Leave a comment if you want more!
____
Chapter 1
The world came back to him.
First, the smell, something foul, something rotting.
Then, the sound, nothing but silence.
Then, pain.
His fingers twitched, his lips cracked open as his throat scraped with the effort of speech.
"Shane…?" he croaked. His voice was barely audible. "You there, brother?"
No answer.
He turned his head weakly.
The chair beside his bed was empty.
Where was Shane?
He tried to sit up.
Agony lanced through his ribs, and the monitor's beep stuttered. Sweat poured from his skin like a fever breaking. The sheets clung to him like wet paper.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself upright with trembling arms and immediately toppled off the bed.
The floor was cold linoleum. His hospital gown bunched under him, the IV still clinging and dangling uselessly behind him.
"Nurse," he wheezed. "Somebody! Nurse!"
The silence that followed was too heavy, it pressed on his chest more than the fall did as the minutes passed by with no one coming to help.
Then… footsteps.
His heart leapt, relief flooded him, even through the haze. "Thank God…"
But the steps didn't sound like a nurse's.
They were deliberate.
Heavy boots, slow and measured.
The door creaked open.
He squinted toward the light spilling into the room.
A silhouette stood in the doorway. A long black coat, maybe leather, and a black duffle bag. A hood covered the figure's head, but it wasn't the hood that chilled him. It was the mask.
A dragon's face.
Sculpted, metallic, menacing.
He tensed.
His breath caught.
"Who… who the hell…?"
The figure didn't speak.
They stepped inside, slowly, the way a predator would circle prey.
A glint of metal.
A pistol was pointed at him.
His stomach turned.
He tried to drag himself back, but his limbs were weak.
"I—I'm not a threat." He stammered, voice shaking. "I just—please…"
The dragon-masked figure tilted their head.
A long pause.
Then, slowly… the gun lowered.
He blinked, heart pounding against his chest.
They knelt beside him, silent, calculating.
There was no urgency in their movements, just quiet curiosity.
Then, fingers reached for the mask.
The metal face lifted.
Beneath it was a boy.
Maybe sixteen, seventeen at most.
A scared, bruised face, pale-skinned, with a mop of dark hair and the kind of wide-eyed, boyish mischief he had seen in his son.
The boy was smiling.
He stared at him, slack-jawed. "Y-You're… just a kid."
The boy tilted his head the other way. "And you don't look so good."
His eyes were filled with concern. "Why are you dressed lik-?"
"We need to go," the boy interrupted him, crouching down to help him up.
The boy looked around the room. "I didn't think anyone would wake up in this place again, at least not one alive, yet here you are! And I was just here for medical supplies, too!"
He tried to sit up again and winced in pain, his throat parched.
"W-Water."
The boy's smile faded, now looked concerned.
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a battered canteen, and offered it.
He took it with shaking hands.
Water spilled down his chin, but he drank like a man dying of thirst.
"…T-Thank you," he rasped.
The boy just watched him.
"I don't get it," he muttered between gulps. "Where is everyone? The nurses? Doctors?"
The boy's expression darkened.
Just a flicker, like a shadow across his face.
Then he pulled the dragon mask back down.
"I'll explain while we move," he said, voice now slightly muffled. "Right now? We've got to get you out of here before they come back."
"They?" he asked.
The boy stood, grabbing a crowbar from behind the door.
"Walkers," he said.
The man blinked, unsure if he heard right.
"Walkers?"
The boy looked back over his shoulder, staring straight into his eyes.
"In simple, insane terms? People who came back from the dead as rotting corpses, hell bent on eating the living."
Then he turned and walked into the dim hallway, carrying him along.
What he saw made his heart drop.
Blood, limbs, chaos, and corpses filled the hall.
Rick Grimes stared at the boy, heart pounding, the words echoing in his head like a gunshot.
What the hell kind of world had he just woken up to?
____
"It started months ago, don't know exactly when, but that's my best guess." The boys said while looking through the cabinets and desks for anything useful.
"You guess?" Rick mumbled, leaning against the wall the boy had placed him on.
"Teenagers don't exactly pay attention to the news, dude." He laughed while picking up a bottle of painkillers and checking the date on it.
He walked back to Rick, taking off the lid and taking some pills out.
Rick gratefully took them, giving a quiet thanks before popping them into his mouth and taking a sip of water.
"All I know is the dead became undead, the undead then made the living undead, and then everything became fucked."
After a couple more minutes of looking around and finding a few more useful items, the boy started to move again.
All the while, Rick was processing what he said.
"I-I don't believe you." He mumbled, rubbing his head in pain.
He got a quick look at his direction.
"I don't need you to believe me," The boy checked the halls before coming back to pick him up. "I just need you to get your sorry ass moving."
With a pain-filled groan, Rick got up and walked alongside the boy, who took his arm over their shoulder.
They walked in silence for a while, and neither one said a word while they moved. The flashlight the boy was carrying barely helped to show them the way.
"What's your name?" Rick gasped out after the silence became too much for him to bare.
The boy paused for a moment, turning his head to look at him before moving again.
"...Leo."
Rick nodded his head, making sure to remember the boy's name.
"Rick Grimes."
They made their way out of the hospital in a more comfortable silence.
The hospital doors wheezed open with a reluctant groan, the final barrier between them and the outside world giving way like a dying breath.
Rick winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, pale, washed-out light through a gray sky choked with ash and distant smoke.
The parking lot was a war zone.
Burnt-out cars, shattered windows, and bagged bodies painted the cracked asphalt with long-dried blood.
Leo moved with purpose, crowbar in hand, and Rick's weight slung across his shoulder.
"Stick close," Leo said. "We're not alone out here."
Rick grimaced, each step sending sparks of pain through his battered ribs.
They'd barely cleared the lot when Rick noticed movement.
Figures, three of them, emerging from the shadows of a collapsed overpass up the street.
Rick tensed. "You know them?"
Leo stopped.
The figures drew closer.
They were all wearing the same black coat and…
Same dragon mask.
Rick's brow raised, looking back at Leo with a questioning look in his eye.
The three approached in complete silence, their footfalls unnaturally in sync.
One carried a duffel bag slung over their shoulder, another had a bat resting across their shoulder. The third had a rifle slung around their back, though they didn't seem to be threatening.
Still, Rick's heart pounded harder with every step they took.
"Friends?" he asked, hoping they were.
Leo didn't answer at first, his head tilted slightly, studying them as they stopped in a loose half-circle around him and Rick.
They didn't speak, didn't make a sound, but Leo seemed to understand something unspoken between them.
He nodded once.
Without a word, they adjusted formation. One moving to the front, one flanking left, the last taking the rear like a trained escort team.
They walked in unison, not making a sound.
Rick looked around, waiting for one of them to explain, specifically Leo, but he got nothing.
Rick's voice was hoarse. "Okay, what the hell is going on? Why are they all dressed like you?"
Leo didn't miss a beat. "Because we look cool."
Rick gave him a look.
Leo offered nothing else.
The group started walking again, weaving past wreckage and rubble with an eerie, shared rhythm that made Rick's skin crawl.
Rick kept his voice low. "You all got the same tailor, or…?"
Leo let out a breath that might've been a laugh. "You ask a lot of questions for someone who nearly died in a puddle of his own sweat."
"I'm a cop," Rick replied with a weak smile. "Asking questions is kind of my thing."
"Then maybe stop being a cop," Leo smiled back, glancing sideways. "It'll keep you alive longer."
They soon arrived at what he would guess to be their vehicle.
The van rumbled to life with a coughing growl and a sputter before settling into a low, grumbling purr.
It was an old thing, military green, reinforced in places with salvaged scrap metal and duct tape, but it moved.
Leo slid into the driver's seat like he belonged there, his dragon mask now resting on the dash, gleaming in the wan light.
Rick gritted his teeth as one of the masked figures, he didn't know which one, helped him into the back.
The interior smelled of gasoline, sweat, and the faint coppery tang of blood.
Makeshift seats lined the sides, and between them lay bundles of scavenged supplies, weapons, and a few gas cans lashed to the floor.
The back doors slammed shut, and the vehicle jolted forward.
And the distance between them and the hospital increased.
Rick leaned back with a grunt, clutching his side. The painkillers were helping, but the pain was still there.
He looked out the tiny, grimy window to his right.
And froze.
"What the hell…" he muttered.
They passed a row of what once might have been apartment buildings, now gutted by fire and half-collapsed. Smoke curled from the remains, and there, stumbling through the ash and ruin, were the figures.
Humans, but not.
Their movements were jerky, wrong.
Like puppets dragged by broken strings.
Rotting flesh hung from bone, eyes milky, mouths slack.
Some wore the remnants of uniforms. Others were naked from the waist up, their skin blackened with rot and flies.
And they were moaning. Low, unholy groans that vibrated in Rick's chest.
Leo glanced at the rearview mirror. "First time seeing 'em, huh?"
Rick couldn't speak, couldn't blink. Could only watch as one of the creatures slammed itself against a rusted car, sniffing the air, dragging its nails across the hood.
"They're slow," Leo added, eyes on the road, "but don't let that fool you. One is nothing. Ten is bad. A horde? Pray you make it out alive."
Rick finally tore his gaze away, his stomach churning. "Jesus Christ…"
"Nope," Leo said. "He's not picking up the phone either."
They drove on.
The suburbs came next.
Somehow, they'd survived better than the city. The houses here stood tall, paint flaking but intact, lawns overgrown but untouched by fire.
The silence was worse than anything; no dogs, no kids, no life.
Then Rick saw it: a two-story home with a boarded-up front, a rusting sedan parked sideways across the driveway as a barricade.
Two more dragon-masked figures sat on the roof with rifles, watching the street like gargoyles.
Leo rolled the van to a stop while one of the guards raised a hand, signaling the all-clear.
"You live here?" Rick asked as the doors opened.
Leo stepped out, slipping his mask back on before motioning for the others to help Rick.
"For now."
Rick was half-dragged up the driveway and through the barricaded front door.
Inside was cooler, dimmer, and shuttered windows kept the worst of the light out. The scent of food hung faintly in the air, mixed with the clean tang of disinfectant.
A hallway stretched ahead, and footsteps echoed as someone approached.
Rick stiffened when he saw who.
A man about his age, maybe a little older, stepped into view holding a crowbar. He had a trimmed beard, sharp eyes, and a cautious stance that screamed ready for a fight.
A woman stood behind him, shorter, her hair tied back, and a pistol holstered at her hip.
And beside her was a boy, eight, maybe nine, clutching a baseball bat and watching Rick like he might be a monster.
Leo raised a hand. "Easy, easy. He's not one of them. He's fresh out of the hospital from a coma."
"People don't just wake up in the hospital anymore," the man said flatly. "Not without something wrong with them."
"He's not infected, I checked."
Rick held up his hands weakly.
The man studied him a moment longer, then his shoulders lowered. "Name?"
"His name is Rick Grimes. I already introduced myself, and it'll be offensively rude if you guys didn't."
The man exchanged a look with the woman. She nodded, just barely, before walking over to Leo and beginning to fuss over him, much to his embarrassment.
"Morgan," the man said, slowly putting his weapon down.
"Jenny." His wife went next, slapping Leo on the back of his head for worrying her.
"And that's our son, Duane."
Duane kept staring at Rick before smiling when Leo threw a candy bar at him.
"Don't look so serious, little man, he's good. If not I'll just kick his ass~" Leo smiled confidently, patting the boy on his head.
Rick looked at the boy in disbelief.
"You already done too much, you should hav-" Jenny tried to say before Leo threw another candy bar at her.
"It's fine~! I don't have much of a sweet tooth anyway."
Leo walked up and patted Morgan's back.
"See? Told you we'd make it back! With lots of medicine to boot!"
"You also told me you were just grabbing meds," Morgan muttered. "Not bringing home strays."
"Yeah, well~ Plans change." The boy rubbed the back of his head bashfully, especially when he got a glare from the older man.
He tried to say something else but was stopped when another masked man waved him over.
"I have to deal with something real quick, you four get to know each other! I promise he's friendly!"
Morgan didn't say anything at first.
He just stared at Rick.
That kind of stare that made you feel like you were being dissected, layer by layer, until all that was left was the core of you, and even that wasn't safe.
Rick shifted uncomfortably in the chair Leo had pushed him into. The pain in his ribs flared again, but he kept still.
Across the room, Jenny and Duane had settled onto a couch, the wrappers of two candy bars already littering the coffee table.
Duane let out a soft, delighted hum as he bit into the chocolate like it was the finest thing he'd ever tasted.
"Mom," the boy whispered with a grin, "I forgot how good this stuff was…"
"I know, baby," she murmured, smiling gently as she ruffled his hair. "Chew slow. That's dessert for the month."
Rick glanced at them, a faint ache forming in his chest, not from the injuries, but from the sight.
Then his eyes returned to Morgan, who still hadn't moved, still hadn't blinked.
Rick cleared his throat.
"So…" he began, his voice rough. "How'd you all meet Leo?"
Morgan's jaw flexed, the crowbar still loosely gripped in one hand. His eyes flicked toward the hallway Leo had disappeared down.
"He found us."
Rick blinked. "You mean—?"
"Dragged our sorry asses out of a grocery store." Morgan's tone was hard, dry, but not ungrateful.
"We were trapped, made too much noise when we tried to scavenge for food. Walkers found a way in. I was low on ammo, and Mabel had twisted her ankle getting Duane out of the way. We thought we were done."
Rick's brows furrowed. "How long ago?"
"Maybe a month, maybe more. Hard to keep track when there's no sun some days and no sleep most nights." Morgan paused. "But he showed up. He and three others. Took out every walker in the damn store. Saved me and my family's life without asking a damn thing in return. I've been trying to repay him ever since.
Rick glanced around at the home again, at the sturdy barricades, the hand-crafted reinforcements, and the maps pinned on the wall.
"This place… all of this—"
"Leo," Morgan said bluntly. "Every lock, every board, every reinforced window. Him. And the people who follow him. Don't be fooled by their looks, they're good people, and every single one of them follows him as their leader."
Rick sat back, silent, absorbing it all.
Morgan nodded once, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"You should know something, Rick. Leo… he's too nice for his own damn good."
Rick raised a brow. "How so?"
He was met with a long, hard look.
"He gave us a working generator just so we could get energy. Made sure the children have clothes that fit. Enough food for us to eat. And have his men protect us day and night, even when he didn't have to… and he saved my wife's life."
Morgan shook his head.
"Hell, he carried my ass on his back when I passed out from an injury. Said, 'It's no big deal, Mr. Jones, I'm used to carrying dead weight.'"
He laughed, his eyes glazed over as if he was remembering a fond memory.
Rick gave a weak chuckle, which turned into a cough.
Morgan looked him dead in the eye again.
"And I've seen the way he looks at people like you. Newcomers. Wounded. Lost. He'll always help. No matter what it costs him, even when those ungrateful sons of bitches stab him in the back."
He got a glare from his wife, who had somehow instinctively known he was going to curse, as she was already covering their son's ears before he even did so.
Rick swallowed thickly. "Why?"
Morgan leaned back, exhaling through his nose.
Just then, Duane spoke up from the couch. "He said people are like batteries."
Both men looked at the boy.
"Leo told me that once," Duane said, licking chocolate off his fingers.
"He said people are like batteries. They start full, charged with hope, fight, dreams, and kindness, with enough to share. …But life wears them down, drains them little by little, until their left with nothing. And he hates seeing people run on empty. So he does whatever he can to charge them back up… even if it costs him."
His mother smiled at him before pulling him into a hug.
Morgan gave a soft, mirthless laugh. "Yeah, that sounds like him."
Rick nodded slowly, his voice quieter now, remembering the boy's injured face. "Doesn't seem like the world's been kind to him."
"It hasn't," Morgan said, and for a flicker of a moment, there was real pain behind his eyes. "But he still gives a damn even when he shouldn't."
There was a creak from the hallway, and the masked teen himself came strolling back in, brushing dust from his jacket and casually holding a small radio in one hand.
Another masked individual was with him, but this one was wearing a white doctor's coat.
"Hope no one was talking shit about me while I was gone," Leo said with a smirk, tossing the radio onto the couch. "I brought a doctor to check your wounds."
The one in white went over to Rick and motioned for him to turn around.
"You got doctors?"
"Well, doctor in training, but that's better than nothing, am I right~?"
Rick just stared at him a moment, the weight of everything Morgan had said hanging heavy in his mind.
"…You really are just a kid."
Leo winked, grabbing a bottle of water from a nearby crate. "Yeah, but I'm one hell of a cool one."
Rick let out a slow breath, letting the moment settle.
The so-called doctor, masked like the rest but carrying themselves with a calm, practiced air, knelt beside him and started checking the bandages on his side with quiet efficiency.
No unnecessary talk, just careful hands and a reassuring nod as they worked.
Leo, meanwhile, flopped down onto a battered recliner across the room, one leg draped over the armrest, the other bouncing restlessly.
His dragon mask rested in his lap.
"I'll be honest," Rick muttered, wincing slightly as the doctor cleaned a healing wound. "When I first saw you, I thought I was hallucinating. Thought you were gonna shoot me too."
Leo grinned. "Still might. Depends on how annoying you get."
Jenny raised an eyebrow from the couch. "Leo."
"Joking!" he said, holding up both hands in mock surrender. "You know I won't shoot someone just because they're annoying~"
The tension that had built between them eased a little.
Rick leaned back as the doctor wrapped his torso with fresh gauze and tape, surprisingly gently.
Morgan stood, finally placing his crowbar against the wall. "Well, you're patched up. Safe, healed, and not dead. That's more than most get these days."
"I'm still catching up," Rick said slowly. "Everything's just… gone… I don't even know how long I was out a-and my family."
Leo's expression dimmed.
"Long enough for the world to fall apart and for the worst people to start thinking they're in charge of what's left."
Rick looked around again, taking in the room with new eyes.
There were touches of normalcy, blankets folded on chairs, a stack of dog-eared books, even a chessboard mid-game on a small table in the corner.
They had tried to make this place a home, not just a shelter.
"Leo," Rick said suddenly, turning to him. "Why the mask? Why the coats, the gear? You all look like—"
"Monsters?" Leo cut in.
Rick hesitated.
Leo gave a crooked smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's the point. Monsters don't get messed with."
There was a brief silence.
Morgan walked over and grabbed a thermos, pouring some warm tea into a tin cup before handing it to Rick.
"We've seen what happens when you look soft out there. The masks intimidate people, especially when there's a whole group of them."
"They see the dragon," Jenny added, "and they think twice before thinking we're an easy target."
Rick took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through him. "I get it. Still… a kid leading a bunch of people with masks and weapons. You sure he's not running a cult?"
"I heard that!" Leo called from across the room. "And I'll have you know, we're not a cult. We're a vibe."
"A weird, heavily-armed vibe," Rick muttered.
Leo stretched his arms overhead and stood. "Anyway, you guys should rest while you can. The guys and I are going to keep watch of the other houses, like always."
Rick blinked. "Other houses?"
Leo nodded. "We've got five in total. Spread out, fortified, and hidden. Small groups of my guys at each house, rotating shifts. It's safer than keeping everyone in one spot in case a horde surrounds us."
Morgan added, "It's his network, and it's working pretty damn good so far. Each house runs on its own and with his men protecting it and reporting back to him, but we share supplies, info, and manpower when needed."
Rick gave a low whistle. "You did all this?"
He asked, finding it more than difficult to believe a teenager was the one in charge.
Leo just shrugged. "Still building, still screwing up, but I'm trying."
Something about the way he said that, so offhand, but so heavy, made Rick quiet.
"Alright," Leo said, clapping his hands once. "Rick, you've got a room upstairs. Third door on the right. Not much, but it's clean and it's yours for now."
Rick looked at him, nodding his head thankfully, "I-I know you already did so much for me, and I am grateful… b-but I need more of your help."
Leo paused and raised a brow. "What's up?"
Then, with a soft breath, he begged.
"I need your help to find my family."
Leo's expression didn't even flinch.
The moment Rick spoke the words, "I need your help to find my family," Leo's reply came fast, firm, and without hesitation.
"I'm in."
Morgan stood up, his head snapping toward the boy. "No. You're not."
The room stilled.
Jenny looked up from Duane, her smile gone.
Even the doctor paused mid-motion, glancing between them.
Leo blinked, confused. "What?"
Morgan stepped forward, voice low but steely. "You're not doing this again."
Rick looked between the two of them, caught in the sudden shift in mood.
Morgan's hands clenched. "You don't even know this man. You just dragged him out of hell, and now you're ready to walk back in for his sake?"
"He's got a family out there," Leo said, quieter now. "I would want someone to do the same for me if I were in his position."
"They're probably dead, Leo." Morgan's voice cracked, not with cruelty, but with something heavier. "You know it! I know it! He doesn't know what he's walking into, you know what you're walking into."
"I've made worse trips with less information," Leo said, folding his arms.
"That's not the point!" Morgan snapped. "You keep doing this! Throwing yourself and your men into danger for people who wouldn't do the same for you. One day, you're not gonna come back from it. And then what?"
Jenny's voice was gentle. "Morgan…"
"No," he said firmly, then turned to Rick. "I'm sorry, but no. He's already lost people. Good people. And I'm not about to let Leo be next for a man we don't even know!"
Rick, still pale and in pain, met Morgan's stare with a haunted look of his own.
"I understand your fear, I do. And if the roles were reversed, I'd probably be saying the same damn thing."
He looked to Leo, then back at Morgan.
"But my house… It's not far, a few miles west. If there's even a chance they made it there or left something behind, I need to know. There could be a message, a note… something. I'm not asking you to send a whole crew or Leo. Just—just let someone go with me to help check."
Morgan didn't reply at first. His jaw was tight, he knew what Leo was going to do.
"He's going to go anyway, the boy likes to be at the front despite having people more than happy to do it for him."
The boy was just too nice for his own damn good.
He looked at him, really looked at him, like a father looking at a son he wasn't ready to lose.
Leo's voice broke the silence, quieter now.
"…I hear you, I do. But if we stop trying to help people, if I stop, then what's the point of all this?"
Morgan shook his head, rubbing his face like he wanted to scream into his hands. "Goddammit, Leo…"
"I'll be careful," Leo promised.
Morgan didn't answer.
Rick stood slowly, legs still weak but holding.
"You don't have to risk anyone. Just help me check for myself, that's all I'm asking."
The air hung thick with tension.
Then, finally, Morgan exhaled, slow and heavy. "I still haven't repaid my debt to you."
"And like I've been saying, you never have to." Leo nodded, already strapping his crowbar to his back. "One day, that's all I need."
Jenny placed a hand on his shoulder before he could respond.
She whispered, "He's still gonna do it even if you say no."
Morgan gave a tired grunt. "I know…"
The silence was loud as the man tiredly walked away.
Jenny smiled sadly at Leo before pulling her son along with her.
Leo waved them a good night with his own tired smile before turning to Rick.
"We'll go first thing in the morning."
Rick could only nod gratefully.