Threads of Fate Across Universes

Um, so I have an idea and I am hoping other's would be interested, because I have seen they want more chapters. So I want to set something up.

Per 5 Positive Comments - 1 Extra Chapter

Per Nice Review - 2 Extra Chapters

Per Ten Power Stones - 1 Extra chapter

I hope this makes sense. However on the off chance it gets to like 20 extra chapters in 1 week I may have to change the ruling. 

I will do the extra chapters every Wednesday and Sunday. [Starting next Wednesday]

Please let me know if this is something y'all would be interested in or if it is a little too much of a beg

Xoxo

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(Elio's POV)

The sun was beginning its slow descent when Rick, Shane, Daryl, and Glenn disappeared into the trees, heading back into Atlanta to find Merle.

The second they were gone, something in the camp shifted.

It wasn't just the absence of Shane's presence, though that left a noticeable gap. It was the way unease seemed to creep in, like the group collectively realized how thin their safety truly was.

Elio wasn't worried about Merle. He knew the bastard would survive, and his inevitable return would only make things worse. But that wasn't the problem right now.

Right now, Jim was digging graves.

The sound of metal biting into dry earth was rhythmic, almost calming—if it weren't for the fact that he was digging empty graves.

And the kids were watching.

Carl, Sophia, and Morales' kids stood near the RV, staring wide-eyed as Jim drove the shovel into the dirt over and over again.

Elio had seen this scene play out before. He knew how it ended.

Didn't mean he liked it.

Dale was the first to approach, stepping up to the man's side. "Jim?" His voice was careful, measured, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. "What are you doing?"

Jim didn't pause. Another shhk of the shovel. Another mound of dry earth.

"Digging," he said simply.

Dale's brow furrowed. "Yeah, I can see that. But… why?"

Jim stopped, leaning against the shovel. Sweat dripped from his forehead, mixing with the dirt caked on his skin. His eyes flickered toward Dale, then to the kids watching from a distance.

"I had a dream."

Elio tensed.

He could feel it coming—the way the conversation would spiral, the way Jim's paranoia would spread through the camp like wildfire.

"A dream?" Dale echoed, wary.

Jim nodded. "Didn't remember it at first. But when I woke up… I knew." He gestured at the holes he was digging. "We're gonna need these."

The air grew thick. Heavy.

"Jim," Jacqui's voice cut through the tension, firm and sharp. "You're scaring the kids."

Jim's eyes flickered to the children, like he was just now realizing they were there. His grip on the shovel tightened. "They should be scared. We should all be scared."

Elio sighed through his nose, stepping forward. "Jim."

Jim turned toward him, eyes wild and frantic.

"You're digging graves for people who ain't dead yet," Elio said flatly. "You know how that looks?"

Jim's jaw clenched. "I saw it."

"You saw what?"

Jim swallowed hard. "I saw them coming. The dead. And they—" His gaze snapped to Elio, sharp and knowing. "They were all coming for you."

Silence.

Elio's stomach turned.

He could feel the way the others looked at him. Like they were trying to understand what Jim meant, what it could possibly mean that the walkers would target him.

He had no answer.

Didn't mean he'd let this keep going.

Elio exhaled sharply. "You need to stop."

Jim squared his shoulders. "I can't."

Elio took a step closer, his voice dropping low. "You can. You will."

Jim's knuckles turned white around the shovel. He looked like he wanted to argue, to fight back, but the weight in Elio's tone made him hesitate.

"Come on, man," Morales added, stepping in. "We're all freaked out enough without this."

For a long moment, Jim just stood there. Then, slowly, his grip on the shovel loosened.

He dropped it.

Elio didn't miss the way the kids flinched at the sound.

Dale placed a hand on Jim's shoulder, guiding him toward the RV. The camp started breathing again.

Elio rolled his shoulders, tension still coiled tight in his chest.

That should've been the end of it.

But then he heard her.

"Ed, stop! Please!"

Elio's head snapped up.

Near the edge of the camp, by the tents, Carol was pinned against the canvas of her shelter. Ed loomed over her, voice low, threatening. Sophia clutched at her mother's dress, shrinking back in fear.

Elio didn't think.

He moved.

His boots crushed dry leaves as he closed the distance in three quick strides.

Ed barely had time to react before Elio ripped him away from Carol and threw him to the ground.

The bastard hit the dirt hard, coughing as the wind was knocked out of him.

"Elio—" someone started, but he wasn't listening.

Ed barely had time to get up before Elio was on him.

A fist crashed into his jaw with a sickening crack.

The first punch was controlled. The second was not.

Elio grabbed Ed by the collar, yanking him up just to slam him back down again. The bastard sputtered, blood leaking from his nose.

"You touch her again," Elio growled, voice low and venomous, "and I will kill you."

Ed struggled, but Elio shoved him back down, straddling him, his hand fisting into Ed's shirt as he pulled back—

"Elio!"

Carol's voice stopped him.

Not the fear in it—because she wasn't afraid of him. It was something else.

She was afraid of what he was about to do.

Elio exhaled sharply, his grip loosening.

He stood.

Ed wheezed, spitting blood into the dirt. His eyes flickered up, furious and humiliated, but he didn't dare move.

Elio turned to Carol. "You okay?"

She nodded quickly, her hands still clutching Sophia protectively.

Elio took a breath, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering fire in his veins.

The camp was silent.

Every eye was on him. Again.

First Jim. Now this.

Elio clenched his jaw. He needed to walk away before someone started asking him questions he didn't want to answer.

Before he asked himself the ones he didn't want to answer.

Because the thing that scared him most?

It wasn't the way the walkers would come for him.

It wasn't Jim's dream.

It was how damn easy it had been to lose control.

Elio forced himself to step back, dragging in a slow breath through his nose. His fists still twitched with the need to swing again, to finish what he started, but Carol's wide eyes kept him anchored.

She was still clutching Sophia close, her arms wrapped so tight around the girl that it was a wonder she could breathe. Ed groaned on the ground, blood dribbling from his split lip, but he didn't move. He just glared up at Elio with a simmering rage that reeked of bruised ego and cowardice.

Elio could feel the weight of the camp's stares pressing in. The tense silence stretched—thick, suffocating. Then Dale cleared his throat.

"Elio," he started carefully, "maybe you should—"

"I know."

Elio turned on his heel and walked.

He didn't look back. Didn't wait for Ed to spew some weak, sniveling excuse about how it was his wife, his business. He didn't want to hear it. He couldn't hear it.

Because if Ed so much as opened his mouth, Elio would kill him.

He kept walking, past the scattered tents and dying fire pits, until the camp's murmur faded behind him. His pulse was still pounding in his ears, his muscles coiled so tight it hurt.

He needed to breathe. To think.

But that wasn't going to happen.

"Elio?"

Carl.

Elio stopped and turned.

The kid stood a few feet away, scuffing his shoe against the dirt. His face was twisted in something hesitant, conflicted—like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should.

Elio sighed. "What's up, kid?"

Carl hesitated. Then, finally, he muttered, "I wanted to talk to Shane."

Elio tensed before he could stop himself.

He shouldn't be surprised. Carl worshiped Shane in a way that was obvious to anyone paying attention. It was like he didn't just see him as Rick's best friend, but as something more.

A protector. A second father.

And now, Rick was back.

Elio could see the confusion in the kid's eyes, the uncertainty twisting in his expression. What does that mean for Shane? For us?

Carl sniffed and kicked at the dirt again. "Mom told me not to."

Elio's brow furrowed. "Why?"

Carl shrugged, but there was something sharp under the surface. "She's mad at him. She's mad at you too." He lifted his gaze, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "I don't get it."

Elio exhaled through his nose. He wasn't about to drag a kid into that mess.

But Carl wasn't done.

"I don't get why Dad's mad either." His voice was small, hesitant. "Shane was there for us. He looked after Mom, after me. He kept us safe."

Elio's jaw tightened.

Carl swallowed, his fingers curling into fists. "Why's everyone acting like it's bad that he loves you?"

Elio froze.

His stomach turned to ice.

Carl didn't seem to realize what he just said, just kept going, voice picking up frustration. "I hear things. People talk like I'm not there, like I don't understand. But I do. I hear Mom lying about Shane, saying things that aren't true. I hear her say things about you."

Elio's fingers twitched.

This was bad.

The last thing he needed was Carl running around telling people this. He and Shane were already walking a razor's edge with the group—keeping things quiet, keeping things theirs. If Lori got wind that Carl was talking like this…

Elio sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Kid," he said slowly, carefully. "You can't say things like that."

Carl frowned. "But it's true."

Elio crouched down so they were eye level, resting his arms on his knees. "I know. But sometimes, the truth doesn't change things."

Carl's face twisted. "That's stupid."

Elio huffed a dry laugh. "Yeah. It is."

Carl bit his lip, shifting from foot to foot. "I just don't want Shane to leave."

The words were soft. Small.

And fuck.

Elio wasn't great with kids. He was worse with this.

So he did the only thing he could—he ruffled Carl's hair, ignoring the way the kid squawked in protest. "Ain't that easy to get rid of me, kid. That goes for Shane too."

Carl huffed, smoothing his hair back into place, but there was a tiny, relieved smile at the edges of his mouth.

Elio stood. "C'mon. Let's head back before your mom thinks I kidnapped you."

Carl groaned but followed.

Elio pretended he didn't see Dale watching them from across the camp, brows furrowed in thought.

Because that was a problem for later.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur.

Jim sat by the RV, staring at nothing. The camp was still tense, whispers curling through the air.

That was fine.

The last problem he thought of was Ed, he was laying dowb in his tent no doubt still angry. He wouldn't be a problem for long though, I'm not going out of my way to save that piece of trash.

Let the bastard stew.

By the time night fell, things had settled into a false sense of normalcy. Elio sharpened his axes, watched the fire flicker, ignored the weight pressing against his chest.

Then Amy screamed.

Gunfire erupted.

The night exploded into chaos.

And Elio—

Elio ran straight into it.

The first scream tore through the camp like a gunshot.

Amy.

Then the gunfire started.

Elio was already moving.

His axes were in his hands before he even registered pulling them. His body knew what to do before his mind caught up—legs propelling him forward, dodging past panicked bodies as the camp descended into chaos.

The walkers were everywhere.

They spilled in from the trees, jaws snapping, dead fingers clawing at the living.

Amy was down. Andrea was screaming.

Elio didn't have time to think.

A walker lunged from the side—he ducked, swung—his axe buried into its skull with a wet crunch. He yanked it free with ease and pivoted, the second blade slicing clean through another's throat.

The smell was overwhelming. Rot and blood and gunpowder, thick in the air.

Somewhere behind him, Morales was yelling for his kids. Jacqui was dragging someone to safety.

He couldn't focus on them.

He had to clear the threat.

Another walker—closer this time. He sidestepped its grasp, driving his knee into its chest to knock it back before bringing his axe down, splitting its skull like firewood.

It should've been easy.

It should've been just another fight.

But then—

They turned to him.

All of them.

The dead, the rotting, the relentless.

They stopped. They sniffed the air.

And then they charged.

Elio barely had time to register it before they were coming for him.

Not Andrea. Not Dale. Not anyone else.

Him.

His pulse spiked. His body moved on instinct.

He twisted away, just barely avoiding the first lunge, but another grabbed at his shoulder—he spun, slamming his axe into its temple before kicking the body away.

Another came from behind—he ducked, rolled, barely missing the grasping fingers reaching for his throat.

His movements were faster than they should be, sharper. Too precise, too smooth.

He knew this.

He just didn't know why.

Another walker lunged—he drove both axes into its chest, shoving it back, but the moment it hit the ground, another took its place.

It was endless.

They were hunting him.

Why?

What the hell was happening?

"Elio!"

Carol's voice.

His gaze snapped to her—she was by Sophia, eyes wide with horror.

She wasn't looking at him.

She was looking at the bodies.

At how many there were.

At what he had done.

He didn't have time to process it.

Because another walker was coming.

And if he stopped moving—

He was dead.