Warnings!!: slow burn, reader is an adult!!, graphic violence, mentions of blood, gore, head injury, memory loss, dissociation, physical assault, strangulation, mature themes, strong language, hurt/comfort, angst.
Summary:
(Nothing made sense anymore, and out of everything you thought could’ve deceived you in this world, it was your own memory that was the first to do so.)
A/N: Enjoy angels!
Together.
You’d deal with it together.
You all continued your journey in silence after Rick had said that. You were all exhausted, and the initial adrenaline of finding each other again had worn thin.
Lucky enough—
Rick had spotted an abandoned van on a road just outside of the forest.
You all made sure the coast was clear before you made it your place of refuge for the night.
Carl was ushered off to bed by Rick as soon as the moon settled into place; he took the back seat of the van after going back and forth about how he wasn’t a kid anymore and that he wasn’t tired.
That was a lie because he was the first to fall asleep.
Michonne started a small fire over some twigs on the asphalt; it was just you and her now. Daryl and Rick were off discussing something, probably about Terminus.
You hoped at least.
What if he said something about the kiss?
You’d never live it down.
No. You were overthinking it because Daryl wasn’t the kind of guy to kiss and tell.
You were holding the photograph of your dog Rocky in your hands. After everything, that’d been the only thing that managed to make it out intact.
You were glad.
Michonne warmed her hands up by the fire, her eyes drifting towards your face, then the photograph in your hand, then back down towards the flames.
“Did you see anyone else?” She questioned. “From our group? Or was it just you and Daryl?”
You felt the guilt crawling its way back up your throat at the mention of the others.
You still didn’t know if the children were safe after you’d left them.
You still didn’t know if anyone else was safe, and hell, were you missing them all like crazy.
You shook your head.
“No…” you sighed, folding the photograph up and placing it back into your pocket. “It was just me and Daryl.”
Michonne narrowed her eyes at you, pulling her hands away from the fire and resting them atop of her knees.
“You and Daryl, huh?”
You couldn’t tell if she was messing with you or actually being serious.
“What do you mean?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Michonne smirked slightly before she shrugged.
Messing with you.
Definitely.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I just wanted to know if you two had gotten over that despising each other thing that you had going on at the prison.”
Oh so she’d noticed that?
“I never despised him.” You answered honestly.
Because that was the truth.
Maybe your initial defence mechanism after your injury was to act like you didn’t like him, but that was never what you felt deep down.
You knew that now.
Michonne pressed her lips into a thin line, definitely deciding whether she was fully convinced or not.
“How’d the two of you stay together for so long?”
This felt like an interrogation, and it was making you feel like she knew something.
Knew what you were thinking.
Feeling.
“We found this cabin,” you started, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Belonged to this guy called John.”
Michonne tilted her head, her brows furrowing.
“John?”
“Yeah,” you replied with a nod. “He was a good man, a drunk, but still…good.”
She nodded before she looked down towards the fire again, pushing her hands out over the flame again.
You watched her closely.
“I’m glad you’re here, Michonne,” you smiled. “I missed you. I missed all of you.”
She looked up, a smile appearing on her own lips.
“We missed you too.”
You were about to say something but you stopped yourself short when you heard footsteps behind you.
Rick sat by the fire, his own hands stretching out besides Michonne's, their hands just mere inches apart.
Close.
Daryl was closer, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he lit it with that same lighter that you’d returned.
He didn’t sit; he was just gazing down the long road on your right.
Your eyes flickered from the cigarette then towards the lighter as he shoved it back into the pocket of his vest.
If he had never given you that lighter in the first damn place, you wouldn’t have kissed him.
You wouldn’t be sat here right now feeling so—
Conflicted.
“We’re gonna head for Terminus t’morrow,” Rick spoke.
That dragged your attention away from Daryl.
You cleared your throat.
“Sounds good.”
Michonne narrowed her eyes on you again, then Daryl, before they flickered back towards Rick.
You’d made the staring much too obvious, and Michonne wasn’t the type of person to miss those kinds of things.
You knew that.
So how could you have let yourself slip up?
“I’m gonna—” you started, standing now rather than sitting. “I’m gonna go get some sleep.”
You left without giving the others a chance to respond, pulling the front door of the van open and slipping inside.
Carl was sound asleep; you didn’t want to wake him.
You reclined the seat back slightly as you didn’t want to get a cramp when you woke up in the morning from sleeping upright.
Sleep wasn’t easy at first due to the fact that your mind was working overtime. Always the same thoughts, the same silent questions you asked yourself that never had a direct answer.
Daryl.
Daryl.
Daryl.
Eventually, sleep overcame you—
forcing your eyelids shut under the weight of the days events—but even in sleep, nothing was ever—
Easy.
Your dreams had gone… haywire in every sense of the word.
Vivid.
Uncontrollable.
Twisted.
The world was falling apart around you, and not because of the all too familiar circumstances of the world you knew today.
It was all your fault this time.
And you couldn’t do anything to stop it because you’d been bound by locked lips and frozen muscles, forced to watch the brutality unfold before you.
The screaming. The blood.
Agony.
Then a sharp sting crossed your cheek, followed by the potent metallic smell as it hit your nose. Your hand instinctively flew up to relieve the pain protruding from your face, only to be greeted by the edge of a knife.
You weren’t dreaming.
This wasn’t a dream.
Your eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by a face mere inches from your own, a giggle escaping their lips as they pushed the knife further towards your cheekbone.
“Get off of me!” you panicked, your eyes widening.
You kicked your legs out immediately to free yourself from under the grip of whoever it was that was holding you.
The man hit the floor with a loud thud.
You stumbled to your feet to get a closer look.
A fat man.
One from Joe’s group.
Shit.
You tried to move but before you could—
A hand looped around your forearm harshly, painfully so. A gun lifted to your temple, digging into the skin by your hairline.
Your eyes widened, and your breath caught.
“Let er go!” Daryl bellowed, and it was the near desperation in his tone that made you look up at the scene before you.
They’d found you.
Joe’s group.
Rick had a gun to his head, as did Michonne.
You couldn’t even see carl, but you knew he wasn’t in any better place than the rest of you, and that made you feel sick to your stomach.
He was a child! How could anyone hurt a child?!
“No can do, Daryl,” Joe spoke smugly, eyes glued to the top of Rick’s head before they crossed towards Daryl’s eyes.
Joe sighed, pressing his lips into such a thin line that they were no longer visible.
“You see,” Joe started with a sly chuckle, digging the end of the gun further against Rick’s head. “I was gonna let the both of you go after you killed Len because…you did me a favour doing that,”
Joe’s eyes crossed towards yours.
Your blood had turned cold at that point.
You didn’t speak.
You didn’t move.
Hell, you couldn’t even think anything straight anymore.
The blood ran down your cheek thick and fast, the potent stench of pure iron leaving you half dizzy.
“But now,” Joe continued. “I spot you hangin’ around with the guy that killed Lou?”
Your eyes moved towards Rick at that.
It’d been him they’d been tracking all this time.
“We ain’t owe you no damn favours,” Daryl spat, trying to get himself free.
Rick was silent, as was Michonne.
Dead silent.
Contemplating a way out of this.
‘We’ll deal with it if they come. Together.’
You trusted that.
You trusted Rick's judgement no matter what.
So with that, you couldn’t help but let yourself speak your mind.
“I bet your son of a bitch friend Lou deserved it, just like Len.”
The words dropped from your mouth like venom—harsh and spiteful, just like you’d meant for them too.
Joe studied you for a moment, a hum falling from his lips. Then he gave the nod, and you knew all too well that you were in for it.
“Don’t ya hurt er!” Daryl bellowed, his tone laced with fury as he noticed the threat against you, then—
He tore one arm free, long enough to throw a punch.
Then another.
But—
Before he could even get to you, he was dragged back, a forceful punch hitting his stomach.
“Get off of him!” You yelled, your voice cracking slightly. You tried your hardest to free yourself from the grip of the man who had a hold of you, but—
It was no use.
His fist met your face with a sense of brutality that you’d never encountered before.
Your head hit the ground with the force of the blow.
Everything went black.
Still.
Silent.
Empty.
The darkness cracked at the corners beneath your eyelids, followed by a throbbing ache at the back of your head that etched its way closer to the wound upon your cheek.
Everything was muffled but not enough so that you couldn’t hear your name being called out.
Were you dead?
Were you dreaming?
A breath ripped from your lungs, and the first waking thought that crossed your mind was to attack.
Your fist shot out, attacking whatever was closest.
“Woah, S’me,” the voice rang out over the heavy buzzing that lingered in your ears, a hand flying out to catch your wrist. “S’me.”
It took you a moment far too long to realise who it was.
“Daryl…?” You questioned weakly, your voice barely audible.
“S’me.” He repeated again, his eyes tracking over your face like he was making sure he wasn’t imagining any of this himself.
Your brows furrowed for a moment, then—
Your arms wrapped around him tightly, your chin wresting against his shoulder. You didn’t even expect him to hug you back; you weren’t even thinking.
You just wanted to make sure he was real.
Alive.
After what felt like a decade of unrequited touch—
His arm snaked around your back. The warmth of his chest heavy against your own. His heart beating just as fast yours.
Your eyes flickered towards the ground as you still held in him your embrace, trying your hardest to think, but—
Nothing came.
Obscured.
You could see bodies lining the ground beneath you.
There was blood everywhere.
“What…happened, Daryl?” Your question came out shaky against his ear.
Daryl pulled back at that.
“Ya not remember?”
You shook your head, your eyes dragging from the floor and towards his. It was only then that you got a proper look at the damage that’d been done to him.
Bruised and bloodied.
…why?
He spoke before you could even open your mouth.
“Ya fell and hit yer head,” he said carefully.
“…how?” You frowned.
He didn’t even get a chance to explain as the sound of footsteps cut him off and answered you rather.
Rick.
You recognised him immediately. His beard was covered in blood, and his face looked slightly hollowed out.
He looked…out of it.
“…She awake?” he asked Daryl, voice rough.
“Yeah,” Daryl replied.
Rick nodded slowly, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out: a water bottle.
“Here,” Rick said, crouching slightly, angling the bottle out towards you.
“…Is that for Rocky?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Daryl stiffened after the words left your mouth. His eyes shutting briefly, a hand rubbing over his forehead with a sigh.
You didn’t know why he reacted like that.
What you were saying was obvious.
Was it not?
“…What?” Rick answered, confusion dripping from his tone, his eyes crossing towards Daryl.
“My dog, Rocky…” You spoke out again, your eyes moving in between the two of them.
Nobody spoke for a minute, and that sent a sense of dread crawling up your throat, threatening to spill from your mouth.
“Ya told me about him,” Dary spoke finally.
“So you remember him?”
Daryl looked at Rick for a moment, then his gaze flickered back towards yours.
“I do.”
Rick didn’t speak—he was just listening. The bottle of water stayed firm in his clasp, still angled out towards you like he was waiting for you to take it but—
You didn’t.
“Ya showed me his picture,” Daryl continued. “Ya keep it in yer pocket folded up real careful.”
You glanced down, your hand moving towards your pocket instinctively, pulling the photo out.
“But he ain’t here,” he corrected you.
Your grip tightened on the photograph at that.
“I brought him with me,” you spoke shakily; the tone in your voice wasn’t as certain this time. “I brought him.”
Daryl shook his head once.
“Nah, you didn’t.”
A beat.
“Ya told me he died when everythin’ fell apart,” he added quietly.
Your brows knitted together, but you didn’t say anything.
“Ya hit your head,” Rick cleared his throat, finally interjecting into the conversation. “Your not thinking—”
“I know I hit my head,” you cut him off quickly. “But I know Rocky’s still here.”
A beat.
“He’s not here,” Daryl said. “S’yer head messin’ with ya.”
Your eyes flickered towards Daryl’s, your expression softening slightly as you looked at him.
Looked at the softness in his eyes.
Looked at the worry as it stayed firmly etched in his features.
It dawned upon you then that what you were saying wasn’t right, even if you believed it deep down.
“I think there’s something wrong with me.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, the tears flooding over your face now.
Rick shook his head.
“There’s nothin’ wrong with you,” Rick started, pushing the water bottle further towards you. “Just drink some water.”
A beat.
Then your hand reached out towards the bottle, taking it finally, feeling the defeat settle in your stomach.
The morning light cracked through the overcast, a pain rushing through your head that you’d never experienced before due to the exposure.
You hadn’t slept, not properly anyway—not when you still couldn’t think properly.
You could remember some things more clearly now: the prison, the others, but everything else was vague.
You knew it was all still there somewhere.
It was just lost at the minute.
“You daydreaming?” Michonne cut through your thoughts, startling you.
“Guess I was…” you responded, your voice hoarse.
You still didn’t know who’d caused it.
Michonne fell into step beside you, her shoulder bumping against yours. You were both walking dead centre of a train track. Rick was up ahead; Daryl and Carl were behind.
“Anything clearer in your head now?” She asked, her eyes glancing over towards you.
You shrugged.
“Some things,” you started. “Most of it’s still blurry.”
Michonne didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes moving over your face.
The silence felt overbearing.
“I know it’ll come back,” she spoke finally, the tone in her voice soft and reassuring. “It’s just going to take some time.”
That was the problem.
You didn’t have time in a world like this.
You didn’t want to die not remembering half the things that got you to the point you were now.
You didn’t say anything back to her because you felt that if you did, you’d end up crying.
You didn’t want to be an emotional wreck.
Not when you were already a liability who couldn’t remember.
“Look,” Michonne started with a sigh. “We’re gonna be at Terminus soon. They’ll be able to check you and hopefully stitch that cut on your cheek,”
She took a breath.
Then she continued.
“Maybe it’ll make you feel a bit better.”
It wouldn’t.
You nodded regardless.
“Yeah…maybe.”
You walked in silence for the rest of the route that Rick was leading. You were soon off the tracks and walking through the woods. It didn’t take long to spot the outer fences guarding Terminus.
“We all spread out. Watch for a while,” Ricks spoke, eyes glancing over the four of you now rather than the fence. “See what we see and get ready.”
Michonne already started moving, Carl was following after her, and you…
You just stood there completely idle, completely unsure of what to do with yourself.
It felt like you needed someone to teach you how to function normally again.
You felt like a completely different person now than the woman you were certain that you were before.
“Ya comin’ with me?” Daryl asked, nudging your arm to snap you out of whatever you had going on in your head.
Your eyes snapped up from the ground, catching his under the flutter of your eyelashes.
You didn’t know if it was because of your recent circumstances or whether you’d always felt like this, but you felt safe with Daryl.
Safe.
You nodded once before following him.
“Daryl...?” You spoke quietly, almost as if you were convincing yourself that that was his name.
That was his name.
You knew that.
Didn’t you?
Hell, it felt like you were second-guessing everything you were more than sure of.
“Hm?” He responded, turning his head over his shoulder ever so slightly to get a glimpse of you.
You looked at him for a moment, eyes scanning over his features like you were trying to burn every detail in your mind.
You couldn’t even remember what you were going to ask.
“Nothing…” you sighed, your eyes flickering back towards the trails of orange on the ground.
Daryl stopped at that, turning towards you fully now rather.
“Ya remember John’s cabin?”
You didn’t.
“I…remember leaving the prison, and I remember…you, pulling me away,” you answered, the words catching in your throat every time you opened it. “But everything after that is…”
You swallowed.
“Gone.”
The word lingered between the both of you.
You felt like you were losing yourself.
You felt like a complete disappointment every time someone asked you something and you just couldn’t remember it.
Daryl didn’t speak.
He just looked at you with that same look that he had done when you started talking about Rocky after you’d woken up.
Then—
He pushed his hand into his vest pocket and pulled something out that caught onto the dull light that shone from in between the trees above.
You narrowed your eyes on it.
A lighter.
His?
Maybe?
“Are you gonna set me on fire with that or something?” You joked, trying your hardest to make light of the situation, but it probably just made you look completely crazy.
You couldn’t even tell by the way his face changed after that whether he was offended or amused, and that scared you because—
You could’ve sworn you remembered more about Daryl.
Daryl shook his head, pushing the lighter out towards you more.
“Nah.”
A beat.
“Take it.” He added, stepping closer to you.
You raised an eyebrow.
“What’s this for?” You questioned, your hand scooping around the lighter and taking it into your palm. The coolness of the metal felt grounding against your clammy skin.
He shrugged.
“Thought it might spark some of yer memories back.”
Your eyes darted between Daryl and the lighter as it sat perched in your hand.
This lighter must’ve meant something, but it didn’t piece together as you looked down at it.
Maybe it would at some point.
“You think it will?” You questioned, feeling a little spike of hope cross your chest.
He pressed his lips into a thin line, and it was then that you could see he was holding onto the same hope that you were.
Or was he?
“Maybe.”
You shoved the lighter into your pocket by the photograph of Rocky; the placement of it felt familiar, like you’d done it before.
Like it wasn’t the first time it’d been in there.
“Thank you…”
He just nodded at that and continued walking, making sure you were keeping up with him.
Everyone was soon over the fences round the back of Terminus after that. Rick said that he wanted to see them before they saw you all.
He didn’t trust it, and you knew that.
You all moved quietly through the warehouse. Your gun was in your hand now rather than its holster.
Funnily enough, after everything you couldn’t remember, you still sure as hell knew how to use a weapon.
You could hear a woman, her voice echoing slightly through the halls. Her voice was slightly distorted, but she was talking about Terminus and sounded like she was broadcasting.
You couldn’t exactly tell.
Then you spotted her after you rounded a corner.
“Hello.” Rick spoke abruptly, his boots pounding against the floor as he approached the desk she was sitting at.
Your eyes drifted from the woman and towards the hoard of people working on the other side of the room.
“Hello.” Rick repeated, louder this time, addressing everyone in the room.
One of the men sighed, turning towards the five of you as you stood side by side.
“Well,” the man spoke, a slightly sarcastic tone noticeable in his voice. “I guess Albert is on perimeter watch.”
You didn’t say anything, nor did the rest of them. It was so quiet, you would have been able to hear a pin drop.
The man moved closer, his footsteps echoing through the room.
“You here to rob us?”
A beat.
Your eyes flashed over the faces. Everybody looked…normal. There didn’t seem to be anything strange going on.
“No.” Rick stated finally, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth before he started moving towards the centre of the room. “We wanted to see you before you saw us.”
The man nodded.
“Makes sense,” he started before he neared the five of you himself. “Usually we do this where the tracks meet but… welcome to Terminus.”
Nobody spoke.
Then the man stepped closer again, his hands tensing slightly at his sides.
“I’m Gareth.”
A beat.
Rick nodded, then he stated all of your names one after the other.
Gareth’s eyes landed on you after your name left Rick’s mouth, his head tilting slightly.
“We can get that nasty cut on your face stitched up, but first,” he started, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment before they moved back towards Rick. “We need to see everyone’s weapons, so if you could just lay them down in front of you.”
Why did they need to see your weapons?
You looked towards Michonne slowly; she looked back, her eyes slightly narrowed.
Then, after a moment of silence, you were the first to move, laying your knife and your gun on the floor.
The others hesitated for a minute, and then they all followed.
After that, you were all being patted down by another member from their group.
Once satisfied, your weapons were handed back to you.
Easy enough.
“Hey Lia, take her to Jane so she can get that cut stitched up,” Gareth started, pointing towards you. “Alex, you take the rest of them to the front.”
Daryl shook his head, stepping forwards slightly.
“I’m goin’ w’her.”
You looked towards Daryl.
His eyes were practically burning into Gareth’s at the suggestion of you even going anywhere on your own.
“Can’t let you do that,” Gareth replied, shaking his head. “We don’t let more than one person in the infirmary at a time.”
“It’s fine, Daryl.” You spoke out finally with a sigh, pushing your gun back into its holster and your knife back into its pouch on your thigh. “I can go on my own.”
You didn’t want to argue back and forth with these guys, not when they were offering help and…
What’s the worst that could happen?
They all seemed friendly enough.
Daryl shook his head again, his eyes moving towards yours, his mouth opening as though he were going to speak, but you soon cut him off.
“I’ll be fine.”
Lia stepped forwards, a smile on her face.
“This way.”
You were soon sat in a chair, a needle and wire pushing through the torn flesh on your cheek.
“Ah,” you hissed, closing your eyes shut tightly. “Fuck.”
“This is sure a nasty cut,” Jane uttered as she pushed the needle through your face again. “How did you get it?”
That was the problem. You couldn’t remember.
“I don’t know…” you sighed, your eyes flickering towards one of the windows to your left.
Jane pushed the needle through again, dragging another curse word from your lips.
“You can’t remember?”
She almost sounded astonished with your uncertainty.
“I hit my head…” you sighed. “Well, that’s what Daryl and Rick told me.”
The needle went through your skin once more before Jane stepped back, studying you closely.
She didn’t say anything for a minute.
Then—
She stepped back and grabbed what looked like a flashlight from one of the tables behind her and shining it in your eyes immediately.
She didn’t speak for a minute.
“Looks like a concussion,” she started, crossing the light from one eye to the other.
A concussion?
This was just fucking great.
It was just one bad thing after the next at this point; how could you have let yourself get into this mess?
She stepped back, clicking the flashlight off and putting it back on the table she had originally picked it up from.
“Might also be post-traumatic amnesia.”
Post-traumatic what?
“What?” You replied abruptly, the word leaving your mouth in pure shock before you could even process it.
Jane's expression softened.
“It can be temporary, and you may start to remember things but,” she explained. "It can also be permanent and—”
The sound of gunfire cut her off.
You flinched instinctively, your hand snaking towards your gun.
“Stay here!” Jane shouted before she darted out of the room and disappeared completely.
Well, you certainly weren’t going to follow those orders.
You rose from the chair and left the room immediately, your gun now held tightly in your grip. You rounded a corner, following the noise with a new sense of urgency.
The others were out there, and you weren’t going to let a concussion stop you.
A door stood slightly ajar at the end of the hallway. Your hand slid against the gap when you reached it, pushing it open despite how heavy it was.
Your breath caught as soon as the room presented itself to you.
Bodies.
Torsos.
Limbs.
All hanging on hooks suspended from the ceiling, swaying almost imperceptibly.
“What the fuck...?” Your words came out shaky, your grip on your gun faltering slightly.
You weren’t completely incapable of realising that this was no damn sanctuary.
A noise rang out behind you.
You whipped around immediately, but it was too late.
Much too late.
An hand latched around your neck, cutting your breath off.
Your whole body went limp, your pistol slipping from your hand.
A voice rang out from what sounded like miles away—not one you’d heard before.
Unfamiliar.
“Get her in one of the train cars now!”
A/N: readers just going through it😭Daryl giving her the lighter back too😭 Guys I swear things will start to get WAY more apparent between Daryl and reader, just you wait! I hope you enjoyed, mwah
Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist!🖤
Warnings!!: slow burn, reader is an adult!!, gore, mentions of injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of bruises, implied sexual threat, matures themes, strong language, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort.
Summary:
(You’d managed to get yourself caught in two problems: Joe’s group, and the fact you couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl.)
A/N: I apologise for the delay in posting angels! I hope you enjoy! Mwah💋
You had spent almost a day with Joe and his group now, not under your own will but under the pretence that if you helped, a bullet wouldn’t be shot straight through yours or Daryl’s head.
Daryl wasn’t happy about it.
He was even quieter now than he had been the whole time you’d known him.
That made you feel guilty.
If you hadn’t gone off the trail in the first place in an attempt to free yourself from the awkwardness between the two of you, maybe you would have avoided all of this in the first place.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Still—
You felt responsible for all of this.
“Daryl,” you whispered, your eyes flickering over towards his as you both moved in sync. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t respond. He wasn’t even looking at you; it seemed he was too busy scouting out the surroundings.
“Daryl.” You repeated his name, your voice slightly louder this time but still low enough not to alert the others.
Nothing.
“Daryl, are you listening to—” you started, but Daryl cut you off, placing his index finger dead centre of his lips.
A signal for quiet.
You narrowed your eyes, mouthing the word ‘What?’
He gestured his head towards a crack in the trees that lined the field you and the group were walking on.
It took you a minute to catch on that he was clearly suggesting a way out.
“Now?” You whispered again, your voice barely audible.
He gestured once more, his eyebrows raising slightly as he did so and then—
You were both sprinting across the clearing.
Well, this had escalated yet again.
Len was on you both like flies on shit, his crossbow raised as he sprinted after the two of you.
The others weren’t far behind him, calling out yours and Daryl’s names.
You slipped behind one of the trees; running was too open when there were six of them and two of you. Daryl was right behind you, his crossbow lingering slightly by the side of your face.
His chest bumped against the back of your left shoulder, his breathing slightly unsteady.
Close.
Too close.
Yet, you didn’t move.
“There.” He panted, his hand snaking its way forward as he pointed towards a figure moving through the trees ahead.
It was Len.
You didn’t even wait.
You pulled your gun from your holster at the sight and moved stealthily towards his position.
“I told ya, girl, yer claimed,” Len chuckled, his back turned to you. “So ya better come out.”
He didn’t even know you were behind him right now. You raised your gun up high and took the shot before he could realise.
The bullet whipped through the air.
Loud.
Precise.
Blood splattered onto your face slightly from the back of his head as the bullet marked its place, the smell filling up your sense almost immediately.
Metallic.
Thick.
Strong.
Everything stilled for a minute as you looked down at the corpse; the adrenaline of it all was causing an uncontrollable shake to course over you.
Len deserved that; he deserved to die.
Yet no matter the growing satisfaction you felt looking down into the entrance wound on the back of his head—
You still couldn’t help but feel sick with all the things he’d said.
Claimed.
You knew how things would’ve ended up if he had got to you first.
That’s why he needed to die.
Daryl brought you back, his hand snaking around your arm as he yanked you back to reality.
“We gotta go,”
You could hear the alerted yells of the other group members; they had heard the shot, of course.
So you ran.
Again.
Always running from a fate you didn’t want to face yet—death.
You ran until you couldn’t hear the yells of your names anymore; you’d been running for miles.
This was all too familiar to the events after the attack on the prison.
You had ended up at some kind of lake surrounded by pebbles beyond the forest.
Daryl was onto clearing the area immediately, taking out a couple of walkers that strayed along the shore.
You just lay on your back, panting heavily, the stones digging into your skin through the material of your shirt.
“Here,” Daryl’s voice cracked through the silence, his hand visible through your peripheral vision.
You looked up towards him, catching his eyes before catching onto whatever he was holding.
He pushed his hand out further towards you.
It was then you looked down. He was holding a rag, probably the one he’d had hanging from his back pocket. It was damp, droplets leaking through the material and falling onto the pebbles.
“Ya should clean yer face,”
You sat up, taking the rag from him immediately, the wet material contacting your skin.
“Thank you.”
Daryl sat beside you on the rocks now, gazing out towards the lake.
He was close.
Close enough that every other noise around you went quiet, the only thing clear being the patterns of his breathing.
Slow but not steady.
You turned towards him, wiping your skin once more.
“Is it all gone?” You questioned quietly regarding the blood on your face, the rag still clutched in your hand.
He turned his head, eyes flickering over your face.
“Missed a spot on yer cheek.”
You scrubbed your face again, the friction burning against your skin.
“Is it gone now?”
He shook his head, gesturing towards the left side of your face.
You groaned, scrubbing harder this time. You would’ve done anything for a mirror right now.
“Now?”
He didn’t answer for a moment—you could tell he was thinking.
A beat.
“Give it.”
You hesitated for a moment, then—
You handed the rag over.
The material grazed over your skin again, softer this time now that it was Daryl rather than you. The tips of his fingers brushed over your cheek briefly, the warmness of his touch sending a slight chill down your spine.
He was careful to mind the bruises that lingered on your face.
Careful in general.
This felt intimate.
Too intimate considering the way the two of you had been with one another over the past week.
Daryl pulled his hand back, chucking the rag onto the rocks.
“S’gone.”
You coughed, his voice snapping you back from your thoughts.
“Thank you…”
Daryl didn’t say anything, his eyes running over your face once more before they returned back to the lake.
You turned away yourself, closing your eyes so you could attempt to process what had just happened.
So you could try and process everything that’d happened between you two.
The kiss.
The lighter.
But—
All you got was that same flood of confusion you felt before kissing him that night.
Had he always been like this, or were you only just realising it now?
Why on earth were you thinking about him this much?
All you did was think about him.
Constantly.
Your eyes flickered open, settling on the view ahead of you. You didn’t speak; you didn’t move either—you just stayed perfectly still by Daryl’s side.
“Should start movin.” he said, pulling himself up from the position he’d just been sat in and grabbing his crossbow from the rocks below his feet.
You didn’t want to go, but you knew you had to.
You still had to make it to Terminus.
You still had to look for the others.
You still had to move carefully, knowing that Joe's group could be tracking you back to your very whereabouts.
“Yeah,” you sighed, dragging yourself to your feet.
Then that was that.
The sun was beginning to dip slightly now, a warm orange glow outlining the trees ahead.
You’d been walking for hours, your feet aching with every step; it was almost unbearable to move any further.
Almost.
Daryl stayed a few paces ahead of you, crossbow gripped in both hands across his chest.
You watched his back closely as he moved.
“Hold up,” Daryl muttered, lifting a clenched fist up.
He’d spotted something.
A sign post: Terminus.
That’d been the first one you’d seen since parting from John's cabin.
Safety for all.
Sanctuary for all.
All who arrive survive.
In all honesty, it was the best bet at finding the others. They could be there.
“Must be close,” you spoke lowly, joining Daryl by his side as you both looked at the sign.
Daryl’s eyes parted from the red writing on the sign, dragging towards your face.
You didn’t look back, your eyes still glued to the sign, but you could still see him through your peripheral vision.
He didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then he adjusted his grip on the crossbow and started moving.
"...C'mon."
You fell into step beside him immediately.
The sign disappeared behind you both quickly as you continued. You pushed through regardless of the growing pains in your feet.
You couldn’t stop moving.
The silence was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable. You would’ve preferred to talk, but what could you say when all your thoughts circled back to him?
You were in an apocalypse, and all you could think about was Daryl damn Dixon.
You hated it.
Hated how distracted you felt.
Hated that every time he looked over his shoulder to make sure you were still behind him, your chest seemed to tighten for a reason you didn’t understand yet.
“D'ya hear me?”
Your head snapped up.
“What?”
Daryl had stopped walking. He was looking at you now, one eyebrow raised.
“Said we should cut through there.”
He gestured with his chin towards a narrow trail winding its way through the trees.
You hadn’t heard a word of what he’d been saying. You’d been much too distracted.
Shit.
“Oh.”
He studied you for a second longer.
“Y'alright?”
“Yeah.” You answered abruptly, trying your hardest to look composed, trying your hardest to look like you knew what he’d been saying.
He looked unconvinced, but he didn’t push, and you were thankful for that.
"Mm,”
He started walking again.
You silently cursed yourself; you needed to get a grip of yourself.
You spotted something in the dirt shortly after. You crouched, your hand brushing over what you'd spotted.
Footprints.
Fresh.
Daryl knelt beside you, his own hand brushing away a few of the leaves that obscured the full prints.
“Three,” You spoke quietly, pointing towards each distinctive set of boot marks. “Look fresh.”
“Real fresh.” Daryl muttered, pulling himself up into standing position.
“Could be the others.” You uttered, following the track with your eyes as it continued pushing up ahead.
Daryl shrugged.
“Ain’t gonna know if we don’t follow it.”
The track continued for about a mile, then—
It went cold as if the people you’d been tracking had become aware that they were leaving prints.
“Shit.” You muttered, your eyes scanning around the area to see if anything else gave them away.
Nothing did.
Daryl grunted, lowering his crossbow slightly so that it was now hanging by his side.
This was beginning to feel impossible.
You wanted to give up on it all at this point.
Maybe it would’ve been easier going straight to terminus.
“We should just go to—” You started but immediately cut yourself short when you heard a twig snap.
Multiple twigs.
Not far away either.
“There,” Daryl whispered, his crossbow raising up fully towards the source of the noise.
You pulled your gun out, moving slightly so you could get a better view.
This could be Joe’s group, and you definitely weren’t taking any chances with them again. You’d already killed Len, and you’d kill the others too.
Daryl kept his eyes glued on the scene in front of him, his grip on his crossbow unwavering.
You moved again, spotting one of the figures tucked behind one of the trees taking cover. You could see the edge of some kind of hat poking out.
You narrowed your eyes.
It was a sheriff's hat.
Carl?
“Carl, is that you?” You bellowed, your voice cracking slightly with anticipation.
A beat passed of pure silence.
Then your name carried over the wind in the form of a question. You recognised the voice immediately.
It was Carl.
And then you spotted him as he stepped out from behind the trees, followed by two others.
Your heart nearly stopped when you noticed all of the familiar faces.
Rick.
Carl.
Michonne.
Neither you nor Daryl spoke for a second.
Both of you just as shocked as each other.
Yet Daryl hid it much better than you.
Your gun slipped from your grip, landing onto the dirt beneath you with a dull thud.
Carl was the first to move, breaking into a run so fast, his arms wrapping around you.
“We thought you were dead...” His voice cracked.
You froze for only a second before your arms wrapped around him.
“Do you remember what I told you, Carl?” You started, your voice shaky. “I told you I wouldn’t die.”
That’s what you had told him that day before you went out into the woods on your own after your injury.
Well—
Not on your own.
With Daryl.
You pulled back from the embrace, a lone tear dropping from your eye.
Rick stepped forward next and for a moment, he simply looked at you.
Looked at the dirt.
The bruises.
The blood that had dried over your shirt.
“You alright?” he asked quietly, his tone one of relief.
“Had better days.” You replied softly.
A tired laugh escaped Rick before he closed the remaining distance between you and pulled you into a hug.
Firm.
Protective.
Rick stepped back, giving your shoulder one last squeeze before his eyes drifted past you and towards Daryl.
Daryl still hadn't moved.
He stood a few feet away with his crossbow hanging loosely at his side, watching like he wasn't quite sure where he fit into all of this.
You watched him for a moment, as did Rick.
“Daryl,” Rick started, his eyes flickering over Daryl’s face. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Daryl answered quickly, the crossbow hanging loosely by his side.
Rick didn’t waste a moment after that, grabbing Daryl by the shoulder and pulling him into a hug.
Daryl stiffened instantly; you knew all too well that he wasn’t keen on things like this. He wasn’t keen on vulnerability.
Then—
He lifted one of his arms, patting Rick’s back once before they separated.
You caught the smallest shift in his expression after Rick stepped back. The way his shoulders relaxed slightly. It looked like relief.
“You two look like hell.” Michonne finally spoke up with a chuckle.
You rolled your eyes at what Michonne had said, crossing the distance between the two of you and pulling her into your arms.
When she pulled away, she rested both hands on your shoulders.
“You hurt?”
“Sore.”
“Anything serious?“
“No,” you replied with a sigh, adjusting your position slightly so that you rested your weight on your other leg.
You pulled back. Michonne's hand stayed on your shoulder regardless, but her eyes drifted towards Daryl.
“You look terrible.”
Daryl grunted, but you could tell he was finding it amusing by the way the corners of his lips upturned.
A beat passed.
“Were you two headed to Terminus?” Rick questioned, eyes glancing between you and Daryl.
You looked over towards Daryl, waiting to see if he’d answer.
He didn’t.
“We were,” you started. “But we ran into some trouble.”
Joe’s group.
Len.
It made you feel sick.
Daryl noticed it immediately, and for once, he finally took over.
“There was this group,” he added, his voice gruff. “They were lookin’ for somebody and asked for help.”
“You help em’?” Rick asked, his eyes on Daryl now, but Daryl didn’t look back.
His eyes stayed on yours, almost as if he couldn’t look away.
You couldn’t bring yourself to look away either.
“Nah,” Daryl muttered, wiping a hand across his jaw. “We ran.”
You sighed, looking down towards the ground, kicking away a stone that lay in your vicinity.
“I killed one of them.”
“I’m sure they deserved it.” Carl spoke, his voice quiet, almost reassuring.
“He did,” you said abruptly.
Neither Rick nor Michonne said anything to that but you knew they understood.
“And the rest of them?” Michonne enquired, lowering her head.
You didn’t know about the others; God, you didn’t know anything anymore.
“I don’t know,” you spoke quietly, shaking your head.
Rick sighed, his hand pinching the skin between his eyes like he was deep in thought.
A beat passed of pure silence.
Then he finally spoke up.
“We’ll deal with it if they come. Together.”
A/N: oh so now reader is realisingggg hehehehe.
Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist!💋
Warnings!!: slow burn, reader is an adult!!, gore, mentions of blood, implied sexual threat, sexism, mature themes, strong language, angst, mutual pining.
Summary:
(You’re trying to survive, trying to hold onto the hope that your people are alive, but somehow you’re stuck trying to figure out Daryl Dixon.)
A/N: ohh I was cheesing whilst writing this. Enjoy!!
The birds chirped loudly beyond the windows. The sun cracked through the glass, shining a shade of orange through your eyelids, almost as a wake-up call.
Your face still hurt, but not as much now as it had yesterday.
You stretched out, a groan escaping your lips, your boot contacting something.
You opened your eyes immediately.
Daryl.
He was sleeping, sat up, head tilted to the side slightly.
You retracted your boot away immediately when you realised that it was him that you’d knocked into.
You sat now, your elbows resting on your knees, eyes glued to the floor.
You were beyond hungry.
You took one last glance at Daryl; for the first time in what felt like decades, he looked…peaceful.
You didn’t want to wake him.
The refrigerator had alphabetical magnets on it. You arranged them into a message: ‘Gone on a hunt.’
Then you slipped through the front door.
You were searching for whatever you could find: a rabbit, a possum; you’d even go for a snake at this point.
The leaves cracked under your weight; the trees swayed in the breeze that filtered through the wooded area.
You noticed bear traps scattered around, hidden professionally rather than lazily; you guessed the person that was occupying the cabin before was a hunter.
That made things a lot easier for you since you didn’t have your gun now, just your knife.
You walked a little further and then you saw white fur poking out from one of the traps.
“Bingo.”
You disarmed the metal and pulled the rabbit out, poking your blade through its skull to make sure that it went out cleanly.
Then you heard your name being called from a distance.
Loud.
Southern.
“Daryl!” you yelled back. “Over here.”
You returned your attention back towards the rabbit, its blood seeping through your fingers.
You didn’t enjoy hunting; you weren't a hunter, you were a fighter.
“The hell are ya doin’?” Daryl panted, stopping just behind you.
You picked yourself up from crouching position, dusting yourself off, holding the rabbit by its hind legs.
“Finding food.”
“Ya shoulda woke me.” He said, his tone caught between frustration and a slight hint of worry that you could tell he was trying his hardest to hide.
You turned slowly, eyes catching his.
“You were sleeping, didn’t want to wake you.”
“Shoulda woke me.” He repeated, angling his hand towards you.
Your eyes flickered down towards his hand, then back up to his face.
You raised a brow.
“What?”
“Rabbit. Give.”
Your face scrunched up into one of offence.
“Why?”
“Cause you ain’t know what ta do with it,” he muttered, hand still angled out.
He sure as hell wasn’t giving up.
You huffed, shoving the rabbit towards his chest.
He caught it before it could fall, looking at you like he was personally offended by what you just did.
Touché.
“We can go out further,” you said, gesturing towards the route of the woods behind you. “See if there’s more rabbit.”
Daryl shook his head.
“Nah,”
He turned on his heel and started walking back towards where you’d just come from.
“This’ll do.”
You didn’t follow straight away, just watched him as he sauntered off.
A beat.
“C’mon.” He said, not stopping in his tracks.
You rolled your eyes.
Then you followed.
The cabin came into view through the trees. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney despite neither of you remembering lighting a fire that morning.
You froze.
Daryl stopped, raising his crossbow, the rabbit swinging loosely in his grasp by the metal ridging.
“You see that?” you whispered.
“Yeah.”
The two of you moved forward carefully, footsteps measured.
Daryl approached the door first, motioning for you to stay behind him.
You ignored that and moved beside him.
He shot you a look.
You shrugged, pushing the door open, its hinges creaking in response.
The smell of meat hit you immediately; something was cooking.
Then a voice.
“Well, I'll be damned.”
An older man emerged from one of the rooms, a shotgun raised in his hands.
Daryl’s grip on his crossbow tightened.
You weren’t exactly helpful in this position; you didn’t have a gun, and your knife wasn’t worth gold when a shotgun was aimed straight at you.
The older man’s eyes moved from you to Daryl, a scoff leaving his lips.
“You keep pointing that thing at me, son, and we’re going to have a very bad afternoon.”
Daryl’s head tilted, the space between you closing. His shoulder bumped against yours; you could practically feel the tension rolling off of him.
“Who are you?” You questioned, your heart thumping loudly in your chest.
A beat.
“I’m the owner of this cabin,” the old man chuckled. “The cabin you two been squattin’ in.”
“Ya been watchin’ us?” Darl asked roughly.
“Yeah,” the old man replied, shotgun still aimed. “I was.”
You stared straight down the barrel of the gun, the panic in your chest rising further.
“Look,” you uttered, pushing your knife back into its sheathe. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“I don’t think he agrees.” The older man accused, his eyes narrowing on Daryl.
Daryl grunted in response.
“Lower the crossbow.” The older man spoke firmly. “Then I’ll think about it.”
Daryl's jaw flexed, the muscles in his forearm tightening around the crossbow.
“Daryl,” you spoke lowly.
A beat passed.
Then Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, lowering his crossbow slowly like it pained him to do so.
The old man's shoulders visibly relaxed at that.
“Good.”
Then he crossed the room and rested his shotgun against the fireplace.
You exchanged a brief glance with Daryl; you didn’t exactly trust it, and you could tell Daryl was thinking the exact same thing.
The man's eyes drifted towards the rabbit dangling from Daryl's hand.
“That from one of my traps?”
“What?” Daryl frowned.
“The rabbit.”
“Yes…” you swallowed, speaking up before Daryl could say anything.
“Well, we won’t need it.” The man spoke immediately. “Already got enough cooking on the fire.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“We?”
“You’re gonna want food ain’t you?” He chuckled. “Ya can have some of my share.”
“Ya done anything to it?” Daryl shot out, eyeing the hunter down.
“What do you think, son?” The man spoke sarcastically, crouching down by the fire and turning over one of the rabbits to let it cook further.
You chuckled awkwardly, glancing over at Daryl once again.
“What are your names?” The man asked, looking over at the two of you briefly.
You waited a moment, then you gave it.
Daryl didn’t speak; the tension was still reeking off of him to high heaven, so—
You spoke for him.
“…and this is Daryl.”
Daryl scoffed quietly at that.
The old man nodded, turning over the rabbit again.
“I’m John.”
You were still standing in the exact same position as you had been the moment you walked in here, your shoulder still glued to Daryl’s.
You didn’t trust moving, not yet. Neither did Daryl.
“You can sit,” John spoke. “Ain’t no point standing there like that.”
“I ain’t trust ya.” Daryl said abruptly, the crossbow hanging lower now, but his grip on it was still firm.
John turned at that.
“Listen, son. If I wanted to kill the both of you, you would’ve been dead by now.”
You trusted his words for the first time since you’d got in here.
You moved first, slumping down on the sofa you’d been lying on this morning.
Then hesitantly, Daryl followed.
“You two a couple or something?” John asked, eyes still on the meat.
The question was so abrupt that you couldn’t help but let the heat crawl up your neck.
“No—”
“We ain’t.” Daryl added dryly.
What on earth had brought that question on?
“Ya sure?” John asked, almost amused. “Cause’ it looks like she’s got you at her beck n’ call.”
Daryl didn’t say anything.
You looked at him briefly before turning your attention back towards John.
“Trust me, it’s nothing like that.”
“Whatever ya say.” John smirked to himself.
You felt extremely flustered now.
Embarrassed.
Nobody spoke another word after that.
The food was served up shortly after: a portion of rabbit and some cold beans.
The first bite hit you before you even registered how fast you were eating; you slowed only slightly when you noticed John watching you with quiet amusement.
Daryl ate more deliberately beside you.
John leaned back on his heels near the fire, shotgun resting within arm’s reach.
“Slow down,” he muttered, not unkindly. “Ain’t like it’s gonna run off.”
You didn’t answer. You just forced yourself to take smaller bites.
Daryl wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes flicking once to the windows, then the door, then back to John.
“Why ya let us stay?” he asked flatly.
John gave a small shrug.
“Ain’t the kind to turn away folk.”
Daryl grunted, taking another bite.
“You been out there long?” John questioned.
“Not long.” you muttered.
John nodded.
A few minutes passed in relative quiet before John stood, stretching his back with a groan.
“I got a spare room,” he said. “You can take it if ya want.”
Daryl’s head snapped slightly. “We ain’t need—”
“We aren’t asking for charity,” you cut in quickly before he could escalate anything further because you knew that he would’ve.
John held up a hand.
“Ain’t charity. It'll be much better than sleepin’ on the damn sofa.”
A beat.
“…We’ll take it,” you said finally.
Daryl looked at you sharply.
Then he grunted. That sounded like a noise of defeat to you.
The spare room was average, but considering the conditions you’d been living in back at the prison, it almost felt like a luxury.
“Ya trust him now?” Daryl asked; you could tell he was slightly annoyed with how willing you were to take things so easily.
You dropped onto the mattress, hands pressing into the thin fabric.
“No,” you said honestly, not even wanting to entertain an argument. “But I trust him more than I do taking my chances in the woods.”
Daryl exhaled before finally setting his crossbow against the wall.
You sat cross-legged at the top of the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling.
“Think he really owns this place?” you asked after a moment.
Daryl rested back against the headboard with a sigh, eyes flickering shut.
A beat.
“Don’t know yet.” He answered finally.
You turned your head slightly to look at him—really look at him.
You adjusted slightly, the lighter in your pocket digging into your skin through the material of your jeans.
A reminder of the question you’d yet to ask.
You pulled it out without thinking, holding it in the palm of your hand.
“Daryl…?”
“Hm?”
“Why did you give me this?” You almost whispered, tapping your nail against the carving: D.D.
His eyes opened at that, looking down slightly towards the lighter in your hand.
He knew the gig was up.
A beat.
“Ya needed it,” he spoke simply with a small shrug.
“But it’s yours,” you said, flipping the lighter over in your hand. “You should take it back.”
His eyes returned to yours.
“Nah.”
Your expression shifted to one of surprise with the simplicity of his responses.
“Why…?”
“Cause’ I gave it ta ya,” he replied. “It ain’t mine now.”
You stared at him a little longer than you meant to, the lighter still sitting in your palm.
He had engraved this. This lighter was a personal belonging to him, and he’d just given it to you like it was nothing?
That made no sense. He made no sense. He never had made any goddamn sense.
“That doesn’t make sense,” you said quietly.
“Ain’t gotta make sense,” he muttered.
You looked away at that, back down to the lighter, flipping it over in your hand.
You didn’t know what to make of this; you didn’t know what to make of anything anymore.
Daryl Dixon was a damn nightmare to figure out; yesterday you’d seen him cry, and now he was back to acting like nothing mattered.
“Daryl,” you started, then stopped.
He didn’t answer.
“I don’t get you,” you admitted, your voice quiet.
His brows tightened slightly.
“Ain’t much to get.”
“I don’t believe that,” you said immediately, then hesitated. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you make everything you do seem so…simple.”
“Cause’ it is simple,” he muttered.
Daryl shifted like he was trying to settle into something more comfortable than this conversation.
“That’s not true,” you replied, eyes locked on his. “None of what you do is simple.”
“Ya ain’t know what yer talkin’ bout.” He replied, but his voice held no frustration; he just wanted you off his back.
You just watched him with furrowed brows.
A moment passed.
Then you shifted on the mattress, pulling his hand away from his chest gently, facing his palm upwards.
He flinched slightly, but he didn’t pull back.
You placed the lighter into his palm, closing his fingers around it; you couldn’t keep something that was clearly personal to him.
“Daryl,” you almost whispered, hand still lingering over his tensed hand. “This isn’t my lighter, it’s yours.”
He stayed quiet, his eyes still on yours.
You looked straight back and then—
The confusion you felt when you looked him in the eyes, the sadness you felt with everything that’d happened—it all hit you like a brick, and before you could stop yourself—
You kissed him.
It felt rushed—a complete burst of your emotions, and then when you realised what you were doing—
You pulled back immediately, hand tearing from his.
“Oh—” you choked out. “Shit—I didn’t mean to do that.”
Why on earth had you just done that?
Daryl didn’t utter a single word, his jaw ticking; you’d caught him off guard.
“That was an accident,” you blurted, face burning instantly. “I don’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean—”
You stopped yourself because you were making this ten times worse.
Your hand went to your face for a second, like that might somehow fix it.
It didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” you said again, quieter now, mortified. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“…yeah,” he said, voice rough, his eyes tearing away from yours. “I know.”
You scrambled off the mattress quickly.
“I’m just gonna—” You gestured vaguely towards the door. “I need air. Or something.”
You didn’t wait for a response, leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind you.
“God, you’re so stupid.” You muttered to yourself, palm hitting your face.
How on earth could you have let yourself kiss Daryl damn Dixon?
Well, you’d certainly fucked everything up now.
The week passed by slowly; you barely uttered a word to Daryl after what’d happened. He barely spoke to you either.
But—
He was always still…there.
He was acting the same way as he had done after your injury.
Avoiding you but—
Always there.
It felt like you were back to square one in some ways. The feeling of that felt harsh in your chest—unusually harsh.
On the good side, however, John had been kind enough to lend you a pistol and a few rounds of ammo.
“You two leavin’ already?” John asked from the sofa, a bottle in his hand.
“Yeah,” you replied, not even daring to look at Daryl as he pushed an arrow through his crossbow. “We are gonna go look for our people.”
That was something you and Daryl had agreed on amidst the awkwardness.
You weren’t giving up on the others.
You’d also seen signs for a safe zone—a sanctuary called terminus or something. Maybe they had ended up there.
“You can stay if ya want to.” John replied.
“Nah,” Daryl spoke finally, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. “Gotta get back on the road.”
John shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle.
“Thank you for letting us stay, John,” you started. “It means a lot.”
“Yer welcome back anytime,” John smiled.
You nodded once.
Then you were back outside.
You walked in sync with Daryl—not intentionally; it was just something that happened to happen.
Neither of you spoke.
The leaves crunched under your boots like they always did; the noise comforted you in some way because it distracted you from the tension between you and Daryl.
Relieved the silence.
Two walkers stumbled out from behind the trees, groaning as they stumbled through.
One of John's traps clamped around one of their legs, bringing it tumbling to the ground swiftly.
Daryl took it out with an arrow.
You stabbed the other one through the skull.
Then you both continued on your journey.
“We should split up,” you spoke finally, eyes fixed on the ground. “We don’t know how long we’re gonna be out here, and we should probably be looking for food.”
Daryl looked at you then.
“We ain’t doing that.”
“Yes. We are.” You replied firmly, eyes on his as you moved.
You were trying your hardest to take back control of your emotions, trying to hide from the embarrassment—it made you come across sharper than you’d meant.
You gestured towards the left side of the woods.
“You take that route.”
Then you gestured towards the right side.
“I’ll—”
“Ya can’t keep doin’ this.” He cut you off, stilling in his movements. “Ya can’t keep runnin’ off when ya know it ain’t safe.”
You shrugged.
This was foolish, but you wanted to set some kind of boundaries for yourself after what’d happened. You couldn’t let yourself do something like that again.
“I’ll be fine.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Look,” you started, your voice quieter this time, eyes flickering over his face. “We can mark our initials on the trees so we can track our way back to one another.”
The mention of initials nearly made your stomach twist.
The lighter.
The engraving.
You composed yourself quickly but not quick enough for Daryl not to notice it.
“We ain’t splittin’ up.” He repeated, the tone in his voice final now.
You stared at him.
For a minute there, you thought he might’ve said yes; clearly not.
“Daryl.”
He didn’t budge.
“We need food.” You said again, crossing your arms over one another.
“We ain’t need food yet.”
He was making this whole ordeal worse. You were trying your hardest to escape this suffocating tension that you two had going on for just a minute and—
He was just doing everything in his power to stop it.
You’d almost convinced yourself that he was enjoying it.
Enjoying your embarrassment, but—
You knew that wasn’t the case.
You knew he wasn’t acting like this because of the kiss because he’d been acting like this long before that had even happened.
Then, as though he were done with the conversation, he started moving again without a word.
“Daryl.” You called out from where you were stood.
No answer.
“Daryl.”
Nothing.
If he wasn’t interested in listening to you, you weren’t interested in listening to him either, so—
You started moving in the opposite direction towards the route you said you’d take moments ago.
Five seconds.
It took five seconds and then he was back on you.
This was beginning to feel very similar to the time he’d followed you through the woods back at the prison.
You stopped, turning around slowly.
“Why are you being like this?”
He shrugged, adjusting the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder.
“Ain’t bein’ like nothin’.”
“But you are.”
He didn’t answer.
“Daryl Dixon, you are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” You scoffed, turning on your heel again, moving away from him.
He didn’t say anything.
It was like he didn’t want to talk to you at all.
That was what infuriated you the most.
The silence filled the space between the two of you as you moved. The kind of silence that felt unnaturally heavy in your chest.
You caught yourself looking back at him a few times, half expecting him to say something.
Anything.
But nothing came.
He just walked behind you, his crossbow in his hand now rather than over his shoulder.
You thought your mind would have benefitted from the silence, but…it didn’t.
Not one bit.
Then a noise shot through the silence.
It wasn’t coincidental.
Footsteps.
Daryl shifted immediately, his crossbow raising.
You raised your own gun, aiming it towards the direction the noise had come from.
Then—
Five, maybe six, men emerged from between the trees, their guns aimed; half of them focused on you, half on Daryl.
“Well, look it here.”
One of the men spoke first; he had grey hair and looked a lot cleaner than the rest of them.
“I’m claimin’ the girl,” another man let out a sadistic chuckle; he was an archer, like Daryl. “And the vest he’s got on. I like em wings.”
Your stomach dropped.
Claiming?
Was this some kind of sick game to them?
Daryl’s finger looped around the trigger at that—he didn’t pull it; you could tell he was weighing the situation up.
“Hold up, Len.” The grey-haired man spoke, studying the two of you closely. “Hold up.”
“Ya better keep walkin’.” Daryl spoke finally, the tone in his voice rough.
The grey-haired man barked out a laugh, pointing his index finger at Daryl.
“You,” he started. “You have got balls on you for someone surrounded.”
Then his eyes flickered towards you, narrowing slightly.
“And you,”
He chuckled again.
“You sure as hell got some fire in you considering you're a female pointing that gun.”
You tilted your head, your own finger looping around the trigger.
“Got to hell,” you spat.
“I already claimed the girl. She’s mine.” Len chuckled, pulling the string of his arrow back further.
“Ya ain’t claimin’ nothin’.” Daryl shot back, his patience with these men clearly wearing thin. He was ten seconds away from releasing one of his arrows.
The grey-haired man shot a hand up, signalling for Len to be quiet.
“If either of you pull those triggers,” he said calmly; the way he spoke gave you the heebie-jeebies. “My men will have you both shot and then I can’t stop Len claimin’ what he wants.”
Your eyes flickered towards the side of Daryl’s face briefly.
A beat passed.
Then the grey-haired man broke the silence.
“The names Joe.”
“Ain’t asked.” Daryl spoke abruptly.
Joe looked between the two of you again, studying, completely ignoring Daryl’s dismissal.
“You two been travelling together long?”
Neither of you responded.
“Alright.” Joe started, his brows furrowing. “Don’t gotta tell me. That’s fine.”
You hated the way Joe looked at you.
His gaze wasn’t like Len’s; Len looked at you like you were an object.
Joe looked at you like he was trying to figure you out, and that somehow felt ten times worse.
“You got a name?” Joe asked you.
You hesitated; you didn’t want to give it but—
You were surrounded, and you knew that being uncooperative would only make things harder.
You waited a minute, then you gave your name.
Joe nodded.
“And him?”
Daryl’s jaw tightened, his crossbow still up high.
You answered before he could.
“Daryl.”
“Daryl,” Joe repeated after you, a smirk flickering across his lips.
Another beat passed.
The tension was beyond suffocating.
“Now,” Joe spoke. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.”
Your grip tightened around the pistol as did Daryl’s on the crossbow.
Warnings!!: Slow burn, Reader is an adult!!, mentions of death(major character death), injury detail, mentions of blood, mentions of bruises, physical assault, mature themes, strong language, angst, hurt/comfort, forced proximity!!
Summary:
(Gunfire. Smoke. Death. The camp fell the same way your old one did, only this time you weren’t alone when you got out—you had Daryl.)
A/N: Enjoy sweeties!!
You knew Daryl wouldn’t react well to the news about Carol; you didn’t stay long enough to see the fallout.
You wanted to be alone. You wanted to think but you doubted thinking time would be easy when everything was so…loud.
Your back hit the mattress of your bed, your head hitting the pillow with a sigh, your eyes fluttering shut.
Carol was gone, the prison was suffering from a glorified cold, and there had been a breach. What else could possibly go wrong?
Your hand snaked to the lighter in your pocket, pulling it out, fingers skimming over the photograph as you did so.
You wanted something to fidget with in all honesty.
The cold metal felt grounding against your skin, fingers tracing over the brass.
Your nail caught on a small indent in the casing, perking your attention immediately.
You opened your eyes, running your fingers over it repeatedly, almost as if to make sure you weren’t imagining things.
You squinted, trying your hardest to see what the indent was, but it was no use; it was much too dark to see a single thing.
You flickered the lighter on, curving your palm just slightly before the flame. The light reflected off of your skin, shining over the metal case.
And then, you caught a break.
—D.D.
Your brows furrowed for a moment, every cog in your brain spinning so slowly that nothing seemed comprehendible.
Then you caught up.
Daryl hadn’t lost his lighter; he’d given it to you, masking it behind a ‘simple’ good deed.
You weren’t mad, of course not. You were just…confused.
Very confused.
Your thumb rolled over the indent once more before you flicked the lid back over and buried it deep into the back of your pocket. You suddenly didn’t feel like fidgeting with it anymore.
You didn’t want to dwell on the possible reasons he could’ve done it; you just wanted to sleep.
Maybe when the time felt right, you’d ask. Maybe. You had a lot that you wanted to ask him about, but now wasn't the right time.
Not after Carol. Not after the outbreak.
You woke the next morning to the obnoxiously loud voices of Rick and Daryl in the hallway.
You’d slept in late yet again.
You picked yourself up from your bed, wiping your eyes. You pulled your curtain back, sticking your head out slightly.
“What we gonna do ‘bout those two girls?” Daryl spoke roughly, leaning against the railing.
You hesitated for a moment before you stepped out fully.
“I can…look out for them,” you butted in, voice quiet. “Teach them what Carol was before you sent her away.”
Your words came out slightly harsher than you’d meant for them too.
Your sudden presence startled Rick slightly; you could tell by the way his head cocked around.
Your eyes flickered to Daryl’s for a moment, your face suddenly feeling much hotter than it had a minute ago.
It was finding out about that damn lighter that’d caused this. You wished now that you hadn’t figured it out in the first place.
The lighter carried a very specific weight to it now that it never had before.
You turned away, composing yourself.
“Don’t start now.” Rick shook his head with a sigh.
“I’m not starting.” You objected, fidgeting with the material of your shirt. “I’m trying to help.”
Daryl stayed quiet, eyes fixed on you.
“You can help by doin’ your duties.” Rick finalised, shooting you another glare before he turned away back towards Daryl.
A beat.
“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath before you moved down the staircase.
You didn’t really care what Rick had to say. Those kids needed someone now that Carol wasn’t there: You'd step in.
You made your way towards the library room; the children were all already in there.
Lizzie looked at you.
“Where’s Carol?”
Shit. Nobody had told them yet.
A beat.
“Carol is not going to be here from now on.” You crouched down in front of Lizzy and Mika.
“Where has she gone?” Mika questioned.
You hesitated; you couldn’t tell them what she’d done—it was too brutal, much too brutal.
“She’s just gone,” you answered. “…but she’s safe.”
All eyes were on you. None of the children spoke, but you knew they were acknowledging what you’d said, even if they were confused.
Judith was in her carrier on the floor next to Mika.
“Where’s Beth?” You questioned; Beth was usually the one minding Judith.
One of the children shrugged.
“She said she had to do something.”
You nodded.
Then you dropped to the floor, crossing your legs over one another.
“So…” you started. “What has Carol been teaching you guys?”
“How to use knives,” Lizzie responded bluntly.
You thought these kids were having story time every day in here. Guess not.
You pulled your knife out from its sheath, angling it out in the palm of your hands.
“That one’s pretty.” Mika knelt, a big smile on her face, her hand reaching out to trace over the carvings in the handle.
“It’s pretty,” you agreed, glancing upwards. “But it’s dangerous. It’s not a toy.”
“We know,” Lizzie added.
Judith stirred.
You pressed your lips into a thin line, not sure on how you’d go about this; you’d never really prepared yourself to teach children how to use weapons.
“So…to kill a walker, you have to stab it through its—” You started, but you were immediately cut off by the sound of an explosion cutting through the air outside.
Your head spun towards the doorway.
“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, eyes turning back towards the kids.
“What was that?” Lizzie quivered, already getting on her feet.
“Lizzie, get down,” you urged, pressing your palms flat on the floor. “Everyone stay down.”
You couldn’t hear shit. You couldn’t see anything that was going on.
You stayed in there a few more minutes in utter silence and then—
You heard the distant gunfire.
Then another explosion.
Something had happened. Something bad.
“We can help,” Mika half whispered.
You shook your head, glancing at her again.
“I’m going to go out there, and I want you all to stay here,” you finalised. “Take care of Judith, and if I’m not back within the next ten minutes, you run. Okay?”
They all nodded in response.
You got to your feet immediately, pushing out of the room and practically sprinting towards your cell for your weapon.
Everything went hazy around you as soon as you got outside; the world seemed to tilt completely.
Everything was destroyed.
You raised your gun, aiming straight at an unfamiliar man that was shooting your people.
He dropped.
You moved behind a steel container, taking cover.
Another man stopped just before you, raising his weapon; you shot him in the arm—the panic had taken over completely, so much so that your aim was completely off.
“Shit!”
You raised your weapon again, aiming straight for the head, and just as if luck had failed you—
The magazine was completely empty.
“No—No!” You cried.
You discarded the weapon on the ground, making a run for it.
Then you heard the gravel crunch behind you, and before you could turn, a hand grabbed your arm.
You hit the ground hard; the man you’d just shot moments ago was now atop of you.
You couldn’t even get your knife out, his leg was covering it completely as he pinned you down.
“Get off of me!”
“You little bitch!” He shouted, throwing a punch straight at your jaw.
The world slowed around you as soon as the second punch hit your face. You weren’t even thinking at this point; you were completely out of it.
Then the body collapsed atop of you fully, the weight of the man snapping you back to reality.
Arrow through skull: Daryl.
“We gotta go now!” He yelled, kicking the dead man from your chest and hauling you up by your arm. “Ya can run?!”
“Yeah,” you whimpered, already hobbling as Daryl supported you from the side.
Then you remembered that you’d left the children in the library room.
“Shit!” You bellowed out over the gunfire. “I’ve gotta go back, the kids—”
“Ain’t no time!”
You let the guilt wash over you whole, a sickening feeling creeping up your throat.
He was right, there was no time, so—
You just ran like your life depended on it because…it did.
Daryl kept in sync with you, hand still close in case you were to fall; you did many times.
The prison was miles behind you now, but it still wasn’t safe. Not yet.
You sprinted till your feet ached and your body couldn’t take the strain anymore. You had run to what felt like the end of the earth.
“I think we’re clear,” you panted, resting your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath.
Daryl looked you up and down, breathing heavily, but he didn’t respond.
You didn’t even want to think about the lighter right now; you didn’t even want to think about any of it.
Your hand slipped inside your pocket, making sure you still had your photograph.
You did.
You let out a sigh of relief.
“We gotta keep movin’,” Daryl muttered, his grip on his crossbow tightening.
He hadn’t even acknowledged what you’d said before, and now he was back to giving orders.
A beat.
“Where do you suggest we go, Daryl?” You snapped, finally coming to terms with the depth of everything.
“Don’t know.”
Helpful Daryl. Very helpful.
You sighed, pinching the skin between your brows before moving without giving him warning.
He followed.
You walked in silence for a while, taking out a few walkers here and there with the help of your blade and Daryl’s crossbow.
“What happened?” You asked finally.
You were still in the dark about everything.
“Governor,” he answered. “He stormed the gates…killed Hershel.”
You stilled.
Hershel was…dead?
You turned towards him.
“What…?” Your voice was quiet, barely audible.
He didn’t speak, just held your gaze.
That was answer enough.
You scrubbed a hand over your face, wincing as your fingers contacted your jaw. You were bleeding; that son of a bitch who’d punched you at the prison had messed you up pretty badly in the face.
“Ya alright…?” Daryl asked.
“No.”
None of this was alright, and you weren’t going to pussyfoot around the truth anymore.
Everything you’d feared had happened. Your old camp went out the exact same way.
The only change now was that you weren’t alone.
You were with Daryl.
You continued walking without a word more.
A few more minutes passed before Daryl suddenly stopped, his fist shooting up.
You froze.
“What?”
He pointed towards a gap through the trees.
You squinted, trying to spot it, but it was difficult now that the sun was dipping.
You moved slightly, knocking into Daryl’s shoulder as you attempted to get a better view.
He didn’t move, but he’d acknowledged it, you could tell.
Then you saw what he’d spotted: a small cabin, its roof caving slightly, overgrowth running up its sides.
You didn’t know what it was, but you’d always found yourself running into cabins on your commutes.
Hell, you didn’t even know if you were hallucinating or if this was actually happening.
“C’mon.” Daryl nudged you before he headed forward.
You stayed close, leaves crunching beneath your feet, almost as if they were purposefully trying to give you away.
Daryl pushed inside first, signalling for you to stay back.
He was in there for a few minutes.
You poked your head through the doorway, eyes scanning the area.
“Daryl? Is it clear?”
He backed out of a room, lowering his crossbow, eyes fixed on one of the back windows.
“S’clear.”
You stepped inside immediately at that, pushing the door closed, fingers skimming the handle for a lock.
You found one and flipped it.
Then you turned and it seemed like the world had shrunk to the space between the two of you.
The tension felt heavy on your chest; it was harder to ignore it now than it was on your journey up here.
Maybe it was because of everything that’d happened.
Maybe it was the fact that you were carrying his lighter around waiting for the perfect time to mention it.
Maybe it was because deep down in your chest you knew that you felt safe with Daryl, though you’d never admit that to his face.
“You see anything I can clean my cut with when you were searching?” You coughed, your hand grazing over the cut on your jaw.
Daryl glanced over briefly.
“Bathroom.”
That was all he said, returning his gaze back to the window.
You pressed your lips together and headed down the short hallway.
The person who lived here before must’ve been an alcoholic because the medicine cabinet was stacked with half-empty bottles.
You reached for the vodka bottle.
Then your eyes roamed the bathroom, landing on a towel that hung messily over the bathtub.
The harsh material met your face a second later as you patted down the cut.
You hissed, eyes catching your reflection in the mirror.
Bruised.
Bloodied.
A complete and utter mess.
You sighed as you continued cleaning the wound and the blood from your neck.
You felt sick.
You felt like you could cry, but the tears were too stubborn to shed.
Hershel was dead.
You didn’t know who else was alive.
You didn’t know if those children were safe.
Maybe Carol caught some luck getting out before the shit hit the fan.
You finished up, chucking the towel onto the floor.
You hesitated, not knowing if you should take the bottle of vodka out; you wanted a drink. You wanted to get so drunk that your whole mind was distracted for a while but—
That was reckless, and you weren’t going to be reckless anymore.
You placed the bottle back in the cabinet and pulled the bathroom door open.
“The medicine cabinet is stocked with—” you started as you moved towards the living room, but you soon cut yourself short when you spotted Daryl on the sofa.
He was crying.
You could hear his sobs faintly, the way his shoulders shook every time his emotion spilled out.
You just stood there like a deer caught in headlights. You felt like you were interrupting; you felt like you shouldn’t have seen him like this.
You’d never seen him cry before.
You’d never seen him so…vulnerable.
Your foot shifted against the floorboards, giving you away completely.
Daryl's head snapped up, the flesh beneath his eyes damp.
“Don’t.” He sniffled, wiping a hand across his eyes, turning away from you in an instant.
He was ashamed; you could tell.
“Daryl—” you whispered.
“I said don’t.”
“Daryl.” You spoke louder this time, loud enough for him to know that you weren’t leaving this matter be.
His jaw clenched.
“I ain’t lookin’ for pity.”
“Good because I wasn’t going to give you any.”
That got his attention, his eyes flickering towards yours.
You moved toward the opposite end of the sofa and sat down, studying him closely.
A beat.
Then another.
“Hershel shouldn’ta died.” He spoke hoarsely.
“No.” You swallowed.
“He was good.”
“He was.”
Then silence settled again.
“I always thought of him as a father figure.” You broke through the silence abruptly. “Because he was so caring and strong.”
He blinked.
“I think it’s because he was a role model,” you added. “I never really had that bond with my own dad, so meeting someone like Hershel was…y’know.”
He didn’t answer straight away, just watched you.
Then he spoke up.
“I ain’t ever had a bond with ma dad either.”
“Guess that makes two of us,” you scoffed.
For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lips twitch ever so faintly, but you still noticed.
“Guess so.”
A beat.
“You want a drink?” You blurted out.
You know you said drinking would be reckless, but you felt as if it were necessary to do so now.
He rested his head back against the sofa, letting out a small sigh as he did so.
“What they got?”
“I think there’s whiskey, vodka…” You stopped, trying to remember what else there was. “I don’t remember what else.”
“Whiskey.”
You nodded once and then moved back towards the bathroom, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and the bottle of vodka that you’d left behind before.
You handed Daryl the whiskey when you got back in, sitting yourself back down on the sofa with the vodka in hand.
“I don’t know if it’ll be any good.”
Daryl was already taking a swig from the bottle before you could say anything else.
“S’fine.”
You shrugged, taking a sip from your own bottle.
“You think anyone else made it out?”
His eyes flickered towards his boots as they sat propped up on the coffee table.
“Don’t know.”
There was no other possible way it could’ve been sweetened to make the uncertainty feel better.
That was the truth; neither of you knew what’d happened to the others.
“Do you ever think about before?” You asked suddenly, shifting the subject.
“What ya mean?” He asked roughly.
“About your life before all of this happened.”
His eyes dropped back to the bottle in his hand, index finger tapping on the glass gently.
“Sometimes.”
“What’d you do before everything anyway?” You questioned again; you were merely curious now.
“Nothin’.” He scoffed, taking another swig from the bottle.
“Really?”
“Mhm,”
You pressed your lips into a thin line, not fully believing he did ‘nothing.’
“Fixed bikes sometimes.” He added finally.
“I knew there was more.” You replied, the corner of your lips upturning slightly before they wrapped around the vodka bottle.
“What ‘bout you?” he asked, eager to get the topic of conversation off of him.
Your eyebrows raised slightly.
That was new; Daryl usually avoided asking personal questions.
“I worked at a bar in Seattle for a little while before I went south with Rocky.”
Your hand dipped inside your pocket, pulling the photograph of you and your dog out.
You leaned forward, tapping against the cover of the photograph.
“This was taken in 04 just after I moved to Atlanta.”
His eyes ran over the image of you and your dog; he’d seen it before on that day he’d followed you to your old camp through the woods but—
He was looking at it properly now.
“Why ya move south?” He questioned, eyes moving up to your face slowly.
You glanced away immediately at his question; this was sure a harsh topic, but…there was no getting away from it no matter how much you’d tried in the past.
“My dad died in an armed robbery…” you blurted out. “Cops shot him.”
You breathed.
“…When that happened, I knew I had to leave Seattle.”
Your eyes finally flickered towards Daryl’s.
“So I left.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, just watched you quietly.
You didn’t speak either.
He pushed his head further back into the sofa, adjusting his position.
He gestured towards the photograph that sat in your lap.
“And yer dog?”
Your fingers traced over the image again, traced over the moment that’d been frozen in time.
“He was old,” you said, voice hoarse, already feeling the emotion riddle you. “He couldn’t run. I tried to carry him, but he was too heavy.”
“He die?” Daryl asked.
You nodded.
“Walkers.”
That felt worse somehow, saying it aloud.
A lone tear ran down your cheek before you could stop it.
“I tried to save him,” you snuffled, your hand wiping the tear away. “I tried…but I couldn’t.”
Daryl looked at you like he didn’t know what to say, similar to the way you looked at him when you’d caught him crying early.
A beat.
“Ya can’t save everyone.” He said, hand tightening around the neck of the whiskey bottle.
“I know,” you snuffled. “That’s what makes it worse.”
Daryl hummed in response, eyes still lingering on you.
Watching.
Waiting.
You scoffed, dragging a hand over your face.
You were getting much too emotional; the alcohol definitely wasn’t helping.
Neither was the grief of everything that’d happened.
Neither was the exhaustion that was settling over you.
“I’m tired.” You yawned, relaxing your head back onto the arm of the sofa, boots almost touching the side of Daryl’s leg as you stretched out.
“Go ta sleep then.” He muttered, eyes roaming over your face for a moment before he looked away towards the fireplace.
You placed the vodka bottle onto the coffee table before you turned back towards him.
You were hyper aware of his breathing now—hyper aware of him in general.
The dim light cracking through the windows cast an unusual glow on his face.
He looked tired himself.
“Daryl,” you uttered.
“Hm?”
You were going to ask about the lighter. You should’ve asked about the lighter, but you held onto that question for now.
“You should sleep too.”
He pressed his lips into a thin line, the bottle of whiskey hanging loosely in his grip.
Then he looked at you.
“Not yet.”
“You’re tired, Daryl.” You replied to his dismissal, brows furrowing slightly. “I can see that you’re tired.”
“Not yet.” He repeated again, eyes still on yours.
A beat.
“You’re a terrible liar, Daryl.” You smirked to yourself, your voice quiet.
He didn’t answer.
You didn't wait for an answer either; you just let your eyes flutter shut, letting yourself succumb to sleep.
A/N: this was a whirlwind to write but honestly also loved writing it! I hope you guys enjoyed💕
Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist!💋
Warnings!!: slowburn, Reader is an adult!!, mentions of death, gore, injury detail, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of blood, mature themes, strong language.
Summary:
(You are hit with yet another problem in the prison. Could anything ever be easy in a world gone bad? The answer to that is no, absolutely not.)
A/N: Oh you guys just wait for the next chapter hehehe. I HOPE YOU ENJOY!
For the first time in months, you finally felt like maybe you’d gotten somewhere with Daryl, not anywhere particularly far but enough to know that he wasn’t all as bad as you’d originally thought.
The lighter, you thought maybe it was his way of apologising for being such a prick after your injury.
Maybe you were getting too far over your head. Maybe.
It was sunnier outside today; the yard felt fuller than it usually did. You didn’t mind the people this time. Seemed like your tolerance for people was broadening.
You spotted Rick and Carl in the pigpen, feeding the pigs.
You still hadn’t asked Rick about the whole thing about sending Daryl after you in the woods.
You didn’t really feel like it was the right time when everyone looked so…happy.
“Nice day today,” you said, leaning over the wooden fence boards. “You want me doing anything other than fence duty, Rick?”
Rick chuckled to himself, turning away and chucking some worms onto the dirt.
“You can stay on fence duty for now.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line. You’d expected that answer, but there wasn’t any harm in asking.
“Maybe she can help with the pigs?” Carl's eyes flickered from you and then towards Rick. “Can she, Dad?”
“Pigs already been helped,” Rick said, plopping the tin bucket onto the soil. “Maybe tomorrow.”
You shrugged.
“Right, okay then,” you sighed, pulling yourself back from the fence. “I’ll get back to it.”
Rick glanced at you.
“Yeah. You do that.”
He was feigning seriousness, but you could tell he was a fraud.
You rolled your eyes, backing away slowly, giving Rick a chance to change his mind.
The only thing that answered you was the sound of distant gunfire.
You froze, eyes panning towards the source of the sound.
Rick spun around, already moving towards the latch of the pen.
“Cell blocks?” Maggie yelled from the tower above.
“I don’t know!” Rick shouted back, already moving. “Carl, get in the tower with Maggie! Don’t argue. Go.”
Rick nudged you on the shoulder.
“You, with me, let’s go!”
You moved immediately, boots pounding against the gravel as you sprinted.
“What's going on?!” Your voice cracked from the sheer volume of your yell.
“Walkers in D!” Glenn shouted back, already running inside.
You didn’t speak; you just ran inside after him.
You were met with the sound of Walkers and the yelps of the other camp members.
This wasn’t a breach; it couldn’t have been.
You fired at a walker that was crawling after one of the children, pulling the boy to his feet immediately after the walker was down.
“You follow the others!” You shouted over the panic, shoving him towards the hoards of people running for safety. “Don’t stop running!”
He ran, an older man throwing him over his shoulder and darting with the rest.
Then you were back to killing the next walker that stumbled your way.
They were coming out of the cells; they were falling over the rails from above. The whole cell block had turned into a complete bloodbath.
The sound of gunfire surrounded you.
Then it went quiet.
“Are we clear down here?” Rick addressed everyone still standing. “We’re safe?”
“Yeah!” Sasha shouted back from the far corner of the cell.
Daryl was already moving up the staircase; you followed instinctively.
“Watch out.” He muttered to you, eyes scanning over the area, crossbow raised high.
You nodded, staying close behind, your bodies so close that you could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.
Dead bodies lined the floor. Blood splattered everywhere you looked.
It was a goddamn sight for sore eyes, that was for sure.
Glenn yelled by one of the cells, a walker pushing him against the wall.
“Get down!” Daryl shouted, releasing an arrow.
The walker dropped.
You rushed over; Daryl followed and yanked Glenn back up to his feet.
“You okay?” You panicked, hand instinctively moving to Glenn’s shoulder.
“I’m good,” he panted. “Thanks.”
You let out a sigh of relief.
Then you followed Rick and Daryl into the cell where the walker had emerged from.
“Oh, it’s Patrick.” Daryl uttered, eyes moving over the body.
“Shit.” You spoke quietly, wiping at the blood on your face with the back of your hand.
Daryl stepped back, leaning against the railing, looking out onto the floor below.
“That’s all of em.”
A beat.
Then everyone was moving to kill the ones that had been bitten. To kill the ones that had died.
You moved through the cells. You didn’t spot anyone until you made it to the last cell.
An older man, his face completely pale, purple veins painting the skin beneath his eyes.
You crouched down, pulling your knife from its sheath. You hesitated for a moment, and then silver buried itself into the older man’s skull.
The council soon gathered together for a meeting. You weren’t on the council, so you just went to your cell to get yourself cleaned up.
To clean the blood of your hands and your face.
You knew what’d happened. You overheard Rick talking to Hershel and Doctor S about it.
Patrick died because of a goddamn flu, and then he turned and went on a rampage.
A fucking flu managed to get that many people killed.
You had to stay away; that was the order. You’d been exposed, and nobody was taking risks of more people catching whatever this was.
The blood marked the dampened cloth as you scrubbed your face.
You scrubbed three more times, and then it was gone.
It wasn’t your own blood; that was the sickening part about it.
You threw the cloth onto the floor, pushing your head back against the wall and pulling the photograph out of your pocket.
It was a comfort thing, really, looking at how everything was before this, looking at your dog like he was still…here.
This cruel world had taken everything meaningful from under your grasp and chewed it whole.
Your finger skimmed over the material once, and then you folded it back up and pushed it deep inside your pocket next to the lighter Daryl had given you.
When you got back outside, more havoc had already started reeking.
One of the outer fences was caving completely. Shit.
You were supposed to be out there earlier. You were too busy being all sentimental in your room.
You sprinted over, joining the others in pushing the fence back.
It was much too heavy.
“Shit!” You heaved, gasping for air. “It’s too heavy!”
It bent further. Too overbearing. Too powerful.
“It’s gonna give!” Rick shouted.
Everyone pushed further, but it was no use. Your efforts were going nowhere.
“Everybody back!” Daryl pulled away from the fence. “Come on, back. Now.”
You jumped back, nearly tripping over a lone pebble on the ground. You composed yourself quickly.
A beat.
“Fence keeps bending in like that, walkers gonna come straight through it.” Sasha called out.
Rick sighed. He was contemplating something, you could tell.
“Daryl, get the truck. I know what to do.”
Daryl moved immediately. Your eyes followed him.
You didn’t expect a look back and you didn’t get one either.
You moved on, walking towards the half-dug graves.
Glenn followed. As did Maggie.
The sun was beating down ten times harder than usual, making it much harder to work efficiently.
You continued digging regardless.
One body went in, then another, a cross being stuck at the head of their graves.
These people were here this morning, and now they were six feet under.
You finished up, wiping away the sweat that beaded at your brow.
“You done?” Glenn asked, his voice slightly muffled under his mask.
You just nodded in response, placing your shovel onto the floor and leaving the scene abruptly.
Then your emotions came crashing down on you so hard that they almost gave you whiplash.
You went to the only place that you knew would be clear at this time of day: the tower.
You broke down when you got up there, sobbing hysterically. The tears rolled down your face, dampening your skin.
You were scared. You could finally admit that without being so stubborn now.
The camp was falling apart, and for all you knew, it could end up exactly like your old one.
Dead people.
You alone…again.
You lowered yourself down onto the cold metal deck, drawing your knees close to your chest and burying your head in your hands.
The tiredness consumed you whole. You were exhausted. You couldn’t stop your eyelids closing in on themselves.
You went out like a light.
Everything went quiet again.
Still.
“Ya sleepin’?” Daryl spoke gruffly.
Your eyes fluttered open slowly, landing on him.
You adjusted to the light again, realising that you’d let yourself fall asleep when you should’ve been working.
“Crap,” you let out an exasperated sigh, sitting up almost immediately. “How long have I been out?”
He shrugged.
“Don’t know. Ain’t been up here.”
You rubbed your eyes, clearing the sleep from your tear ducts before you picked yourself up and dusted over your pants.
“Anything happen?” Your eyes lifted to his. “Whilst I’ve been out?”
He didn’t respond at first, yet his eyes stayed on yours.
You knew that meant no good.
You raised your brow, waiting for his answer.
“Karen an’ David,” he started, eyes tearing away from yours briefly before they returned. “Somebody killed ‘em.”
Your eyes widened in disbelief.
“What…?”
“Tyreese is pretty cut up ‘bout it,” he added. “Started throwin’ punches at Rick.”
Your eyes flickered to the ground. You should’ve known you’d wake to more trouble.
A beat.
“Was lookin’ for ya to see if ya wanted t’come on a run.” he spoke finally, shifting the subject.
Your eyes shifted back towards his.
“Where you going?”
“Some veterinary college t’look for meds,” he breathed. “‘Bout fifty miles out.”
You hesitated.
He noticed that.
Then you realised that he’d come to you to ask for your help—he didn’t put it in those exact words, but you knew that’s what he was implying.
The quicker the antibiotics were obtained, the quicker these people would be back on the mend.
“I’ll go.” You spoke finally.
“C’mon then,” he spoke from the top step. “Go get yer gear.”
You nodded, pealing yourself off the railing and following him down the steps.
You didn’t walk particularly fast, nor did he.
You both shared the awkward silence like you both had split custody of it.
It was always the same. Just quiet.
“Ya been cryin’?” He asked quietly, his voice rough—that southern drawl was impossible to miss.
You didn’t expect him to talk. You didn’t even expect him to question it even though you knew he saw the dried tear tracks that had marked your face.
You looked at him.
This was the second time he’d found you crying: once at your old camp and now, he knew you’d been crying up on the tower.
“I was,” you sniffled, wiping at your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt. “Then I fell asleep.”
Daryl's eyes flicked over your face for half a second before he looked away again.
"Mm."
That was a typical Daryl response; you expected it.
But he still bothered to ask; that must’ve meant something. Well, at least it meant something to you.
Your eyes moved over the side of his face; you didn’t realise you were staring until Daryl cleared his throat.
Had he caught you staring? Shit.
Hopefully not.
“I’ll um…” you coughed, almost choking on your own embarrassment. “I’ll go get my gear.”
You didn’t wait for a response; you just went.
You should’ve known this never would’ve been a straightforward journey.
Walkers stormed the car, and you and the group had to make a run for it.
The walk nearly took you out; you were damn near exhausted.
Luckily, you’d managed to find an old garage on the side of the road.
Daryl stopped just by the side of it, scouting out something he’d spotted.
“You see something?” Bob questioned, stopping his tracks.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He pushed through the overgrowth, the bottom half of his body disappearing behind it.
You waited.
“There’s a car.” He mumbled, pulling at the handle.
“Try the wires,” you said immediately.
Your dad had taught you how to Hotwire back when you were a kid.
You knew all too well how this worked.
Daryl yanked the car door open and crouched inside.
You, Bob, Tyreese, and Michonne pulled at the vines that covered the car's bonnet. They were stubborn, but they fell apart eventually.
“Anything?” You shouted out from the front of the car, hands settling on your hips.
“Nah,” Daryl sighed, emerging from the car. “We gotta find us a new battery.”
You huffed, moving around the building before anyone could follow you.
The way in was clear enough already. You gripped the vines and pulled at them.
“Hey!” Daryl protested, following you with the others behind him. “We don’t know what we’re dealin’ with.”
“Help me then.” Your voice was barely audible beneath your grunts.
Daryl’s eyes tracked over you once more, and then he joined you.
Then everyone else joined.
You pulled your knife out, chopping through the overgrowth aggressively; Tyreese was doing the exact same, beating down the lock on the steel door.
Aggressive. Overly so.
You were acting irrationally. You wanted out of this damn place so you could be back on the road to find those meds.
Daryl noticed, distracted, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face.
A walker shot out through the vines, gripping at the material of Daryl’s vest—he dealt with it almost immediately.
Michonne sliced through another walkers head that’d gotten too close to Bob.
You stabbed through the skull of another.
Then before you knew it, one was coming full force towards Tyreese. He didn’t let it go; in fact, he was dragging it out further.
“Tyreese let it go.” Michonne spoke from behind, sword still lifted.
He didn’t listen.
“Ty!” Daryl shouted.
The walker collapsed on top of him, pushing him to the ground.
You moved to help, but Daryl got there before you, yanking the walker back by the hem of its shirt.
Bob lifted his gun to shoot, but you took the kill rather, pushing your boot down hard into the walkers head, crushing it in one.
“Why didn’t you let go?” Michonne questioned Tyreese sternly.
No response.
Daryl’s eyes moved towards your own face, still catching his breath.
He wanted to say something, you could tell, but instead, he pushed a new arrow through his crossbow and moved with Bob towards the inside of the garage.
You knew that look didn’t mean any good.
You stayed back, helping Tyreese and Michonne pull the remaining vines from the car front.
They were bickering back and forth about what’d just happened with Tyreese back there.
You weren’t listening anyway, too busy with the task in hand.
“And you,” Michonne spoke, dragging your attention away from the car.
You looked at her, waiting for her to scold you too.
“The hell were you thinking walking over there like that without knowing what you were dealing with?”
“I was doing what needed to be done.” You spoke plainly.
Michonne sighed.
“You keep doing things like that and you’ll get yourself injured again.”
Her voice was calmer now, less stern.
You knew she was worried; she was worried about all of you.
You turned your attention back towards the car, dragging more growth out.
“I’m fine, Michonne.”
And that was that.
By the time Daryl and Bob got back with the battery, you were sat on the ground with your back against the wall.
Daryl didn’t even look at you.
He was probably thinking the exact same as what Michonne had spoke to you about.
You sighed.
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and then finally faced you.
“Ya still got that light?”
You raised an eyebrow, confused as to why he was suddenly asking you for a lighter now.
“Where’s yours?”
He didn’t answer for a moment.
A beat.
“Lost it.”
You didn’t move for a moment, eyes just watching him closely.
Daryl losing his lighter? Not like him.
Then you reached into your pocket, fingers catching on the photograph before you pulled the lighter he’d given you out, throwing it towards him.
He caught it and flicked it on, covering the flame with his hand, smoke flying from the burning end.
He chucked the lighter back towards you. You caught it.
Your eyes moved from him then to Bob, then back to him.
“Any of you guys have a spare smoke?”
Daryl threw you a cigarette from his pocket; it was slightly bent but still usable.
“Thanks.”
You flickered the lighter on.
The smell of tobacco filled the air around you, a wisp of grey smoke brushing against your skin.
Nobody spoke for a minute.
Daryl flipped the car bonnet and got to work fitting the battery. Bob was leaning against the wall smoking.
Your eyes panned towards Daryl. The silence from him wasn’t the usual kind; it was driven by something.
“Are you mad at me now?” You muttered, eyes staying on the side of Daryl’s face.
He stilled; you could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, and then—
He turned his head towards you rather than the engine.
“Ain’t mad at you,” he spoke dryly, voice slightly muffled due to the cigarette hanging at the corner of his lips. “Just gotta stop doin’ stupid shit.”
You huffed, taking a drag from the stick.
“I wasn’t being stupid.”
“Ya were,” Daryl finalised. “Runnin’ off like that just then. That’s stupid.”
You rolled your eyes, looking towards the ground. You couldn’t argue with him; he was right. Michonne was right too.
Stupid.
Everything around you went quiet.
You could hear Bob and Daryl talking about something, but their voices were distant, far away.
You were ruminating.
Everyone seemed to always say the same thing about you: how you did things so rationally, how stubborn you were.
It was always the same.
The engine coming to life snapped you back to reality, dragging you away from your thoughts completely.
The veterinary college was no piece of cake; it was over run—as expected—but you still managed to find what you needed.
The car ride on the way back was the worst.
It was deafeningly silent.
The sun was falling, and outside was a setting doused in low exposure.
Daryl was pissed at Bob after he’d caught him lugging around a bottle of alcohol in his bag rather than filling up on meds.
You were in the passenger seat; Daryl was driving. Tyreese, Bob, and Michonne were in the back.
You pulled the glovebox open out of sheer attempts to distract yourself from the high tensions between all of you.
Whoever’s car this belonged to before sure had good music taste.
You pulled a CD out of its case, hand trailing over the graphic design on the front.
Daryl's eyes flickered towards you; you didn’t look at him, you were too busy scanning through the track list.
“Why don’t ya try it?” Daryl muttered, his voice still rough but slightly reigned in.
Your head spun towards him at that. He wasn’t even paying attention to the road ahead, just busy glancing between the CD and your…face.
“You think the stereo works?”
“Try it.” Daryl repeated gruffly, eyes tracking over your face once more before he turned away.
You pushed the CD into the stereo, pressing play.
The static answered you at first, loud and obnoxious. Your expression was riddled with one of disappointment.
“I guess no music today then.” Michonne chimed in.
And then, you could hear the bass filter through the speakers, then a voice.
“Holy shit!” You chuffed, turning the volume up.
Michonne chuckled from the back seat.
“Hell yeah.” Daryl nodded.
You hadn’t heard music in a hot minute; music was your life before the apocalypse, and hearing it now after so long just felt like a complete breath of fresh air.
You were smiling ear to ear, and an unusual feeling riddled you: happiness.
After everything, after everything that was to come, it finally felt like a break.
The sun dipped fully now, the darkness surrounding you at all angles, the only light visible being the one emitting from the moon.
You could see the gates of the prison just up ahead. The gate opened, and Daryl hit the gas pedal harder this time, a sense of urgency in the way he was driving now.
The respite you’d felt early soon fluttered away as soon as the car pulled up outside of the prison.
The fences were holding on for dear life, the wooden beams supporting them now lying prone on the ground.
There had been a breach whilst you’d been gone.
You pushed out, pulling your bag off your shoulders and giving it to Tyreese.
“Get in there. We got this,” Daryl urged Tyreese and Bob.
Daryl and Michonne rushed towards the left-side fences; you rushed towards the right side with Rick.
You pushed the wooden beams that had become sloppy back into stiff, secure position.
“Is everyone safe?” You spoke through breathlessness, struggling slightly as you pushed a beam upward.
“Everyone’s fine.” Rick replied.
“Carol? Carl? Maggie? Hershel?” Your eyes moved towards his face, pressing further. “Are they okay?”
“Carl, Maggie, and Hershel are fine.” Rick grunted, pushing the last beam into place.
“And…Carol?” You spoke quietly, stepping back from the fences.
He didn’t answer at first; he didn’t even look up at you.
You could feel the dread creeping into your gut.
“Rick…?”
A beat.
“She killed Karen and David.” He spoke finally, eyes meeting yours then. “I had to send her away.”
“What?” You nearly choked on your own breath.
He sighed.
“She’s got supplies. She’s got a car. She’ll be okay out there.”
“You just left her?” Your brows furrowed, and your heart was beating tenfold.
Carol may have done wrong, but she was still your friend.
A good friend.
“I couldn’t have her here.” Rick snapped, frustration almost bubbling over the surface.
You scoffed, stepping back slightly.
A walker groaned by the fence. You pulled your knife out and stabbed it clean through the eyes.
“You better get some rest.” He muttered.
You didn’t respond.
A beat.
Then he turned away and headed back towards the prison, leaving you outside alone with what had just been said.
Carol was gone. You wanted to go out there and find her, but that, again, was another irrational thought.
People needed you here.
“This part secure?” Michonne spoke from behind you.
“Yeah.” You uttered, wiping your blade on the material of your pants. “Clear.”
“You okay?” she questioned.
You turned.
They were both looking at you now.
Daryl and Michonne.
You hesitated, eyes flickering away from them and towards the gravel below your boots.
“Rick sent Carol away.”
Your eyes flickered to Daryl's. His jaw tightened almost instantly.
“What?”
His words came out rough, sharper than usual.
“…she killed Karen and David.”
A/N: I hope you enjoyed lovelies!
Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist!💋
Warnings!!: slow burn, reader is an adult!!, mentions of character death, gore, mentions of trauma, mature themes, strong language, angst, hurt/comfort, reader is extremely confused with her feelings😭
Summary:
(You had insisted that Daryl Dixon was, in fact, an asshole. But when it mattered most, it seemed he was always the first there—and that left your mind all over the damn place.)
A/N: listened to the tlou soundtrack whilst writing this and it was literally the perfect combination. I hope you enjoy lovelies!
The following morning was like a breath of fresh air, not in the literal sense of the phrase but in the sense that some of your restrictions had worn off.
No more standing still waiting for your healing to suffice. No more watching people risk themselves while you stood sweetly doing laundry or watching from the tower above.
Freedom.
If you could even class it as that.
“You gonna go on a run today?” Maggie fell into step beside you as you headed outside. “Daddy said he cleared you.”
You giggled, turning your head towards her as your steps fell in sync.
“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes scanning the lot. “Might go solo.”
Maggie looked at you as though you’d just said the worst thing you could’ve.
“Solo?”
“Mhm.”
“I don’t think Rick’ll be happy about that,” She scanned over your face; she was worried about you, you could tell. “With your leg an’ all.”
You were getting ticked off by the number of people questioning you.
Hershel cleared you. That was all there was to it.
Way to ruin the mood.
“Rick can’t stop me,” you finalised. “It’s not like he’s going to say no if I bring things back either.”
Maggie sighed.
“I can go with you…”
“No, Maggie,” you said, shaking your head and stilling your steps. “People only go on runs with others when they know they’ll run into something bad.”
Maggie’s eyes tracked over your face.
“I’m going on a short run as reinforced by your dad,” you said. “No need for backup when I’ve got my gun and two working legs.”
She went to speak, but she stopped herself at your stubbornness.
You knew what she would’ve said anyway.
“Plus,” you started. “I’m sure Glenn would want to tag along with you if you did come anyway and…I’m not about to be a third wheel on my first run back.”
She chuckled at that.
“Fine.”
You squinted your face at her jokingly.
“Gonna head to fence duty for a while.”
“Alright,” she nodded. “It’s really nice having you back out here.”
You shot her a smile before saying your goodbyes, turning on your heel and stalking your way up to the fence.
You got a few smiles on your way up there; it seemed like people really did miss having you out in the yard after your accident.
You took your usual spot on the fence away from prying eyes and lingering questions.
“What an ugly bastard—” you muttered, taking out the walker in question, wiping the remnants of its brain clean of your knife and onto your pants.
You took four more walkers out.
Four.
And then you spotted Rick talking with Daryl and Tyreese by the pigpen.
You may as well tell him you’d be going on a run now.
You made your way over, boots heavy against the floor, arms crossed over your chest.
“I’m going on a run today.” You interrupted their conversation—not on purpose; you just wanted to make your point clear as soon as you could.
Rick looked at you.
Then Tyreese.
Then Daryl.
You didn’t even look Daryl straight in the eye; you’d actually had time to have a deep think about his actions.
The avoidance, and then suddenly jumping to help you?
That pissed you off.
“You’re goin’ with these two, if you’re goin’ anywhere.” Rick stated.
“No, I’m not.” Your words came out fast. “I’m going on my own.”
“Ain’t safe out there.” Daryl uttered, eyes practically glued on yours.
“Yeah, well,” your eyes flickered to Daryl’s for a brief moment. “Did everything out there alone before I got here. I know how to handle myself.”
“Ain’t like that now.” Daryl spoke again, his voice rougher this time.
Tyreese didn’t speak a word.
Rick was already sighing, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What are you, hm?” You raised your brows at him, eyes fully on his now. “You my chaperone now or something? That’s funny, Daryl, because it’s not like you cared at all before.”
Daryl went to speak, but Rick cut him off instantly.
“Quit it.”
“No!” You raised your voice. “I’m sick of everyone treating me as though I’m some kind of fucking child!”
Rick looked at you properly then, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed.
“Nobody’s doing that.” Rick stressed.
You shook your head.
“You’re doing it right now.”
A beat.
“She’ll be fine Rick,” Tyreese finally cut in. “She’s a tracker. She knows the route and she’s got a gun.”
You nodded at Tyreese, thankful for his backup.
Rick sighed once more, already knowing nothing would be stopping you getting offsite.
“You better be back before night if you’re goin’.”
“I will.”
And then that was it; you didn’t even wait for another word; you just went.
You grabbed your gun from your cell, your satchel, extra ammo from storage, and a new silencer for your weapon.
“You going on a run?” Carl questioned as you made your way outside.
“Yeah,” you smiled at him, not slowing down.
You wanted out as soon as you could; you needed a break from everyone.
“Don’t die out there!” He shouted out from behind you, his voice carrying through the wind.
You chuckled to yourself.
“I won't, Carl! I won’t!”
The gates opened, and you were soon stalking your way toward the forest.
Glenn covered you from the tower as you walked, taking out the walkers that moved your way.
The leaves crunched beneath your boots, and the wind brushed through your hair.
You weren’t exactly tracking anything in particular; you just knew exactly where your feet were taking you.
Your old camp.
You knew there would still be supplies out there, and you were certain the walkers would’ve drifted elsewhere after they’d eaten their way through your old friends.
It was bittersweet, really.
You missed them.
A walker stumbled out of the brush, grumbling loudly; you took it out without even looking at it.
Then it felt like the whole world went silent.
That’s what you wanted. You wanted the peace, the solitude.
But the silence only meant bad.
You kept moving.
Your camp was a long way out, and if you wanted to get there and back by dusk, you had to be fast.
You just need to make a quick pit stop first.
A cabin sat just ahead of you; you’d seen it many times before, but you were much too weak to even attempt to search it.
Guess now was the time.
Your hand snaked around the handle, turning it slightly.
It opened with a creak.
You entered.
The smell was stale and pungent, attacking your senses all in one.
You pushed through anyway.
You flicked through the cabinets; most of it had already been picked over, but there were still a few tins stacked underneath the faucet.
You pushed them into your satchel and continued searching.
The rest of the place was empty; you’d gotten lucky finding those tins.
You moved towards the door you came in through, pushing it open whilst fiddling with the strap on your bag.
You didn’t even notice the walker stumbling towards you.
Too distracted.
It made a moaning noise, and that’s when your eyes finally picked up. You frantically drew your weapon to shoot, but before you could—
Somebody had taken it out clean through the eyeball for you.
You froze as the walker dropped in front of you, an arrow straight through its skull.
An arrow.
You knew whose arrow almost immediately.
You exhaled through your nose, eyes scanning the area.
“You following me now?” You shouted out.
No answer.
A beat.
“Just leave me alone, Daryl.” You rolled your eyes, stepping over the dropped body and continuing on your commute.
“Rick sent me.” He emerged from behind a tree, crossbow still raised.
You glanced at him for a minute before you turned again, keeping your distance from him.
“So you’ve been following me my whole time out here?”
“Ain’t followin’ you.” He grunted, trailing you slowly.
“So what are you doing then?” You faced him, eyes widening.
“M’followin’ Rick’s orders.”
“Bullshit.” You spat, hands gripping the sides of your pants so hard your knuckles turned white.
“It ain't.” He spoke back, jaw tightening.
You scoffed, turning away from him.
He still followed. Leaves crunching beneath his feet with every step he made.
“You know what's funny?” you called over your shoulder. “Nobody cared what I did before my injury.”
Daryl's expression darkened.
“That ain't true.”
“Really?”
You spun around again.
His eyes flickered away for half a second at that, but you caught it.
Another beat.
“And now you want to stand on some fucking moral high ground?” You raised your voice, words coming out sharp.
“The hell's that suppose’ to mean?” His own tone rose now, voice gruff.
“You know exactly what it means.”
“I ain’t on no damn moral high ground!” He seethed. “You don’t know what the hell yer talkin’ about!”
“Really?” you hissed.
His temper flared.
“Ain’t my fault ya got some suicide wish comin’ out here alone!”
You looked at him, brows furrowing; somewhere deep down, that statement hurt.
Hurt enough to knock the fight out of you.
“Just go back, Daryl.” You sighed, turning and making your way back through the leaves.
He waited a beat and then—
He was back on you like a damn fly.
You didn’t want to speak anymore. Neither did he.
You walked in utter silence for the rest of your journey, and then, you spotted it: your old camp.
The tents had dipped to the floor a long while ago, you could tell. The wood centered in the middle had gone completely black, the smell of ash flickering through the air.
You could feel your chest begin to ache seeing it all again.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself forward; everything felt ten times harder being out here after you’d built the courage to finally come back.
It didn’t feel fair, you being here and them not.
Maybe it should’ve been you.
Your boots carried you further to what used to be your tent. Most of it had collapsed inward, the canvas rotted from the months of rain it had endured before finally giving up.
You crouched beside it anyway, fingers lifting the material up slightly to peer under.
Your hands brushed against everything, unsure of what they were looking for exactly.
Then they skimmed over a canvas.
A photograph of you and your dog from back home, back home when everything was okay.
You had carried it everywhere with you; you only lost it when your camp went downhill.
You stared at it, chest aching so violently that you could have thrown up.
Daryl noticed.
“'Ey.”
You didn't answer.
“'Ey.” He repeated, nudging your foot gently with the toe of his boot.
Your eyes never left the photograph.
The edges were worn soft from years of being folded and unfolded, carried from place to place.
“I found him when I was fifteen,” you murmured. “Someone left him half-starved on the damn side of the road.”
Daryl stayed quiet.
You weren't even sure why you were talking. You didn’t elaborate further.
The silence stretched.
The camp suddenly felt too small.
Empty.
Dead.
“They're all dead.” Your voice was hoarse as you tried to stop yourself from crying.
Daryl's gaze shifted from you to the collapsed tents.
“Ain’t on you.” His tone was calmer now, less aggravated than before.
You looked back down at the photograph, a lone tear splashing against the image.
Daryl pretended not to notice; you couldn’t tell if that was better or worse.
Probably better.
“C'mon.” He tapped you gently on your shoulder.
His touch was almost…grounding.
“What?” You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.
“We ain't gettin' back 'fore dark if ya sit here all day.”
You looked at him.
He looked back.
“Take the picture.”
You didn’t hesitate, folding the photograph carefully and slipping it into your pocket.
Then you stood, collecting yourself.
“Check the tents,” you started, wiping at your eyes again. “I’m sure there will be stuff still in them.”
His eyes tracked over yours for a moment before he nodded.
You ended up managing to find about a dozen unopened tins, some bandages that had survived the mold, and some unopened bottles of water.
Then—
You left.
Dusk had already started to fall, settling slowly over the trees.
You and Daryl walked in silence.
The argument from earlier had burnt itself out now, and the silence was simply because neither of you knew what to say.
It seemed you never knew what to say to him, and he, vice versa.
The photograph sat folded inside your pocket, fingers touching it through the material of your pants every so often to make sure it was still there.
Your foot stubbed against a fallen branch that you’d failed to see in the dark.
Your leg protested immediately.
Not enough to stop you but enough to remind you that you were still, in fact, injured.
Daryl's eyes flickered downward. You noticed.
“I'm fine.” You muttered.
“Ain't say nothin’.” He grunted.
“You were thinking it.”
“Nah.” He spoke, eyes glancing over towards you.
A lie; you could tell.
You rolled your eyes, focus returning towards the route ahead.
A few minutes passed before you spoke again.
“I forgot what this felt like.” You said quietly, the hoarseness still evident in your voice but less so than before.
“What?” He questioned, eyes moving to the side of your face.
“Being out here.”
Your eyes tracked over the woods around you.
“The quiet.”
A beat.
“Everything at the prison's so...” you started, trying to find the right word. “Loud.”
Daryl huffed softly through his nose, an agreement almost; at least, it sounded like one.
You glanced at him.
“You get it.”
“'Course I do.”
That was probably the most obvious thing he'd said all day.
You smiled despite yourself.
You spotted movement between the trees before Daryl did, hand instantly moving towards your gun.
A walker: It’s body half-rotted, a limp in its walk, and a groan coming from its mouth.
You drew your gun.
Before you could aim, Daryl's hand briefly caught your forearm.
The contact surprised both of you, his grip dropping almost immediately.
“I got it.” He whispered.
You blinked.
The walker barely had time to turn before Daryl’s knife buried itself in its skull. Its body dropped, hitting the forest floor with a thump.
Daryl wiped the blade against his pant leg, blood staining the material.
You stared at him.
“Whatcha starin’ at ?” His eyes raised from his knife to you.
You didn’t even know yourself why you were staring.
“Nothing.” You shook your head, moving without waiting for him.
A few steps later, he fell into pace beside you again, kicking at rocks that lay in his path.
You adjusted the strap of your satchel higher onto your shoulder.
After another minute, Daryl spoke.
“That picture.” He pointed lazily towards your pocket, eyes not bothering to look at you.
You blinked.
“What about it?”
“The dog.”
Your hand instinctively moved to your pocket; you hadn’t expected him to bring it up.
“What about him?”
Daryl shrugged.
“What was S’name?”
“Rocky.” Your voice broke slightly.
Daryl nodded once.
Your eyes lingered on the side of his face, brows furrowing slightly.
Confused.
Nobody had ever confused you as much as Daryl did.
Your eyes moved away after a moment, and when they did, they were met with the dark outlining of the prison tower and then the prison in whole.
Carl's voice echoed faintly through the distance. “They’re back!”
You laughed.
“Damn kid.” Daryl muttered under his breath at the pure loudness of Carl’s voice.
The gates opened slowly.
You entered, a whole hoard of people gathering around the gate like it was a ‘welcome home party.’
Maggie's eyes immediately dropped to your leg. “How's it feel?”
“It’s fine.”
Glenn moved over to take part of the supplies from your bag.
“Damn.” His eyebrows rose.
“Found my old camp.” You shrugged, words coming out flatter than you’d intended.
Glenn's smile faded slightly; Maggie’s did too, but neither of them pushed.
They understood that it was still raw for you.
Tyreese took a few of the tins. “Good haul.”
“Yeah.”
“Daryl helped—”
You cut yourself short realising Daryl wasn’t beside you anymore.
Your eyes panned to your left, then your right, looking for him, but—
He was already about twenty feet away from you now. His crossbow slung over his shoulder.
You just started.
Watched.
The yard slowly dispersed around you.
Carl lingered a second longer than everyone else.
“You didn’t die. That’s good.”
“Told you I wouldn’t.” You snorted.
His grin widened before he jogged away, probably to find his dad.
After that, you were left standing by the gate alone, gaze drifting over the darkened lot.
You huffed, making your way through the yard and towards your cell.
The days began flying by like clockwork after that night; everything just seemed to have fallen into place.
Except…
You still couldn’t make your mind up on Daryl. You’d been thinking about him a lot more than you would’ve liked to admit, and that freaked you out.
Were you civil or were you not?
Beth had made a tally chart, something about how many days camp had gone without an accident; you found it sweet, honestly. At least someone had hope in such dark times.
You woke later than you usually did that morning.
Clearly, you needed the rest.
You ran a hand over your face, groaning as you always did; the cell mattress really wasn’t doing any favours for your back, but you couldn’t complain.
Your eyes flickered over the cell. The photograph you’d retrieved from your old camp sat on a small, wooden, makeshift table. You picked it up and placed it straight into your back pocket.
You told Carol that you’d help her cook some deer meat that Daryl had caught on a run yesterday.
You stalked through the corridor, completely passing each cell.
Then, you stopped and turned around.
Beth’s cell.
You wanted to see what day you were on without an ‘accident.’
She was lying on her bed reading some kind of old magazine when you knocked against the metal bars.
“Hi Beth.” You smiled gently. “Just wanted to check in on what day we were on without an accident in camp.”
Her eyes flickered up from the magazine towards the tally chart.
“It’s been thirty days!” She couldn’t hold back her smile.
“Great.” You nodded. “See you around Beth.”
Then you were off again, making your way outside.
You rounded a corner, and the only smell that hit you was that damn deer meat.
Carol had started without you.
“Carol!” You groaned, hands situating themselves atop of your hips. “I was supposed to be helping you with that!”
She chuckled slightly, turning towards you.
“I didn’t want to wake you because I know you needed the sleep,” she started. “And Patrick’s been helping me.”
“You should’ve woken me up, Carol.”
You huffed.
“Too late.” She lengthened the words out, a hint of amusement in her tone.
You weren’t impressed.
You pulled a piece of meat off the bone and popped it into your mouth.
It was good.
Surprisingly so.
“Good.” You pressed your lips into a thin line, too stubborn to admit that the food was actually nice when you didn’t have a hand in cooking it.
Carol looked like she was about to scold you. Half serious, half not.
“What?” You raised a brow. “I said it’s good…”
“It’s your tone.” She spoke, amusement riddled in her voice.
You rolled your eyes, popping another piece of deer into your mouth before you rested against the edge of the wooden table.
“There supposed to be a run today?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Carol nodded. “You wanna go?”
“Wanted to.” Your eyes flickered away from carols and over the lot. “Also need a new lighter, might be one there.”
“Well, why don’t you ask Daryl?” She uttered, her voice barely audible now from the background chatter.
“Where is he right now?” You didn’t face Carol, distracted by the movement near the fence lines.
“Right there.” She muttered.
You turned almost immediately, and funnily enough, Daryl was standing right behind you, picking off pieces of meat from the tray.
He seemed to have a thing for staying as quiet as humanly possible when in your presence.
Why? You had no clue.
You were also certain Carol had picked up on your behaviour around one another. Maybe you were overthinking it.
“Ya wanna go on the run?” He lowered his head slightly, the gruffness in his voice evident.
He was there the whole damn time and didn’t even think to say a word.
“Yeah,” your eyes met his. “When are you leaving?”
“Soon.”
You studied him for a moment before you spoke.
“Gonna go get my stuff then.”
He grunted, turning back towards Carol.
“Uh,” you scratched the top of your head, eyes moving back towards Carol. “I’ll see you later, Carol.”
You didn’t want to intrude any further, so you just headed back inside to get your things.
You happened to be the last one out; it seemed like everyone was waiting on you.
“Shit,” you placed your rifle into the back of the truck, then your satchel. “Sorry.”
“You ready to go?” Sasha spoke, arm braced on the open door of one of the cars.
“Yeah.”
Then, you were on the road.
Bob was on your left; Michonne was on your right—she’d volunteered last minute to go on the run.
“Be careful this time,” Michonne uttered to you. “We don’t need you injured again.”
“I’ll be careful.” You smiled, hands drumming against your thighs.
You were stressed. Anxious. Paranoid: This was your first major run since the injury.
“Listen,” Michonne whispered, nudging you slightly on your arm. “You’ll be good out there. You always are.”
“She’s right.” Glenn added from the front seat.
“Thank you, guys,” you started. “But…please don’t get all soppy on me.”
That got a few chuckles.
You’d be fine. Hopefully.
The area looked mostly clear when you arrived. Sasha had lured the hoards away a few days early with a boombox.
This place looked like some kind of military setup: tents, flags, trucks.
Guess none of them were so lucky.
Daryl banged against the glass of the storefront.
“Jus’ give it a second.”
“Okay, I think I got it.” Zach chuffed, leaning against a brick wall.
You raised an eyebrow, confused as to what on earth he was talking about.
“Got what?” Michonne questioned.
“Oh, I’ve been trying to guess what Daryl did before the turn.” Zach turned, looking at Michonne for a second before sitting on the brick edge.
“He’s been tryin’ ta guess for like six weeks.” Daryl added.
You glanced briefly between Zach and Daryl and then Michonne, trying your hardest to remain composed.
“What’s your conclusion then, Zach?”
A beat.
“Well, the way you are at the prison,” Zach started. “You being on the council, you’re able to track, you’re helping people, but you’re still being kind of…”
Zach searched for the word.
“Surly.”
Surly was right.
You narrowed your eyes, falling into place beside Michonne, both of you waiting for what would be said next.
“Big swing here,” Zach continued. “Homicide cop.”
Michonne laughed at that.
Your eyes widened immediately, a smirk spreading over your lips. “Oh, I think you’ve got it spot on there, Zach.”
Sarcastic.
Daryl knew that tone in your voice all too well, and he shot you a glare in return, but it didn’t carry any malice.
“The man’s right.” Daryl nodded his head, eyes lingering on yours. “Undercover.”
“Come on, man,” Zach responded, completely oblivious to what was going on. “Really?”
“Yup,” Daryl’s eyes moved from yours and then towards the space ahead of him. “I don’t like ta talk about it ‘cause it was a lot of heavy shit, y’know.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” You shot out, lips pressing into a thin line.
You saw Daryl’s lips flicker into something more than the usual scold at that.
Then he composed himself and looked away.
“Dude, come on, really?” Zach pressed again, still unaware.
Daryl turned towards him, finally done with the questions.
That was all the answer that Zach needed to know that Daryl was a complete bullshitter.
“Okay.” Zach nodded to himself, clearly disappointed that he didn’t get it. “I’ll keep guessing, I guess.”
Daryl cleared his throat.
“Yeah, ya keep doin’ that.”
You chuckled to yourself, as did Michonne.
And then, as if the world had a strict agenda against laughing, a walker bashed against the window inside.
It almost made you jump. Almost.
Daryl stood up at that, crossbow tight in his grip.
“We’re gonna do this, detective?” Michonne joked, readying her sword.
“Let’s do it.”
Everyone filed through, taking out the walkers one by one; they never stood a chance against all of you.
You separated from the others, eyes scanning over the tills, looking for a new lighter, but to no avail.
Nothing.
Guess you’d have to wait for another run to find one.
You picked up a few things you thought useful and shoved them into your satchel.
You adjusted it.
Then a crash.
Your head rose immediately, jogging towards the source. A wine shelf had collapsed, trapping Bob underneath.
You rushed over, as did Daryl.
“Shit!” You yelped, crouching down.
“You cut or somethin’?” Daryl asked.
“No man!” Bob panicked. “But my foot is caught!”
The ceiling groaned above you; your head snapped towards it and then…
It caved.
A walker came through it, swinging on the metal structure after it had gotten caught on its own guts.
“We should probably go now!” Glenn spoke with urgency.
“Get Bob!” Daryl shouted, readying himself for the fallout, crossbow raised.
Then havoc broke out; several walkers piled through the ceiling, hitting the ground violently.
You fired immediately, as did everyone else.
One walker dropped.
Then another.
The ceiling groaned again, another pile of walkers collapsing through.
There were too many of them.
A walker fell straight on top of you from the roof above, trapping you under its body, knocking your weapon straight from your hands.
You pushed at its head, fingers sinking into the mushy flesh, but it didn’t give.
“Fuck,”
A blade sunk through its brains, the sharp end just mere inches from your face: Michonne.
“You okay?”
She pushed the walker from you, extending her arm out to pull you up.
“You get bit?”
“No—no, I’m fine.”
She yanked you up, stabbing another walker straight through the eyes after you were on your feet.
“Everyone move!” Sasha yelled.
“Get Bob!” Zach shouted, firing his gun.
Daryl threw his crossbow over his shoulder, grabbing the edge of the shelf.
Zach joined him. As did you.
You planted your boots, pain shooting up your closed wound; you ignored it completely.
The shelf shifted.
Daryl dragged Bob out, pushing him to his feet.
“Get out now!” Michonne shouted with urgency.
You ran, falling into place beside the others.
Zach didn’t move, a scream tearing through his throat.
You turned, eyes widening in horror, watching as a walker chomped straight through his leg.
Everything stilled around you, noise pitching out.
“Zach!” Glenn shouted.
You froze up completely.
“Go!” Daryl barked, grabbing your arm and hauling you out of the way.
The ceiling caved completely, dust spilling from whatever had fallen through it.
You moved fast, but your brain hadn’t caught up as quickly as your feet did.
Zach was there a minute ago, and now he was being mauled. You had all left him there to be turned into one of those…
Monsters.
The guilt crept into your stomach, knocking the air straight from your lungs.
You didn’t even register anything else until you were back at camp.
You gave your supplies to Glenn and moved in silence towards the fences.
You needed to keep your mind busy.
Your knife moved through the gaps messily. Not as professional as you usually were.
“You good?” A voice beckoned from behind you. Southern—flat.
You knew who it was: Daryl.
“Fine.” You lowered your knife, turning towards him. “You?”
He nodded in response. You could tell he wasn’t as ‘good’ as he claimed. You didn’t question it.
“I—uh,” you sighed, scratching the back of your neck. “I keep having to thank you for things, but I just wanted to say thanks…for pulling me out back there.”
Another nod.
“You gonna tell Beth?” You questioned.
“Yeah,” he grunted.
A beat.
Daryl reached into his vest pocket, pulling something out; you barely paid attention until he held the thing towards you.
A lighter.
He wiggled it impatiently.
“Take it.”
You stared at it before taking it from his hand, rolling the cogs to see if the gas still worked.
It ignited.
“Where'd you get this?” You questioned, hand tracing over the engravings over the casing.
“The store.”
You looked at him, really looked at him this time.
“You hear me speaking to Carol about it?” You tilted your head slightly.
He just looked at you. No response. No nod. No grunt.
That spoke words. He had heard you.
“Well, thank you, Daryl,” you spoke quietly. “Again.”
“Ain’t nothin’.”
You slipped the lighter into your pocket beside the photograph of your dog.
Somebody called you from in the distance, dragging your attention away from him.
A beat.
“I’ll see you later, Dixon.”
You didn’t even mean to call him by his second name; it just slipped out before you could even stop yourself.
He grunted.
That was goodbye enough.
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed!!
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