. Fine! But you'll do what I say, okay?"

Carl's face broke into a wide grin and he immediately straightened his back. "Deal."

Lunette nodded at him, turning back around and closing her eyes in annoyance. She had planned for a quick in-and-out mission, not a child tagging along.

She opened her eyes and pointed her flashlight at a small sign that read 'Infirmary'. Carl nodded eagerly as he followed the blonde closely.

When they reached the infirmary, Lunette gestured for Carl to stay put. He huffed, but complied. Slowly Lunette pushed the door of the infirmary open, shining her flashlight inside as she poked her head through the gap. It revealed a dimly lit room cluttered with overturned furniture and scattered debris. She narrowed her eyes at the sight of two dead ones stumbling about in the room. She pulled back, softly closing the door and looking down at Carl.

"Two of them in there."

"One for you, one for me," he said, determination lacing his voice.

"No—"

Carl ignored her and pushed past her, opening the door to the infirmary and aiming his pistol at one of the dead ones.

"Carl!" Lunette hissed, but he stepped through the gap of the door, pulling the trigger of his gun and shooting a dead one. The shot itself was silenced by the silencer on the barrel of his gun, but it alerted the other one either way.

The blonde groaned as she unsheathed her knife, quickly waltzing over to the dead one and knocking it to the ground, kneeling over it and driving her knife into its skull. She stood up once it was dead, whirling around to look at Carl.

"Did I not tell you to do as I say?"

Carl shrugged. "We got them, didn't we?"

Lunette managed a breathy laugh, lacking any humor. "Sure. Check all the drawers. Antibiotics, painkillers and sterile gauze."

Both of them started rummaging through the cabinets, drawers, and desks in search of the supplies. Lunette opened one of the lower cabinets, fishing out a duffle bag. She zipped it open, holding it upside down above the counter and shaking it. A few empty pill bottles clattered onto the counter, and that was it.

"Here." She threw the bag at Carl, who caught it just in time before it hit his face. "Stuff everything in there."

He nodded, placing a few bottles of antibiotics into the bag.

They continued looking, the faint beam of Lunette's flashlight illuminating shelves stacked with dirty bottles and long abandoned medical equipment.

Lunette knelt down beside a toppled hospital bed, carefully searching through the scattered supplies. Her fingers brushed against bandages and gauze, placing them on the nightstand in front of her.

She stood up, whistling to Carl. She gestured for him to give her the duffle bag, and so he did. She held it below the nightstand and swept all the supplies placed on top of it into the bag.

"Check those cabinets over there," Lunette whispered to Carl, gesturing towards a row of metal cabinets lining the far wall. Carl nodded in understanding, his eyes scanning the room as he moved towards the cabinets.

With a soft creak, he cautiously pulled open the dusty cabinet, its hinges protesting against the movement. His breath caught in his throat as he peered inside, his eyes widening in disbelief, the doors revealing rows upon rows of neatly stacked bandages.

"Whoa," he chuckled, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Lunette grabbed the bag and hurried over, her flashlight illuminating the contents of the cabinet. Her eyes widened as she quickly gestured for Carl to throw everything in the bag. Carl's eyes sparkled with excitement as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the bandages before he dropped them inside the bag with a soft thud.

"Okay, bag's full. We should head on back," she told Carl, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carl nodded and zipped up the bag, slinging it over his shoulders. With one last glance around the infirmary, they made their way towards the door, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust covering the floor. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional sound of their breathing.

Lunette led the way once again, her knife firmly in her hand. Carl trailed closely behind her, his hand tight around the strap of the duffle bag. Luckily for them there were no dead ones on the way back, so they were easily able to find their cell block.

Carl tossed Lunette the keys, which she effortlessly caught and used to unlock the door to the cellblock. The door swung open with a creak, and Carl waltzed in first, hand clasped firmly around the bag. She waited until the boy was inside until walking in herself, locking the door back up.

"I thought you two were organizing the food," Glenn spoke up with a confused look on his face when Lunette got closer.

"Even better." Carl grinned as he walked up to Hershel's cell, tossing the bag on the ground by Carol's feet. "Check it out."

A loud gasp erupted from Carol as she immediately rummaged through the bag, looking up at Carl and Lunette with pure shock.

"Where did you get this?" Lori exclaimed.

"From the infirmary," Carl answered, a proud smile on his face. "Wasn't much left, but we cleared it out."

"You two went by yourselves?" Lori asked, her movements slowing. "Are you crazy?"

"Lori, he was safe. No need to—" Lunette started, but Lori cut her off.

"You allowed my son—a thirteen year old boy—to go with you to the infirmary?" she hissed, almost yelling.

"No, I did not," Lunette huffed, she nudged Carl's shoulder blade, getting his attention. "You can sort that out with your mother. That's not on me." She held up her hands in surrender.

"It's no big deal. We killed two walkers," Carl said bluntly, making Lori stammer, not knowing what to say for a moment.

"You—do you see this?" she exclaimed, hands hovering above Hershel. "This was with the whole group."

"We needed supplies, so we got them!" Carl retorted.

"I appreciate that, but—" Lori raised her voice in anger, maybe fear, but Carl was quick to cut her off.

"Then get off my back!"

"Carl!" Beth exclaimed, looking up at him with widened eyes. "She's your mother. You can't talk to her like that."

Carl's face dropped into a slight frown for a moment as he stared at her, then at Lori.

"Listen, I think it's great that you wanna help—" Lori said, but she stopped herself when Carl dashed out of the prison cell with a huff.

Lori watched him go before sighing, looking at Lunette.

"I swear I told him no," she said quickly, raising her eyebrows. "I left without him. He followed me."

Lori put up a hand, shaking her head. "No, it's okay."

Lunette nodded slowly, scratching her nose. "Yeah, okay."

Lori returned her gaze to Hershel, closing her eyes for a moment. Lunette shifted on her feet awkwardly, tugging at a loose thread on her jeans. Her eyes trailed from the duffel bag to Hershel's leg, and then to his face. She really hoped these supplies would help him. He seemed to be very important to this group and knew a lot about medical stuff. Losing him could mean a big loss for the group.