[dvrylgal]

take your ass back to On Golden Pond...

𖤐 dana! 9teen. she/her. brownskin. jersey girl. daryl's wife. twd enthusiast. ask me anything <3.

𖤐 frvnkiedoll side blog. 16+ content. but i am, again, too lazy to be checkin' for you. i don't write none of that scat, piss, bdsm, pedophile, threesome shit so don't ask. this is my daryl blog 'cause i fuckin' love daryl.

[dvrylgal]

Helloooo hope your doing well! Don’t mean to pry or anything, but I really wanted to know if we’re getting a new chapter soon? It’s one of my favorite series and I really miss them 😭

Anyway, love your writing! Hope you doing well! Bye bye 🖤

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter fourteen𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: daryl doesn't trust one of the prisoners as far as he can throw him, especially when he looks at you like that... too bad his suspicions are correct.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist,

a/n: haven't written slow burn in so long. im currently dying

After situating Hershel with the others, Rick quickly moved on to deal with the prisoners.

They made it abundantly clear that they weren't leaving anytime soon, so he made a proposition.

Give us half your supply of food, and we'll help you clear out another cell block.

Though, once the block was cleared, they would have to stay there and steer clear for the rest of their days.

They agreed, reluctantly, which brought the warring sides to this dimly lit room, weapons laid all out on the table—literally.

"Why do I need this when I got this?" Tomas—the long-haired prisoner—asked, cocking a brow as he picked up a crowbar and his pistol.

"You don't fire guns," Daryl emphasized, voice low and sharp. "Not 'less your back's up against a wall."

He was less than thrilled about this team-up, and made no attempt to pretend otherwise.

"Noise attracts 'em. Really riles 'em up."

Rick swiped a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh, "We'll go in two by two. Daryl will run point with (y/n). I'll bring up the rear with you," he pointed toward Andrew—the smallest prisoner.

Slowly, his gaze shifted toward the rest of the group.

"Stay tight, hold formation. No matter how close the walkers get. Anyone breaks ranks, we could all go down. Anyone runs off, they could get mistaken for a walker, and end up with an ax to the head."

"And that's where you aim," Daryl chimed, "These things only go down with a head shot."

"You ain't gotta tell us how to take out a man," Tomas scoffed.

"No son hombres," you stated, glare lasered in on him. "Son otra cosa."

Pleasantly surprised, the man cracked a faint smirk, the others completely taken aback—Daryl especially.

'Where the hell did she learn t'speak Spanish?'

"Así que hablas?" he asked, unable to muffle the odd grin on his face. "Como aprendiste?"

"He trabajado con tipos como tú antes. Sé cómo piensas."

"Qué estoy pensando ahora?"

His eyes slowly trailed from your face to your chest, his thoughts not at all hard to guess.

But you didn't take the bait.

"Nos pones en peligro allí... te mataré donde estés," you warned, tone ice cold and leaving no room for argument. "No creas que no lo haré."

At your threat, he smirked once again, though held up his hands in surrender.

"Whatever you say, lady."

"Just remember to go for the brain," Rick cut through, wary of the exchange as his eyes flicked from you to him. 

You let out a sharp huff, brows furrowed as you harshly tucked your tomahawk in your belt loop, starting off into the cell block.

The bastard gave you a bad feeling, far more than any of the others did.

Apocalypse be damned, they were in prison for a reason, and you didn't trust any of them as far as you could throw.

And if you only looked back, you could've seen how right you were.

Tomas watched you walk away with a hungry, dangerous look, his gaze shamelessly raking over your body with boldly devious intent.

Rick was too distracted to notice... but Daryl saw it plain and simple.

Instantly, an intense urge to shoot the man gripped his chest, his every instinct yelling at him to jump across the table and do away with the problem himself before he did something irreversible.

Daryl knew you were a inherently sweet girl—despite how much you tried to play it off—and thusly felt infuriated by the blatant perversion.

The reason? 

He had no idea.

Though, it probably had something to do with the fluttering, warm, twisting feeling you had been giving him for damn near a whole year.

Even still, he was quick to follow behind you, making a point to stop right next to Tomas, voice perilously low.

"I know what yer thinkin'... an' ya better un-think it 'fore I knock yer head off yer shoulders."

"Man, it's too damn dark in here," Big Tiny—the largest prisoner—hissed at his flashlight.

"Gotta hold it up high out in fronta you," Daryl suggested, leading the pack. "You're gonna hear 'em before ya see 'em."

As if right on cue, a few snarls and clanks began to sound off just around the corner.

"It's coming!" Axel—the red-head—exclaimed, panicked.

Rick was quick to shush him, and you held your fist in the air, silently telling them to hold.

You waited, patiently, as one finally made it around.

Then two.

Then three.

But before you could even give the signal, all the prisoners rushed forward with loud war cries, using damn near everything to take out the small horde.

Their crowbars... their bats... hell, their shanks...

The sight was a violent one to watch, a sense of wary unease settling in your stomachs as you, Daryl, and Rick all shared one look.

'Don't know how I feel about becomin' next-door neighbors to these guys...'

Luckily, it wasn't long before they were finished, allowing you and Daryl to resume you positions at the head.

"It's gotta be the brain," he reminded, chidingly. "Not the stomach, not the heart."

Just as another walker rounded the corner, he shot it, putting it down instantly.

"The brain."

Cautiously, Oscar—one of the nicer prisoners—stepped forward, swiftly slamming his ax in the head of another walker, effectively killing it.

"Like that?"

"Uh huh."

Axel tried his hand at it, too, and so did Rick before he turned to the others with a sharp glare.

"Stay in tight formation. No more prison riot crap," he reminded, firmly.

As another small horde began to flood in, you all took his words to heart and remained in form as you knocked them down one-by-one.

Despite the melee, you made a point to keep an eye on Tomas, Daryl doing the same for entirely different reasons as he watched you and the prisoner go back to back, that clawing feeling in his stomach swiftly returning.

Though your shared watching had forced you to realize that the group had broken ranks once again, Big Tiny having been backed into a walker-infested corner.

Quickly, Rick rushed to his aid, taking out one of the creatures before Tomas drew his gun and shot the rest, the resounding noise echoing throughout the empty halls.

'What the hell is he doing?!'

"We said no gunfire," you spat, sharply, brows furrowed. "You tryna get us killed?"

"The hell else was I supposed to do? He was surrounded," Tomas rolled his eyes.

"Well, we've got bigger problems now," Rick chimed, somberly, as he examined a wound on Big Tiny's shoulder.

One of the walkers had got him.

"Aw, nah, man. It's was just a scratch."

Together, you, Daryl, and Rick all shared a knowing look, well aware of how this scenario was going to turn out.

"I'm tellin' you, I don't feel anything. It's just a scratch."

"M'sorry, man," Rick shook his head.

"I can keep fighting!"

"You cut that old guy's leg off to save his life," Andrew suddenly remembered. 

"Look at where the bite is."

"Guys, I'm fine! Look at me! I'm not changin' into one of those things."

"Look, man, there has to be something we can do," Oscar asked.

"If there was, we'd already be doin' it," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

'This is what happens when you break off from the group.'

"We could just lock him up."

"Quarantine him."

"We gotta do something! Why you just standin' there? We gotta save him!"

"There's nothing we can do," Rick repeated for the final time, slamming the nail in the coffin.

Taken aback, Andrew looked him up and down with an expression of disbelief.

"You son of a bitch..."

"I'm all ri—"

Just as Big Tiny opened his mouth, Tomas slammed his crowbar into his head, the suddenness of his movement forcing Daryl to instinctively shove you behind him.

Your eyes shot wide as the man's blood splattered everywhere, though Tomas didn't let up, continuing to wail on Big Tiny until his brains were on complete display, spilling out onto the floor.

When he finally came to a stop, he rose to his full height with a distant look on his face, his eyes cold and unfeeling as they settled on Rick.

And, for the first time in a long time, you felt a certain sense of genuine fear.

Hordes of undead? 

Sure.

Impending, inevitable death? 

No problem.

Homicidal maniacs?

'Nope.'

Without hesitation, you pressed on, wanting as much distance between him and you as possible.

'No way am I getting caught up.'

Entering through the laundry room, the lot of you had finally made it to the entrance of the next cell block, which meant it was finally time for the real work to begin.

Flippant, Rick tossed the keys at Tomas's feet, the message clear.

"I ain't openin' that," the man denied.

"Yes, you are," Rick countered. "If you want this cell block, you're gonna open that door. Just the one, not both of 'em. Because we need to control this."

Halting a moment, Tomas glanced around the room before snatching up the keys, skulking over to the doors.

He managed to unlock one after a bit of the struggle, the noise attracting a few walkers on the other side based on the snarls and growls.

"You bitches ready?" 

Everyone took position, you and Daryl posting up in the back, crossbow and regular bow at the ready.

With a large yank, he pulled open both the doors, giving the walkers a huge entry point.

"I said one door!" Rick shouted, swiftly backing up.

"Shit happens!" Tomas scoffed.

What was supposed to be a controlled extermination quickly turned into an all-out brawl, the monsters flooding in just as quick as you could draw.

Still, despite the high speed, you managed to catch a glimpse of Tomas swinging at Rick with his crowbar, before shoving a walker right into him.

"(n/n), mind the gap!" Daryl barked, rushing to his aid.

You nodded, moving to work near the door and provide some cover.

While Daryl killed the walker attacking Rick, the rest of you managed to finish off the horde, thus bringing an eerie silence over the room.

Now back on his feet, Rick was quick to stand off with the rowdy prisoner, his expression less than pleased.

"It was coming at me, bro," Tomas attempted to excuse, the crazy look in his eye easily betraying him.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Rick nodded, shifting his weight on his hips. "I get it."

For a moment he paused, a look of almost satisfaction settling on his face.

"Shit happens."

And without a second thought, he slammed his machete right into Tomas's head, putting him down in an instant.

"NO!" Andrew shouted, swiftly moving to charge at Rick with his bat.

But you were quick to shoot him in the foot, stopping him from pressing forward.

Though that didn't stop him from pressing back, the scared man turning tail and running further into the new cell block.

"I got him," Rick assured, leaving you and Daryl to guard the other two.

"Man, get down on your knees," Daryl spat, aiming at Oscar.

"We don't have no affiliation to what jus' happened!" Axel exclaimed, frantically looking over to his friend as you drew your weapon on him. "Tell 'em, Oscar!"

"Stop talkin', man," he shook his head, hands up in surrender.

It was clear that the situation had now turned three times more complicated.

And it didn't bode well for those on the opposite side.

"Jus' stop talkin."

[dvrylgal]

just like a one shot ? not sure if u take those !

depends on what you want. and how far in twd it is. my knowledge of the show doesn't go beyond s4 ep 5 or 6. so i wont be able to write anything set after that.

[dvrylgal]

hiiiii can i request a daryl fic ?

wdym? like the one I’m writing rn?

[dvrylgal]

Helloooo, I dont mean to rush you at all, please don’t hate meee. But I really wanted to know if we are getting more chapters soon? I really miss mi favorite couple!

Anyway hope you’re doing well! Thanks for writing for us!!

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter thirteen 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: after a seven month jump, the group finally manages to find shelter at a prison. and with lori's nearing due date, the timing couldn't have been better... though a band of surviving prisoners threatens to ruin everything.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

a/n: holy wow that was a long hiatus. sorry bout that. hope yall enjoy

Seven months later...

With a groan, you slid the dish onto the roof of the broken-down bus, adjusting your bow over your shoulder as a certain Georgia wild-man held out his hand, waiting for you to take it.

Quickly, your eyes flicked from his hand to his eyes, a small smirk curling onto your lips.

"Such a gentleman," you teased, tone sarcastic as he hoisted you up, carefully taking the dish of rations from your other hand. "Brought you a little something... figured you weren't gonna eat otherwise."

Daryl shrugged, shoveling some into his mouth, "Yeah, I guess lil' Shane over there's got quite the appetite."

Surprised, you let out a small snort, your chest quietly rumbling with a few chuckles.

The adorable sound brought a faint smile to the man's lips, an all-too-familiar warmth blooming in his stomach.

These past few months, he'd become well-versed in all things you, already having made the distinct observation that you had an oddly beautiful and soothing laugh.

"I will admit, Rick's gotten us farther than I ever thought," you sighed, gazing across the prison yard and toward your self-elected leader. "Farther than Shane ever could."

With a sudden hiss, your shoulders flinched, and you were quick to roll your neck in an attempt to soothe the ache.

"Whas' wrong?" Daryl asked, cocking a brow.

"Nothin' serious. I've been usin' my bow a lot lately," you groaned, hand rising to rub the area. "It wears on the shoulders after a while."

Nodding, the man took a final bite of his food before putting down the dish and dusting off his hands, "Hold on."

He motioned for you to turn around, his hands quick to find purchase on your shoulders as he did so. 

Your breath hitched, a rolling buzz radiating from the origin of his touch as his calloused fingers worked into you, soothing and massaging your sore muscles with an uncharacteristically gentle touch.

And his proximity wasn't much help.

You could feel the solid presence of him directly behind you, pressed against your back, quiet breaths fanning softly.

'Get a hold of yourself, girl...'

Though, just as quickly as he came, he left, the loss of his touch introducing an odd chill to your jacket-clad shoulders.

Coming to his senses, he cleared his throat, taking a small, tentative step back.

"Better get back," he hummed, suddenly awkward as he turned to the edge of the bus, crouching down. "I'll go down first."

Mentally whiplashed, you could only nod, unsure of what happened in the last minute to cause such a sudden change.

"Right... I'll catch up."

After clearing out the prison courtyard the next morning, and ensuring that at least one cell block was secure, the group set up camp for the night—resting before using the following day to raid the prison armory.

There, everyone re-upped on more ammo, more weapons, and new gear—leftover bullet-proof riot vests—all of which set to be used in the clearing of the rest of the walker-infested prison.

Which was why everyone, save for Carol, Lori, Beth, and Carl, was on this mission.

Together, you all followed behind Rick as he lead you through the darkness, an array of flashlights faintly illuminating the damp hallway.

Your nose scrunched as you set sights on a rather large pile of bloody viscera, the three disemboweled corrections officers lying next to it no doubt the culprits.

'Jeez...'

The place already gave you the heebie-jeebies—it had an odd resemblance to a haunted house your less-than-reputable friends used to drag you to back when you were a teen—and it only doubled down with all the creepy lighting and eerie noises.

Sure, this place could be your potential home for the foreseeable future.

But that didn't necessarily mean you had to like it.

The hiss of Glenn's spray can snatched you out of your thoughts with a flinch, forcing your shoulders to sharply tense and draw your bow even tighter than it already was.

Up ahead, Rick's flashlight settled on a nearby corpse, the flesh on its legs completely devoured.

'The hell...'

And sure enough, just as you all turned the bend, you were met with a horde of groaning walkers clad in jean blue prison jumpsuits.

"Go back! Go back!" Rick barked, the lot of you quickly turning around and rushing back the way you came.

"Move!"

"Walkers!"

"Let's go!"

"This way!" you directed, rushing to the front along with Daryl and cutting around the next corner.

Only for another horde to appear.

Swiftly, Daryl grabbed you by the back of your jacket, snatching you away from their thrashing, decaying hands before turning to join the others in following Rick down a separate hallway.

You all ran as fast as you could, managing to get who knows how far before finding an out-of-the-way spot to catch your breath.

"Where's Glenn and Maggie?" Rick asked, brows furrowed as he took a headcount.

"We have to go back," Hershel panted.

"But which way?" T-Dog asked.

Glancing around, you shined your light on the handle to a nearby door, using your foot to slowly push it open before drawing your bow, tucking your mini-flashlight in your hair.

"Best way back is forward," you whispered.

Rick nodded and took his place at the front, leading the group through the surprisingly empty corridor.

"Maggie?"

"Glenn?"

Hershel went up ahead, but just as he stepped over a corpse, it suddenly roared to life, lurching forward and taking a huge bite out of his ankle.

Terrified, he let out a blood curdling scream, calling everyone to quickly rush to his aid—even helping Glenn and Maggie find their way back.

"Oh, God!"

"Get him up!"

Quickly, you shot the walker that bit him in the face, effectively putting it down as Rick and T-Dog threw Hershel's arms over their shoulders, scooping him up.

His screams had not only attracted the others, but also alerted the hordes to your location, the lot of them already starting to straggle into the hallway.

"Move now!" you ordered, sprinting toward the front and leading the group into another narrow hallway.

The light from your flashlight managed to settle on a door at the very end of the corridor, its handles bound by a pair of handcuffs.

'Let's see what's behind door number three!'

Drawing your tomahawk from your belt loop, you gripped it tight, using your running start for power as you smashed the cuffs, swiftly kicking the door open afterward.

"Let's go! Let's go! Get in!"

You harshly ushered everyone inside before allowing Daryl and T-Dog to shut the door behind, leaving them to hold off the walkers while you set your sights on the next item on the agenda.

'That bite...'

Hershel moaned and wailed with absolute pain, Maggie all tears as she rested her father's head in her lap, utterly distraught.

Quickly, Rick rolled up the man's pant leg, revealing the nasty bite on his calf.

"Jesus Christ..."

Bending over, you snatched the belt from Hershel's pants, tying it tightly right above the wound before shifting your grip on your ax.

"Rick, hold him!" you barked, brows furrowed as you wound up your swing.

The man did so immediately, and without hesitation you cleaved Hershel's leg in two, amputating just below his knee.

Blood splattered everywhere, you and Rick becoming especially covered due to your proximity.

Though that was the least of everyone's concerns.

With Hershel having passed out from the pain, the room was left completely silent, everyone left completely stunned by what just happened.

But that silence allowed for a rustle to be heard, forcing the group to turn their sights on its source:

Five prisoners all standing wide-eyed behind the grate of the kitchen.

"Holy shit."

"Who the hell are you?" Daryl spat, eyes narrowed and crossbow aimed as he surged forward to step in front of you and the others

"Who the hell are you?" a prisoner with long, black hair fired back.

"He's bleeding out. We gotta go back," Rick stated, frantically, completely ignoring them as he turned to Glenn and Maggie. "Come around here. Put pressure on the knee. Hard, hard!"

You quickly stood to back Daryl up, not even bothering to wipe off your bloody hands as you drew your bow, brows furrowed.

"Why don't ya come on outta there?" Daryl continued, watching carefully as the entered the dining area one by one. "Slow an' steady."

"What happened to him?" the long-haired prisoner asked, nodding to Hershel.

"He got bit," you answered, curtly.

"Bit?"

His brows furrowed, and he was quick to draw a pistol from his pants.

Though T-Dog was just as quick to draw his from his spot at the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy now," Daryl warned. "Nobody needs to get hurt."

"You have medical supplies?" Glenn asked, completely bypassing the stand-off as he rushed into the back, grabbing a rolling metal cart.

"Whoa, where do you think you're going?"

"Who the hell are you people, anyway?"

Just then, the walkers' snarling began to grow louder, their banging on the door more intense.

"Don't look like no rescue team," the mustachioed, red-headed prisoner chimed.

"If a rescue team is what you're waitin' for, don't," Rick grunted as he helped Maggie scoop up Hershel, allowing Glenn to run back and push the cart under before placing him down. "Now, come on, we gotta go!"

"Holy Jesus!"

"T, the door!"

"Are you crazy?! Don't open that!"

"We got this!"

T-Dog yanked open a single door, swiftly taking out a walker in a riot suit before ushering the others out.

"Daryl! (y/n)!" Rick called, urgent.

Your eyes quickly flicked to the Georgia man, and without even trying, he could already tell what you were trying to say.

They need backup. They've only got T-Dog to protect them while they wheel the cart.

He nodded toward the door, not taking his eyes off the prisoners.

Go on ahead. I'll head up the rear.

Your lips flattened, a hint of worry flashing across your face.

But his expression remained confident, not faltering for a second.

I'll be fine. Go on. They need you.

With a sigh, you nodded, turning to run out the room and rejoin the others.

'I've got a bad feeling about this...'

[dvrylgal]

i added another section to kehetu: chapter twelve cause i didn't want chapter 13 to be only 700 words. so if you guys want context, i suggest you reread before the actual new chapter comes out.

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter twelve 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: the farm is overrun with walkers, and during the melee daryl realizes more about his feelings for you... and rick reveals a secret that has you fuming.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

a/n: next chapter might be a lil short idk

(edit: i added another section to this chapter cause i didn't wanna make the next one only 700 words ... so, yeah)

"Rick an' Shane ain't back?" Daryl asked as the two of you reentered the house, the whole gang gathered nervously around the living room. "We heard a shot."

"No," Lori denied, heart visibly dropping. "Maybe they found Randall."

"We found 'im," you corrected.

"Is he back in the shed?" Maggie chimed, stepping forward.

"He's a walker," Daryl sighed.

"Did ya find the walker that bit him?" Hershel's brows furrowed.

"He wasn't bit," you shook your head, still quite confused yourself. "His neck was broke."

"So he fought back?"

"Thing is... Shane an' Randall's tracks were right on top of each other," Daryl stated. "And Shane ain't no tracker. So he didn't come up behind him... They were together."

"Would you two please get back out there, find Rick and Shane and find out what on earth is goin' on?" Lori stood from her seat, walking up to you both.

Glancing at Daryl, you flashed him a quick, hesitant look.

Something seriously wrong was happening here, and you wanted no part in it.

But he returned with an assuring, slightly pleading look, discreetly nodding toward the worried expression on Lori's face.

'Fuck's sake...'

With a soft sigh out your nose, you caved, quickly turning around to trudge back out the door.

"You got it," Daryl nodded, adjusting his grip on his crossbow.

"Thank you."

Though, of course, you hadn't made it two steps onto the porch before you were met with a most disheartening sight, your stomach instantly dropping to your feet.

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' with me..."

At your remark, Daryl's brows furrowed, and he, along with the whole family, quickly moved to join you. 

Only to be met by a horde of over a hundred walkers, the majority of which nearly at your doorstep.

"Never a dull moment in this place."

"Patricia, kill the lights," Hershel ordered.

"I'll get the guns," Andrea dismissed herself, turning to go back into the house.

"Maybe they're just passing, like the herd on the highway. Should we just go inside?" Glenn asked, nervously.

"Not unless there's a tunnel downstairs I don't know about," Daryl scoffed, leaning up against the banister. "A herd that size'll rip the house down."

"Carl's gone!" Lori exclaimed, quickly rushing out the house.

"What?"

"You're kidding," you deadpanned.

"He-He was upstairs. I can't find him anymore."

"Maybe he's hiding," Glenn suggested.

"He's supposed to be upstairs. I'm not leavin' without my boy!"

"We're not," Carol assured, taking her hand before reentering the house. "We're gonna look again. We're gonna find him."

"Take your pick," Andrea returned, plopping the gun back down along with Maggie's multitude of shotguns.

"Maggie..." Glenn remarked with surprise as she handed him one.

"You grow up country, you pick up a thing or two."

"I got the number—it's no use," Daryl denied.

"You can go if you want," Hershel replied as he loaded his double-barrel. 

"You gonna take 'em all on?"

"We have guns. We have cars."

"If we file down enough of the herd, we can use the cars to lead the rest off the farm," you chimed. "We'll have to deal with the damage later."

"Ye serious?"

"This is my farm," Hershel stated, seriously. "I'll die here."

With a sigh, Daryl sat leaned against a column, drawing his crossbow.

"All right. S'a good a night as any," he caved, grabbing you by the waist and tossing his legs over the rail before lifting you with him, dragging you toward his motorcycle. "C'mon, you. Yer comin' wit' me.

You scoffed, eyes widening with surprise and cheeks glowing with fluster at the feeling of his hand on your hip.

How he did such things without a second thought never failed to boggle your mind.

"Y'know, a please woulda been nice," you played off, avoiding eye contact as you sat down behind him. "Woulda been the gentlemanly thing to do."

"Never said I was a gentleman," he chuckled, glancing back at you with a cocky smirk. "Now ya gonna grab on or what?"

"Shut up," you huffed, quickly looping your hands around his chest. "Doesn't take much t'strangle you from this position."

But rather than shake with fear from your "terrifying" threat, he laughed, revving up his motorcycle before sharply kicking up the kickstand.

"Yes, ma'am."

Sadly, despite your best efforts to fight them off, the farm fell to the walkers.

With no option but escape, the group was split and scattered in all directions, you and Daryl doubling back the way you came after nearly being cornered.

Which brought you back to the highway that started it all...

"Oh, thank God!" Maggie exclaimed as she ran to Hershel and Beth, a wide smile on her face.

The moment T-Dog pulled to a stop, Lori rushed out of the truck, enveloping Carl and Rick in a large, bear hug.

"Where'd you find everyone?" Rick asked, turning to you and Daryl as you both dismounted his motorcycle.

"Well, with those guys' tail lights zigzagin' all over the road—figured he had to be Asian drivin' like that," Daryl remarked.

Glenn chuckled, amused, "Good one."

Slowly, you blinked, fighting hard to keep your eyes open and your body upright.

'The hell?'

"Where's the rest of us?" you asked, attempting to wake up.

"We're the only ones who made it so far," Rick answered, resting his hands on his hips. 

"Shane?" Lori asked, standing from her knees.

Solemnly, Rick shook his head, glancing down at the ground.

"Andrea?" Glenn's brows furrowed.

"She saved me, then I lost her," Carol chimed.

T-Dog shook his head, leaning against a car door, "We saw her go down."

"Patricia?" Hershel asked, turning to his girls.

"They got her, too," Beth choked, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Took her right from me. I was holdin' onto her, Daddy, she just—"

Suddenly, she remembered something, lifting her head from her father's shoulder.

"What about Jimmy? Did you see Jimmy?"

"He was in the R.V. when it got overrun," Rick sighed.

"You definitely saw Andrea?"

"There were walkers everywhere."

"Did you see her?"

"M'gonna go back," Daryl stated, moving toward his bike.

"No," Rick denied.

"We can't jus' leave 'er."

"We don't know if she's there," Lori reminded.

"She isn't there. She isn't. She's somewhere else or she's dead. There's no way to find her."

"So we're not even gonna look for her?" Glenn asked, confused.

"We gotta keep movin'. There've been walkers crawling all over here."

"I say head east," T-Dog suggested.

"Stay off main roads," Daryl agreed, stepping forward and taking aim at a walker approaching from the rear. "The bigger the road, the more walkers, more assholes like this one."

With a sharp twang, his crossbow fired, putting down the creature with a sick squelch.

As the others loaded back into their cars, you took a teetering step toward Daryl's bike, the move not going unnoticed as the man made his way back toward you.

"Hey," he started, brows furrowed as he steadied you by the bicep, holding you up with one arm. "S'a matter? You look like yer bouta pass out."

Softly you hummed, glancing up at him with a hooded, tired look that had his stomach performing its familiar churn.

"S'nothin'. M'jus a lil' tired," you shrugged off, slightly slurred and not convincing at all.

"When's the last time ya slept?"

"..."

"(y/n)."

"When did we talk 'n the coop?"

"Three days ago."

"I took a nap th'day before that."

"Fuckin' Christ, woman."

With a sigh, he plopped down on the bike, allowing you to carefully sit down behind him before revving the engine to life, fighting off the stir in his chest as your hands slowly and smoothly slid their way around his chest.

"Take a nap while we're goin'," he ordered, glancing back at your exhausted expression. "Can't have ye passin' out on me if we get cornered."

"M'not gonna leave you alone," you yawned, your lids feeling as heavy as boulders. "S'not fair."

"That wasn't a question," he flicked your hand. "M'tellin' ya to—"

But just like that, you were already gone, cheek pressed softly against his back while quiet, soft snores left your lips.

The sight was utterly adorable, your expression relaxed and without a care in the world, a tiny stream of drool already about to drip onto his jacket.

But somehow, the man couldn't bring himself to care, too enraptured by your face and the tenderness of it all.

In fact, when he had grabbed you earlier, he had felt the same thing. 

How could such a rough woman feel so soft in his grasp?

It was thrilling, and—as much as he'd never admit out loud—felt so utterly right.

Like an addiction, he had taken his first hit, and now wanted to drag you around with him everywhere he went.

By your waist, by your arm, it didn't matter.

He just wanted his hands on you.

"Daryl!" Rick called as he pulled off to the other side of the highway. "Let's get a move on!"

Instantly, Daryl was snatched from his reverie, cheeks turning a faint crimson as he quickly faced forward and revved his bike, slowly weaving around the stationary cars.

But even still, he couldn't help but allow his gaze to trail back to you every minute or so.

Oh, he had it bad.

'Fuck's sake...'

"You out?" Daryl asked Rick as he pulled the bike to a stop, the lack of movement stirring you awake.

"Runnin' on fumes," Rick sighed, approaching the two of you.

"We can't stay here," Maggie stated, stepping out of her car.

"We can't all fit in one car," Glenn countered.

"We'll have to make a run for some gas in the morning," Rick turned to the group.

"Spend the night?" Carol asked, crossing her cardigan over her chest.

"I'm freezing," Carl shivered.

"We'll build a fire, yeah?" Lori suggested.

"You go out lookin' for firewood, stay close," Daryl sighed, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. "Only got so many arrows."

"M'runnin' low, too," you stretched to life, leaning against his arm. "Can scrounge around for some sticks to make more."

"How you doin' on ammo?"

"Not enough," Rick sighed, removing his jacket and giving it to Carl. 

"We can't just sit here with our asses hangin' out," Maggie reminded.

"Watch your mouth," Hershel corrected. "Everyone stop panickin' and listen to Rick."

"All right, we'll set up a perimeter. In the morning, we'll find gas and some supplies. We'll keep pushin' on."

"Glenn and I can go make a run now, try and scrounge up some gas—"

"No, we stay together," Rick denied. "God forbid somethin' happens and people get stranded without a car."

"Rick, we're stranded now," Glenn exhaled.

"I know it looks bad, we've all been through hell and worse, but at least we found each other," Rick continued, firmly. "I wasn't sure—I really wasn't—but we did. We're together. We keep it that way."

He glanced down the road, wistfully, the entire group sharing looks of concern.

"We'll find shelter somewhere. There's gotta be a place."

"Rick, look around, okay? There's walkers everywhere. They're migrating or something—"

"There's gotta be a place not just where we hole up, but that we fortify, hunker down, pull ourselves together, build a life for each other. I know it's out there, we just have to find it."

"Even if we do find a place, and we think it's safe, we can never be sure for how long," Maggie stated. "Look what happened with the farm. We fooled ourselves into thinkin' that that was safe."

"We won't make that mistake again," Hershel assured.

"We'll make camp tonight over there," Rick continued, pointing towards the dell not too far away. "Get on the road at daybreak."

"Does this feel right to you?" Carol leaned forward, turning to you and Daryl.

"What if walkers come through, or another group like Randall's?" Beth piped up.

"Y'know we found Randall, right?" Daryl added. "He'd turned. But he wasn't bit."

"How's that possible?"

"Rick, what the hell happened?"

"Shane killed Randall," you stated, simply. "Just like he always wanted to."

You had come to that conclusion some time ago, but Rick's expression only further confirmed your theory.

"And then the herd got him?"

Rick paused for a long moment, staying completely silent as his eyes raked over each and every one of you.

It did not bode well, not one bit, and you felt your brows furrowing in suspicion.

"We're all infected."

 Instantly, your body froze, eyes widening at the sudden revelation.

"What?" Daryl asked, sharply.

"At the C.D.C, Jenner told me... whatever it is, we all carry it."

"And you never said anything?" Carol piped up, tone rising.

"Would it have made a difference?"

At that, you let out a small chuckle, swiping a hand over your mouth as you attempted to process the words coming from his lips. 

"You knew this whole time?" Glenn asked, chest aching with betrayal.

"How could I have known for sure? You saw how crazy that mo—"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," you sharply interrupted, stepping away from Daryl's side and toward Rick. "Lemme get this straight..."

You blood was roaring with anger, every muscle in your body itching to pounce on this man.

You'd put your life on the line for this group countless times of your own accord, but you weren't a soldier.

You wouldn't be ordered around like one, and you sure as hell wouldn't be lied to like one.

"We are in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse... and after visiting the last functioning government facility in the country, you learn that we are all infected with the virus that has destroyed civilization..."

With a breathy scoff, your eyes flicked up to his, blazing with fury.

"But rather than tell the group, you kept it to yourself?!"

"Well, I thought it best that people didn't know," he sized you up, the look in his eye silently telling you to shut up.

Obviously, you didn't.

"I don't give a rat's ass what you thought! This isn't some fuckin' platoon!"

"(y/n)," Daryl attempted, moving to rest a hand on your shoulder.

"No!" you roughly shrugged him off, eyes still trained on your leader. "I don't care who you think you are, you don't fuckin' lie to me! Whether we could do somethin' with it or not, that was information worth fuckin' mentioning!"

You were so angry, you were nearly shaking.

If he omitted something as huge as this, what else could he be leaving out?

What else could he be lying about?

With another scoff, you turned around, moving to march into the woods on your own.

"Un-fuckin'-believable."

"(y/n)!" Daryl called, moving to follow after you. "(y/n), jus' wait!"

"Not this time! M'fuckin' done!"

"Cut it out, Daryl. You're not talkin' me outta this," you spat, sharply, the faint glow of the fire a few feet away accentuating the anger stretched tightly across your face.

"The hell m'not," he scoffed, resting his hands on his hips as he leaned over you. "Yer overreactin'."

"Overreacting?!"

"Yes, overreactin'. Look at yerself, yer sharpenin' yer knife 'n' starin' at Rick like yer gonna skin 'im in his sleep."

The two of you sat a little farther away from the others, Daryl by your side in an attempt to calm you down and bring you to your senses before you did something rash.

"He lied to us! He kept somethin' crucial to himself an' could've gotten us all killed! I don't understand how you're not upset!"

"'Cause Rick's done all right by me so far."

"Your his errand boy," you corrected. "An' I am, too. Go back out there and find them. Go track the boy. Go fix the RV. Go hunt for dinner. We do all of that an' take a bullet and an arrow and he still doesn't trust us?!"

"What do you want, (y/n)? Huh? What?"

"I want honesty, Daryl! Honesty!"

"I say we take our chances," Maggie chimed, turning to Glenn.

"Don't be foolish," Hershel quickly denied, holding Beth under his arm. "There's no food, no fuel, no ammo."

Just then, a faint rustle sounded of from the trees, its source masked by the darkness.

"What was that?" Beth asked, tightening her grip on her father.

"Could be anythin'," Daryl answered, straightening up his posture. "Could be a raccoon, could be a possum."

"A walker," Glenn added.

"We need to leave. I mean, what are we waitin' for?" Carol asked, standing from her seat.

'Daybreak...'

"Which way?"

"It came from over there."

"Back from where we came."

"Yeah."

"Last thing we need is for everyone to be runnin' off in the dark," Rick returned from the perimeter, brows furrowed. "We don't have the vehicles. No one's travelin' on foot."

"Don't panic," Hershel assured the others.

"I'm not sittin' here waitin' for another herd to blow through," Maggie shook her head. "We need to move now."

"No one is goin' anywhere," Rick shut down, sharply. 

With a glare, you looked up from your knife, sizing up the man with a calculated look.

This whole thing was turning into something you never imagined it would.

"Do something," Carol hissed.

"I am doing something!" he fired back. "I'm keepin' this group together. Alive. I've been doin' that all along, no matter what. I didn't ask for this! I killed my best friend for you people for Christ's sake!"

Everyone froze in stunned silence, your eyes widening slightly at the confession.

'Holy shit.'

"You saw what he was like. How he pushed me... How he compromised us... How he threatened us... He staged the whole Randall thing, led me out to put a bullet in my back. He gave me no choice. He was my friend, but he came after me. My hands are clean."

He paused a moment, eyes raking over every face around the hazy flame.

"Maybe you people are better off without me... Go ahead," he motioned toward the open field. "I say there's a place for us, but maybe—maybe it's just another pipe dream. Maybe I'm foolin' myself again. Why donchu go and find out yourself? Send me a postcard!"

He let out a dry chuckle, resting his hands on his hips.

"Go on. There's the door. You can do better? Let's see how far you get."

Just like that, you were already getting up, but Daryl was quick to grab your shoulder and shove you back down.

"No takers? Fine. But get one thing straight—you're staying, this isn't a democracy anymore."

And with that, he turned away, leaving the rest of you sit and stew with the ultimatum given.

Silently, you turned to Daryl, giving him a particular look with an expression that spoke your mind clearly.

After all this... you're really staying?

Meeting your gaze, his face didn't falter, and his eyes softened.

M'not goin anywhere... an' you shouldn't either... we need ya.

Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh, raking a hand through your hair as you contemplated the choices that brought you to this moment.

...Everything goes to shit, m'blamin' you.

He chuckled, but nodded in agreement.

Deal.

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter eleven 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: while you're paying your respects, you and daryl have an awkward interaction... but quickly pull it together once randall escapes.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

Sitting down on top of Dale's grave, you placed an empty beer bottle at its head, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tucked a Cherokee Rose inside.

"S'crazy, right?" you chuckled, dryly, looking down at your lap. "All that talk of death 'n' killin'... an' the one guy that wanted no part in it ended up gettin' killed himself."

You scoffed, brows furrowing.

"How the hell does that make any sense?"

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you shook your head, swiping a hand over your mouth.

With it being around noon, it was almost time for the others to take the young man—Randall, you had finally learned—away from the camp.

In honor of Dale's memory, Rick decided that the boy shouldn't be killed, and settled on driving him far, far away. 

But you couldn't care less about that now.

All you could care about was Dale, and how horribly you'd talked to him before his death.

"Imma be honest... I don't know what the hell m'doin'," you started up again, solemnly. "I don't know where you are... I don't even know if you can hear me."

You sniffled, quickly swiping at your nose.

 "I never believed in that heaven so for all I know, I could be talkin' to a patch of dirt."

 Once again, you chuckled, heart hanging in your chest.

"But I... I really hope m'not... 'cause despite all this bullshit, you deserve to be happy... and whether I believe it or not, I hope you are."

Glancing down at your neck, you carefully picked up the cross resting atop your chest, gently twisting it between your fingertips.

These last few weeks had forced your to really reckon with the faith—or lack thereof—you thought you had.

You believed that the Catholic church was stupid, that it was full of hypocrites and liars and profiteers.

Yet, when it really mattered, you couldn't stop yourself from saying a Hail Mary, from clutching your cross with an iron grip.

Was it comfort?

How could you find comfort in something you didn't believe in?

Did you truly not believe it?

What would change if you did?

These questions hadn't stopped swirling around your head since last night, and you found that the more you asked, the less was answered.

"(y/n)," Daryl called, snapping you out of your stupor.

You nearly jumped out your skin, drawing your knife and whipping around with wide eyes only to find his familiar face standing before you, crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"Oh, shit," you exhaled, allowing your shoulders to sink as you quickly lowered your weapon. "Sorry... I didn't hear ya."

"S'all right," he assured, shifting his weight on his hips. "I, uh... I wanted to letchu know we're 'bout to take the lil' shit."

'Crap, Randall...'

"Shit, I completely forgot," you stood up, dusting your hands off on your pants. "You guys need any help?"

"Nah, T-Dog's grabbin' 'im. We just gotta toss 'im in the trunk 'n' go," he shook his head.

"Well... I'll still see you off," you assured.

Moving to his side, the both of you started back toward the cars, an awkward silence settling in the air as the two of your refused to look at each other.

Things between you both were already rocky given what happened at the stables and in the chicken coop, but to add last night's rather intimate display was just the icing on the cake.

Looking back on it, you had no idea what possessed you to cling to him like a goddamn koala, nor did he know why he held onto you so damn tight.

It was such unknown territory for you both, neither of you even knew where to begin.

But maybe an apology was a good place to start...

"Look, about last night—"

"You were grievin'," he quickly finished for you, glancing down at the ground. "I didn't take it t'heart."

At his response, you clammed up slightly, a heavy feeling sinking in your chest.

For some reason... that wasn't the answer you wanted.

Even still, you swallowed it back, squaring out your shoulders before turning to look ahead.

"Good."

But at your response, he fell, too, a momentary flicker of hope quickly snuffed out.

Because, in actuality, he had taken it to heart... he had taken it completely to heart.

The man had never been sought out for comfort for anything before, andto see that he was the first body you went for, the very first person you clung to, with Glenn and Lori right there.

It did something to him... made him realize a truly horrifying fact.

He loved it.

"Y'all!" T-Dog shouted, running over as you two approached the trucks. "He's missin'! He's not there!"

Eyes wide, both you and Daryl turned to each other, you drawing your knife and him taking his crossbow off his shoulder before you both broke into a sprint for the barn.

"Fuck you mean he's not there?!"

"What's wrong?"

"Randall's missing."

"Missing?! How?!"

"How long's he been gone?"

"What's goin' on?"

"It's hard to say."

"The cuffs are still hooked," Rick sighed as he exited the shed, joining the crowd outside. "He must've slipped 'em."

"Is that possible?" Carol asked.

"It is if you got nothing to lose," Andrea answered as she came out from behind him.

"The door was locked from the outside. Why the hell would he close up before escapin'?" you asked, brows furrowed as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Cover his tracks?" Rick suggested.

You shook your head, "Boy didn't look smart enough for that."

"RICK!" 

Quickly, you all snapped your heads to the woods, only to find Shane emerging from the trees, nose dripping with blood.

'The hell?'

"What happened?!" Lori asked, worried.

"Rick, he's armed! He's got my gun!"

"Are you okay?!" Carl asked, scared.

"M'fine. Little bastard just snuck up on me. He clocked me in the face."

"All right, Hershel, T-Dog, Glenn, get everybody back in the house!" Rick barked, quickly. "(y/n), Daryl, come with us."

Without hesitation, Daryl loaded a bolt in the chamber, and you snatched up your bow and quiver from the side of the shed.

"T, m'gonna need that gun," Shane held out his hand.

"Just let him go," Carol shook her head. "That was the plan, wasn't it, to just let him go?"

"The plan was to cut him loose far away from here, not on our front step with a gun," Rick denied, sharply, before turning to start toward the woods, the rest of you following suit.

"Don't go out there. Y'all know what can happen!"

"Get everybody back in the house! Lock all the doors and stay put!"

Breaking into the trees, the four of you looked like a death squad bent on destruction, the cock of Rick's gun punctuating his orders to the others.

Your expressions were stony, the weepy girl paying her respects long gone as you sheathed your hunting knife in your thigh holster.

It was time to get down to business and do what should've been done from the start.

'Sorry, Dale...'

"I saw him head up through the trees that way before I blacked out," Shane stated as he led you all to the eastern side of the woods. "M'not sure how long."

"He couldn't have gotten far," Rick added. "He's hobbled, exhausted."

"Armed," you reminded.

"So are we."

Quickly, he turned to Daryl, moving to stand by his side.

"Can you track 'im?"

"I don't see nothin'."

"Hey, look, there ain't no use in trackin' 'im, okay?" Shane huffed, a little more pushy than necessary. "He went that way. We jus' need to pair up. We spread out, we jus' chase 'im down. Thas' it."

"Kid weighs a buck-twenty five soakin' wet," Daryl scoffed, turning to face him. "You tryna tell us he got the jump on ya?"

"I say a rock pretty much evens those odds, wouldn't you?"

"All right, knock it off," Rick shut down, before returning to Daryl. "You an' (y/n) start headin' up the right flank. Me an' Shane'll take the left. Remember... Randall's not the only threat out there. Keep an eye out for each other."

"Likewise," your brows furrowed, eyes sharply sizing up Shane as he stared at Rick with an odd look.

You could feel it in your gut that something was horribly wrong.

But even still, you pressed on, following Daryl in the opposite direction.

If only you knew how right you were...

"This is pointless," Daryl grumbled, holding out his hand. "You got a light?"

Nodding, you tugged your flashlight out your satchel, plopping it in his palm.

Originally, you both had tried using the moonlight to search for tracks, but with such limited visibility, it was just as bad as walking around in the dark.

"You don't find none of this suspicious?" you asked, genuinely, as you surveyed the trees. "Big manly-man Shane taken out by a scrawny kid wit' a bum leg?"

"'Course it's suspicious," he scoffed, keeping his eyes on the ground. "But Rick ain't stupid. If he got us out here, then he got us out for a reason."

"You really believe that?"

"I do."

"Well, then," you sighed, stepping over a large log. "Looks like we're just back t'square one."

"If you're gonna do a thing, ya might as well do it right," he shrugged, still pressing forward. "Now you gonna keep complainin', princess? Or you gonna help me track?"

"Fuck you," you fired back, fighting off the burn of your cheeks at the nickname.

 Picking up the pace, you moved in step next to him, continuing your surveillance of the flora.

"There's two sets of tracks here. Shane must've followed 'im a lot longer than he said," Daryl noticed, brows furrowing. "An' there's more. Looks like they were walkin' in tandem."

You nodded in agreement, carefully taking the flashlight out of his hand before pointing it at a nearby chunk of bark.

"There's fresh blood on this tree," you reported, squinting your eyes. "Wit' the amount, can't have been more than two or three hours ago."

"Yeah, there was a little dust up right here," Daryl agreed, walking a few more steps ahead as he examined the scuff marks in the dirt.

"Think somethin' went down?" you asked.

"Know somethin' went down," he nodded.

You shook your head, that ominous feeling returning as you looked around the dark landscape.

"Daryl, I don't like this... shit's gettin' weird."

"C'mon, don't start pissin' yerself now. All those damn huntin' trips you always talkin' about."

"Huntin' trips... Not mystery solvin'. M'not not Scooby-fuckin'-Doo."

"Looks like they had a lil' trouble," he continued, biting back a smile at your funny remark as he picked up Randall's blindfold.

Just then, something rustled not too far away and the two of you jolted, quickly ducking behind two nearby trees.

'Fuckin' Christ...'

Quieting your breathing, you peeked out from behind, taking notice of a walker shuffling around not too far away.

'Looks like jus' one... manageable...'

Daryl let out a soft whistle, and you turned to him, catching the flashlight as he tossed it to you, understanding the memo pretty quickly based off the look in his eyes.

Holding your positions, the two of you lied in wait, allowing the walker to draw closer before you struck.

Silently, you drew your knife, prepping yourself as its footsteps became louder and louder.

Until finally, it was close enough, and you flashed the light on it for Daryl to take the shot, grimacing at its loud snarl.

Just as he pulled the trigger, it shoved you to the ground, forcing the arrow to hit its arm rather than its head.

With a roar of anger, it moved to attack Daryl, grabbing at the crossbow before taking them both to the ground.

'Shit!'

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, running over and looping your arms under the walker's armpits, pulling him away enough for Daryl to kick him in the face.

The force knocked you both back, landing the walker on top of you, but you didn't miss a beat and flipped the both of you over before stabbing your knife right through its forehead.

Panting, you stood up, Daryl doing the same as he shined the light on its face, you both finally realizing that it was Randall.

"Oh, shit," you caught your breath, resting your hand on your hip.

"Nice," Daryl commended, a small smile rising to his lips as he gave you a pat on the shoulder.

Your brows flattened, and you leveled him with a deadpanned look before stepping on the walker's face, pinning it down as you ripped your knife out its head.

"Looks like he broke his neck," you remarked, rolling him over with your foot before crouching down, cutting up his shirt to get a look at his back.

"He's got no bites," Daryl noticed, lifting up his pant legs to see nothing.

"None you can see," you scoffed, leaning over to check his neck.

"Nah, m'tellin' ya. He died from this."

Meeting his gaze, you shook your head, unable to believe it.

"How's that possible?"

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter ten 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: you and daryl have a heart to heart during his apology... and later that night he comforts you after you fail to save a certain member of your group.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

Brows flattened, you let out a heavy sigh, noticing Daryl enter the chicken enclosure out the corner of your eye.

He looked nervous, hands anxiously rubbing against his pants as he glanced around, avoiding direct eye-contact.

'Here we go...'

Unbothered, you grabbed your satchel of corn, slinging it over your shoulder before moving to join the chickens.

You grabbed a fistful of kernels before tossing them on the ground, a small smile rising to your lips as they clucked with joy, quickly scurrying to peck at their treat.

You had asked Hershel for a little busy work while you were on medical leave, wanting to make yourself useful rather than just rotting in bed, and he offered up chicken duty.

Not the most rigorous job, but at this point you were willing to take anything.

"Hey," Daryl chimed, lowly, moving to stand at your side as you tossed out another batch of corn. "Hey, look... m'sorry 'bout what happened this mornin'..."

Keeping your eyes on the chickens, you raised a brow, expression stony.

"Sorry 'cause I was right? Or sorry 'cause you called me a stupid bitch?" you asked, sharply.

He silently winced at your cold tone, though understood you had every right to be pissed.

What he said was uncalled for, and at the end of the day, you were indeed right.

"Both," he answered, truthfully.

Sighing softly out your nose, you turned to him, eyes scanning over his face for any insincerity.

But to your surprise, you found none, only regret and apology.

'I suppose he went out of his way...'

Turning to him, you hooked your finger in his shirt, pulling him flush against you with a serious look.

Daryl's eyes widened with surprise, a certain churn introducing itself to his stomach at the feeling of your chest pressing against his.

You were so warm, he felt like he was touching a goddamn heater; and you were looking at him with those same eyes from the C.D.C.—like you wanted to bite his head off.

'Christ...'

Was is bad that he found it attractive?

"You hear me when I tell you this, Dixon," you started, your voice like a wave of ice freezing the air between you two. "You call me outta my name again and we are goin' t'have a serious problem, alright? I am not like Carol. I will not hesitate to knock your ass out, you understand me?"

Taken aback, the man could do nothing but nod, slightly shocked but not entirely surprised by your threat.

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed, hands raising in surrender.

Eyeing him up and down, you shot a final glare, before finally releasing his shirt, turning back to your work.

"Good."

After that, it wasn't long before things around the farm began to go to shit.

Rick and Glenn had to go into town to retrieve Hershel, who had decided to go on a bender after the barn massacre, and found a young man from another group.

Originally, Rick and Shane were supposed to drive him to the middle of nowhere and leave him, but instead they brought the kid back and locked him in the shed, where Daryl got to interrogating.

Turns out, the young man's group was particularly violent and rapacious, and it brought up the dilemma of whether the group should kill the boy to avoid an all-out war, or keep him alive as your prisoner.

This dilemma, of course, is what brought Dale to you, and was the reason why you were currently getting your ear talked off.

"Dale, I love you," you groaned, halting your knife mid-swipe as you turned to him. "But for fuck's sake... it's what has to be done."

His eyes widened like saucers in pure disbelief.

"What has to be done?!" he scoffed. "(y/n), I know you... you're no killer. You-You're a woman that loves cars. That loves to go hunting. That-That loves music and misses her Walkman—"

"I'm a woman that is trying to survive," you corrected, quickly. "And a woman that would prefer not to be raped while thirty or more heavily armed men pillage and burn down my camp."

At that, he clammed up, but you decided to double down.

"Forgot about that part, didn't ya? They raped those two teenage girls in front of their father," you emphasized, sharply. "Can't imagine what they'd do to Maggie and Beth. Or Lori. Or Andrea."

"He said he didn't partake in that—"

"How do we know that's true? Go by his word?"

"If that's all we have, then yes!"

"Bullshit! I don't care if he did or didn't, if he stuck around, he's complacent, and that's just as guilty in my book."

"What so we execute him? Fifteen to one?"

"I like those odds."

"Listen to yourself!"

"All it takes is one time, Dale! One time and we're fucked for the rest of our lives!"

You chuckled, dryly, running an exasperated hand over your face as he watched you, shocked.

"See, the difference here is that this is a monster we've known for centuries, since the dawn of goddamn time... I know how it operates, and I know that the moment we let our guard down around this little shit, he's either gonna round up all his pals or do the deed his goddamn self!" 

Standing up, you grabbed your half-finished spear, shaking your head.

"You can call it inhumane or immoral or whatever the fuck, but as far as I'm concerned, I'm keeping myself and all the women in this camp safe."

With that, you turned around, moving to walk back to the stables.

"(y/n)..." Dale tried one last time.

"M'not changin' my mind on this, Dale... m'sorry."

"S'been too long," you muttered to yourself, taking aim on the bullseye you drew on far-off tree. "Almost forgot what it feels like to hold it."

Carefully, you drew an arrow, pulling it back against the bowstring before releasing with a sharp snap, hitting the target dead on.

You smiled, proudly, lowering your bow to examine the sight.

"Still got it, though."

The debate of whether or not to execute the young man had been settled, with those for it winning out in an overwhelming majority.

Dale was less than pleased, but a vote was a vote.

And as you took time to practice your shot under the light of the moon, Daryl, Rick, and Shane stood off in the barn, ready to kill.

Though, if you were being honest, it had been an awful long time since they entered, and you had yet to hear any sort of gunshot.

'The hell's takin' them so long?'

Shaking your head, you resigned to focusing on your current task.

You raised your bow with practiced ease, silently drawing another arrow from your quiver before pulling it against your bowstring.

Calmly, you took a deep breath, inhaling through your nose and out through your mouth.

But just as you were about to shoot, a scream ripped through the air, along with the sound of growling.

Brows furrowed, you whipped around, listening closer in an attempt to figure out what was going on.

The scream wasn't girly, not like Lori or Andrea.

In fact it was relatively deep... and seasoned with age.

Your eyes shot wide.

'FUCK!'

"Dale!" you shouted, sprinting toward where the the sound was coming from.

Your heart was in your ass, feet moving so quick you were sure any faster would cause you to take flight.

"AHHH!" he continued to shriek, the sound frantic and pained.

"Dale, I'm comin'! I'm comin'!" you shouted, approaching the fence to the fields.

Not bothering with the gate, you vaulted over it, landing with a slight stumble before you picked up the pace once again.

And there in the distance, you could see the poor man, mounted by a walker and fighting for his life.

In the darkness, you couldn't make out what parts were him and what parts were monster, making a shot from afar impossible without possibly hurting him.

You'd have to get up close and personal...

"DALE!"

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

Pumping your arms, you completely did away with your bow, gripping your arrow tight in your hand as you focused all your energy on getting there as fast as possible.

And soon enough, you'd finally began to reach him, the huge stains of red on his shirt sending a pang of anger through your chest, and a grip of fear to take hold of your heart.

Letting out a sharp war whoop, you tackled the walker off of him, stabbing it in the head with your arrow repeatedly before turning around to crawl to him.

"Dale! Oh, God!" you gasped, tears already beginning to well in your eyes at the sorry sight of him.

His stomach was completely ripped open, innards exposed and blood soaking the ground as he wailed in complete and utter agony.

"Oh, God! Hershel!" you shrieked, frantically, unsure of what to do as you tightly gripped the man's hand. "Help! Over here! Help!"

Quickly, your head snapped down to him, heart breaking at the sight of the fear in his eyes.

"Shh shh shh. It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay," you attempted to soothe him, fighting your tremble as your blood-soaked hand stroked his head. "I'm right here for ya, Dale. M'not goin' anywhere."

"Dale!" Andrea called, worried, as she and the others made their way over.

"Help! Run!" you sounded off. "Hang in there, Dale, okay? I need you to hang in there for me."

"Who is it?!"

"Rick!"

"Oh, my God!"

Finally, the rest of the group arrived, gasps and yells echoing among the group at the sight of one of its oldest members.

"Get Hershel!" Rick barked, crouching down to join you. "He needs blood, we've gotta operate now!"

"Listen to my voice, Dale," you stammered, cupping his face. "Okay? Just listen to me. M'sorry I was so rude earlier. Y'know I didn't mean it. All right? Please."

"Hershel! We need Hershel!" Rick tried again.

"Dale! We're gonna help! We're here!"

"Just hold on!"

"What happened?!" Hershel asked, having finally made his way over.

"What can we do?"

"Dale, it's gonna be okay!"

"Can we move 'im?" you asked, looking up at the doctor with glassy eyes.

"He won't make the trip," he denied.

"You have to do the operation out here," Rick turned to Glenn. "Glenn, get back to the house!"

"Rick."

"NO!"

With that final punch to the gut, you were unable to stop the waterworks, tears rolling down your cheeks in thick rivulets.

Two crying fits in two days?

'Old man's prolly rollin' in his grave.'

Even still, you didn't intend on giving up, bringing Dale's hand up to your lips and you clasped it tightly.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee," you began, rocking back and forth. "Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

Heart falling, Daryl watched with sadness as you muttered into the man's skin, utterly distraught.

He knew the only prayer you ever said was a Hail Mary, and he knew you only ever said it if things were life or death.

Though, in this case, it was pretty clear which of the two this situation was going to turn out to be.

Prayer or no.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now at the hour of our death. Amen."

"He's suffering," Andrea managed through her tears. "Do something!"

Slowly, Rick drew his gun, and Daryl looped his arm around your waist, carefully tugging you away from the man.

"Dale, m'so sorry," you cried, still grasping his hand as you were pulled back. "M'so sorry."

"C'mon," Daryl attempted to ease you away. "He's hurtin'... you know what we gotta do."

Carefully, Rick lowered the barrel of his revolver closer to Dale's head, and begrudgingly, you let go, unable to watch.

"Oh, God!" you turned away, burying your face in Daryl's shoulder as he pulled you to your feet.

Though, sadly, Rick was unable to do it, his hand trembling as he held the gun in place, staring down at Dale's tightly contorted face.

So, with you in one arm, Daryl took the gun, giving Rick a quick nod before cocking it with his thumb.

At the feeling of your tears wetting his jacket, he tightened his grip around you, and moved to press the gun right against Dale's forehead.

"Sorry, brother."

BOOM!

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter nine 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: you and daryl get into a heated argument over sophia... though it's quickly settled when shane breaks open the barn.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"I'll be takin' that, thank you," you grinned, quickly snatching up the spam on Daryl's plate before shoving it in your mouth.

"Hey, thas' my meat!" he exclaimed, whipping his head over to you.

"Andmf now s'mine," you chuckled with a full mouth. "Who saved yer assh again?"

"M'startin' to wish ya didn't," he grumbled, harshly stabbing a chunk of egg before shoving it into his mouth.

The fire crackled in the center of your camp as the sound of scraping plates echoed over the silence, the group enjoying their breakfast of scrambled eggs and spam in relative quiet.

You and Daryl were back to your old, bickering shenanigans—obviously brought closer together by your woodland adventure—much to the amusement of everyone else.

At the beginning of all this, one would have had to pray you both didn't cross each other's paths, in fear of an all-out brawl.

But now, you two were practically attached at the hip, inseparable—as you both were on medical leave from your usual chores.

It brought a certain lightness to the group, and a smile to everyone's faces.

If you two could get along without hell freezing over, than maybe anything was possible...

"Don't be an ass," you rolled your eyes at his dramatics, taking your piece of spam and plopping it onto his plate. "Big baby..."

"Shut up," he grumbled, quickly scarfing it down before you could change your mind. 

"You two want some more eggs?" Carol asked, softly, as she approached you both in your captain's chairs.

Nodding in sync, you both held out your plates, and the woman cracked a small smile as she scraped some more on.

"Um... guys?" Glenn announced, suddenly rising up from his seat and moving to stand under the tree. "So..."

Perking up, everyone turned to him, providing their full, undivided attention.

"The barn's full of walkers."

Breath hitching, you nearly choked on your food, your fork clattering with your plate as everyone's eyes blew wide.

'You gotta be kidding...'

He was, in fact, not kidding.

As the group stood outside the entrance of the barn, Shane peered inside, confirming the presence of biters—if the moans and growls weren't anything to go off of.

You shook your head, almost unable to believe it.

'Never thought Hershel would do somethin' stupid like this...'

And that's exactly what it was.

Stupid.

Without your group, Hershel's numbers were few, and between them they had little to no knowledge of firearms or weaponry at all.

It was a miracle the walkers hadn't broken out already.

But if they had, you were almost certain that the entire farm would've been overrun.

"You cannot tell me you're all right with this," Shane growled, storming over to Rick.

"No, I'm not," Rick denied, just as sharp. "But we're guests here. This isn't our land."

"This is our lives!"

"Lower your voice!" Glenn hissed.

"We can't just sweep this under the rug," Andrea crossed her arms over her chest.

"It ain't right. Not remotely," Shane shook his head, violently pacing around the doorway. "Okay, we've either got to go in there, we've gotta make things right, or we've just gotta go."

With a sigh, he roughly put on his hat.

"Now we have been talking about Fort Benning for a long time..."

"We can't go."

"Why, Rick? Why?"

"Because my daughter's still out there," Carol answered, brows furrowed.

Dryly, Shane chuckled, raking a tired hand over his face as he shifted his weight on his hips.

"Okay, I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility—"

"Shane! We are not leaving Sophia behind," Rick shut down.

"We're close to findin' this girl. We jus' found her damn doll two days ago," Daryl piped up, motioning between the both of you. 

"You found 'er doll, Daryl. That's what you did. You found a doll."

"Man, you don't what the hell you're talkin' about!" Daryl barked.

"I'm just sayin' what needs to be said!" Shane barked back. "Now, you get a good lead, it's in the first forty-eight hours—"

"Shane, stop."

"Now, lemme tell you somethin' else, man. If she was alive out there and saw you comin'—all methed out with your buck knife an' geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction!"

"Shut up, ya stupid—!"

"Daryl!"

You and Rick quickly stepped in between the two, shouting coming from all directions as you attempted to shove them both apart.

"Back off!"

"Keep yer hands off me!" Shane spat, harshly shrugging Lori off.

"Now, just let me talk to Hershel. Lemme figure it out—"

"What're you gonna figure out?!"

"Knock it off!"

"If we're gonna stay, if we're gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. This is his land!"

"Hershel sees those things in there as people... sick people," Dale chimed, stealing everyone's attention. "His wife, his stepson."

"You knew?" you asked, brows furrowed.

"Yesterday I talked to Hershel."

"And you waited the night?" Shane asked as well, tone rising.

"I thought we could survive one more night. We did," Dale leveled him with a sharp glare. "I was waiting till this morning to say something. But Glenn wanted to be the one."

"The man is crazy, Rick. If Hershel thinks those things are alive or no—!"

Just then, the walkers—drawn by the noise—began to bang on the large barn doors, rattling the padlocks, chains, and board keeping it shut.

Cautiously, the less-armed members of your group took a few steps back, the rest of you standing there with worry.

No matter who was right or wrong, something had to be done about this problem.

And fast.

"This is stupid, Daryl. And you know it," you warned, brows furrowed as you followed the man into the stables.

"M'fine," he ground out, slamming down a saddle from the shelf.

"Hershel said we've gotta rest." 

He grunted, not bothering to look at you.

"Yeah, I don't care."

"Asshole... Rick's goin' out later to follow the trail."

"Yeah, well, I ain't gonna sit around and do nothin'."

"No, you're gonna go back out there and get hurt all over again."

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out a harsh sigh, attempting to gather your words.

"Look, I've been right there with you during this whole thing. I wanted to find Sophia just as much as you..."

He perked at the use of "wanted", forcing him to snap his head over to you.

"But we've gotta consider the possibility, Daryl. I mean, even when the world was normal, after seventy-two hours the searches switched to finding a body."

His expression was one of disbelief, unable to process the words coming out of your mouth.

From Andrea, sure.

From Shane, fucking obviously.

But from you?

"What?" he asked, voice low and threatening.

But you stood your ground, not backing off.

"You're gonna make me say it?" you cocked a brow. "Fine... S'been a week, Daryl. A week without proper food, water, or shelter. If she hasn't died from starvation, dehydration, or exposure, or the laundry list of other shit that can kill you in the woods, then she's been bit."

Silent, he stepped closer, getting in your face for a moment before turning away.

In a bout of frustration, he stalked toward one of the fold-out tables, roughly flipping it over before painfully clutching his side.

"Daryl—"

"Just leave me be!"

Storming off, he exited the stable, though not without muttering something under his breath.

"Stupid bitch..."

Your expression dropped instantly, and with a harsh bite of your tongue you fought your jerk reaction to curse him out, not wanting to throw gasoline on the flames.

He was hurting and frustrated and riled up by Shane's outburst earlier, you knew that.

He wasn't intentionally trying to be hurtful.

But goddamn it, he was doing a good job...

Taking in a heavy sigh, you exhaled out your nose, hoping to calm your rising blood pressure.

You'd let him slide, give him his space and allow him to work out his feelings on his own.

But this was his only freebie.

'He does that again, m'punchin' him in the dick...'

"S'a good look for you," you teased, nodding to Dale's hat on top of Glenn's head before turning to Maggie. 

You'd joined them in sitting on the porch, while Carl, Patricia, and Beth played checkers on the nearby table.

"Whaddya think?" 

"I think he should be in line for the Early Bird special," she grinned, cheekily.

You let out a small snicker, amused, as Glenn carefully slid it off his head.

"Hardy har."

"C'mon, go get yer cap. I'll wash it for ya," Maggie offered with a smile.

But just as he stood up, T-Dog and Andrea marched over, not looking exactly pleased.

"Do you now what's going on?" T-Dog asked.

"Where is everyone?" Andrea added.

"You haven't seen Rick?" Glenn asked.

"He went off with Hershel. We were supposed to leave a couple hours ago."

"Yeah, you were," Daryl chimed, storming over with Carol. "What the hell?"

"Rick told us he was going out," Carol stated.

"Damn it. Isn't anybody takin' this seriously?" Daryl scoffed.

"Oh, you do not wanna start that conversation," you warned, brows furrowed as you stood from your seat on the steps. 

Faltering slightly, his gaze met yours with a sorry flicker, clearly regretful of the things he'd said to you earlier.

But until you got an apology, your guard was up, expression not offering even a whisper of the warmth he'd grown accustomed to over the past few days.

"M'just sayin'... We got us a damn trail," he turned to the walkway, brows raising at the sight of Shane approaching. "Oh, here we go."

Eyes narrowing, you watched Shane stalk over, a duffel of guns on his shoulder paired with a mean look on his face.

"Whas' all this?"

"You wit' me, man?" Shane asked, leaving no room for small talk.

Without hesitation, Daryl snatched up a rifle, joining the man on his trek toward the barn.

"Time to grow up!" he turned to Andrea. "You already got yours?"

"Yeah. Where's Dale?" she asked.

"He's on his way."

"I thought we couldn't carry?" T-Dog asked.

"Yeah, what the hell's goin' on?" you added, brows furrowed.

"Yeah, well, we can and we have to," Shane turned to the others on the porch. "Look, it was one thing sittin' around here pickin' daises when we thought this place was 'sposed to be safe. But now we know it ain't."

Grabbing another rifle, he walked up to Glenn, holding it out.

"How 'bout you, man? You gon' protect yours?"

Glancing at Maggie, Glenn paused a moment, before snatching up the gun.

"That's it," Shane turned to Maggie. "Can you shoot?"

"Can you stop?" she fired back. "You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight."

"We have to stay, Shane," Carl chimed.

"What is this?" Lori asked.

"We ain't goin' anywhere, okay? Now, look, Hershel, he's just gotta understand. Okay? He—Well, he's gonna have to."

"Have to?" you scoffed, disbelieving of the sight in front of you. "What? The man gives us shelter and we pay  'im back by shootin' up his goddamn barn?"

"There are walkers in there, (y/n)," Daryl reminded.

"It's his land! His farm! He can do whatever he wants to those bastards 'cause it's his goddamn barn! We got no right!"

"We got every right!" Shane barked, stepping forward into your space..

"We got no right!" you fired back, getting right into his face as well. 

"We need to find Sophia. Am I right?" he disregarded you, tugging a pistol out his waistband before walking up to Carl. "Huh? Now I wanchu to take this. You take it, Carl, and you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes. You know how. Go on, take the gun and do it."

"Rick said no guns," Lori spat, shoving her son behind her. "This is not your call. This is not your decision to make."

"Oh, shit!" T-Dog exclaimed, looking out into the distance.

Following his line of sight, the lot of you turned to where he was looking, only to see Rick, Hershel, and Jimmy returning with two walkers on leashes.

'Oh, shit.'

Their timing couldn't have been better.

"What is that?" Shane spat, completely dropping the gun and breaking into a sprint. "What is that?!"

"Shane!"

"Stop!"

"No!"

Frantically, you all ran after him, watching as he kicked open the gate to the fields.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Shane, just back off!" Rick ordered

"Why do your people have guns?" Hershel asked, brows furrowed.

"Are you kiddin' me?!" Shane paced, pointing toward the walkers. "You see?! You see what they're holdin' onto?!"

"I see who I'm holdin' onto!" Hershel countered.

"Nah, man, you don't."

As the rest of the group drew closer, Daryl subtly positioned himself in front of you, keeping his gun at the ready seeing as your bow and quiver were back up in your room inside.

Brow arching, you eyed him up and down, deciding to save that conversation for later.

"Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk!" Rick tried to reassure.

"Whatchu wanna talk about, Rick?! These things ain't sick! They're not people! They're dead! Ain't gonna feel nothin' for them 'cause all they do, they kill! These things right here!"

He turned his sights on the rest of you.

"They're the things that killed Amy! They killed Otis! They're gonna kill all of us!"

"Shane, shut up!"

"Hey, Hershel, man, lemme ask you somethin'," he started, drawing his pistol.

'Oh, no...'

"Could a livin', breathin' person... could they walk away from this?"

Without hesitation, he hit the walker Hershel was holding with three body shots, scaring the shit out of everyone.

"No!" Rick shouted. "Stop it!"

"That's three rounds in the chest! Could someone who's alive, could they just take that?! Why is it still comin'?!"

BOOM! BOOM!"

"That's its heart! Its lungs! Why is it still comin'?!"

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

"Shane, enough!"

"Yeah, you're right, man," he nodded, marching toward the walker. "That is enough."

With a final shot, he dispatched the creature, shooting it in the head at point blank range.

It shocked everyone present, and felt surprisingly devastating.

For once, the flesh-eating monsters didn't feel like the bad guys...

"Enough riskin' our lives for a little girl who's gone! Enough livin' next to a barn full of things that are tryin' t'kill us! Enough!"

After storming toward the barn door, he turned around, glancing at his oldest friend.

"Rick, it ain't like it was before! Now, if y'all wanna live, if you wanna survive, you gotta fight for it! M'talkin' 'bout fightin' right here! Right now!" 

"Take the snare pole," Rick exclaimed, turning to the good doctor. "Hershel! Hershel, take the snare pole. Hershel! Listen to me, man, please! Take it now! Hershel! Take it!"

Picking up a nearby pickax, Shane began slamming it against the padlocks and chains, attempting to bust the door down.

"No, Shane! Do not do this, brother! Wait!"

"Don't do it!"

"Rick!"

"Please!"

With a sharp shink, he broke through, quickly tossing the plank keeping the door pinned before banging at the panels.

"C'mon! C'mon, we're out here!" he roared, drawing his gun from his pants.

"This is not the way!"

"Please!"

"No!"

Like lambs to the slaughter, they came, the walkers pushing the heavy doors open to a crack before slowly escaping.

And your group gunned them down like a goddamn firing squad.

Stuck behind Daryl, you were forced to watch as he, Shane, Andrea, Glenn, and T-Dog massacred the whole pack right in front of the Greenes, Hershel, Maggie, and Beth being the most distraught of everyone.

Although you knew your group's actions were founded on making sure everyone was safe, you'd be a liar if you said the scene didn't leave a bad taste in your mouth.

It wasn't long before all of them were dead, the dust settling as the gunfire finally came to a stop, leaving everyone in a certain silence.

Taking a moment to look around, you took inventory of every expression present, each one severely varying.

Sorrow.

Anger.

Guilt.

Pain.

Grief.

It was until more growls could be heard from within the barn that everyone was brought out of their unanimous stupor.

Wary, everyone watched in anticipation, waiting for another undead farmer or snarling, old woman.

But the reality was so much worse.

Brows furrowed, you watched a small foot step out from the darkness, a familiar blue rainbow shirt and brown shorts coming into view.

'No...'

It was, in fact, not another undead farmer, or snarling, old woman.

It was the hope the group had been holding onto for so long.

It was the very thing you'd been fearing for the past week.

It was the little girl that had been counting on you, waiting on you to save her.

It was Sophia.

"Oh, God... Sophia?" Carol wailed, breaking into a sprint. "Sophia!"

Quickly, you snatched her up in your embrace, holding her back as the both of you fell to the ground, the woman utterly destroyed.

"Sophia! Oh, no! Sophia... Sophia..."

The little girl limply dragged forward, snarling and snapping her teeth like a wild animal, forcing streams of tears to spiral down your cheeks.

Your old man always said crying was for babies and widows... but in this singular, once-in-a-lifetime situation, you hoped he'd give you a free pass.

Carl buried his face in his mother's chest, Lori tightly clutching her boy as Rick stepped forward, getting ready to do what had to be done.

"Don't look, honey. Don't look."

"Sophia..." Carol wailed, limply falling into you, your body being the only thing keeping her somewhat upright.

"Oh, God," you exhaled through your teeth, softly stroking the woman's head as you steeled yourself for what was about to come.

Drawing his revolver, Rick took aim, waiting until the little girl was at point blank range before finally putting an end to things.

The boom echoed throughout the field, punctuating the already horribly upsetting sequence.

It was done.

It was over.

The barn was cleared, just like Shane wanted.

And you all were no worse for wear.

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter eight 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: after returning from your search, you get a bullet-sized welcome present... courtesy of Andrea.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"He thinks m'leavin' him as walker bait like a fuckin' coward?" you panted, running between the trees and hopping over logs like a mad-woman. "Must've forgot who I was..."

Making it about halfway to the clearing, you felt like the spell cast on you had been broken.

You witnessed a fox completely devour an injured rabbit right before your eyes, the scene finally snapping you back to your senses.

You had left a Daryl to die... because he told you to.

What kind of person does that?

Coming to a complete stop, you turned around faster than you'd done anything in a long time, nearly snapping your ankles in two before booking it back to where you'd left the man like a goddamn animal.

Which led you here, sprinting through the woods, the ledge from before in sight.

And that damned greasy mop of hair passed out on the bank, about to be devoured by a walker.

"RAH!" you shouted, calling the monster's attention as you jumped off the ledge, throwing the spear and impaling it right through the chest.

The move pinned the creature backwards with a harsh growl, allowing you the chance to catch yourself by tumbling through the dirt.

Though, when you pulled yourself off the ground, you quickly unsheathed your tomahawk, running over and chopping the biter's head in half with one quick swing.

Panting, you took a moment to catch your breath, hunching over slightly and examining the multitude of scratches and forming bruises you had garnered on your arms thanks to your jump.

'That... was stupid...'

As Daryl groaned to life, you gasped, nearly tossing your knife before you realized it was him.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, eyes wide at the sight of him. "Daryl!"

Frantically, you scrambled over, finally noticing the three other dead walkers not too far away from his body.

'He musta killed them before passing out.'

Dropping to your knees next to him, you quickly tugged off your flannel, balling it into a somewhat neat bundle as he attempted to sit up.

"Hey, hey, hey, take it easy," you tried to soothe, carefully pressing the fabric against his wound, which was arrowless—to your severe surprise and worry.

Him ripping it out could've caused even more damage.

"I told ya... t'go to the clearin'..." he groaned as you applied more pressure

"Yeah, well, since when have I ever listened to you," you chuckled, dryly, eyes scanning him over.

Scanning him over... and finding a necklace of walker ears resting against his chest.

'What the...?'

You shook your head, deciding to ignore it for now, given you had more pressing matters to worry about.

"What's all this?" you asked, concerned, as you carefully grabbed his face, implying the blood around his lips and chin.

"Got hungry..." he muttered, eyes fluttering open and shut as he fought to stay awake.

"Jesus..." you sighed, deciding to ignore that too as you forced him to hold your flannel. "Alright, keep the pressure, okay? M'gonna try to get you up."

Weakly, he pressed it into his side, while you tucked his free arm around your neck, bending your knees as leverage before pushing off.

The force allowed you to stand up, albeit shakily, and keep him half-way hoisted.

"There we go," you panted, carefully leaning over and picking up his crossbow, slinging it around yourself. "God, we look insane."

The both of you were covered in varying amounts of dirt, grime, and blood—both human and biter.

'Far away enough and someone prolly mistake us for walkers...'

At the thought, you let out a small laugh, starting the slow trek back to the farm with a painful drag.

"You better keep your eyes open, Dixon... m'not carryin' your ass back to camp just to die...'specially after I just saved you wit' my overgrown twig..."

He chuckled, faintly, into your neck, head resting limply against your shoulder, the feeling causing your stomach to flutter.

"Shut up..."

Finally breaking through the trees and onto Hershel's farm, you smiled, utterly relieved.

"Ay... sleepyhead," you grinned, weakly, turning to Daryl as you bobbed your shoulder. "Look alive... we made it."

He came to life with a painful groan, lifting his head with an annoyed air.

"Bumpiest damn ride of my life," he grumbled, slowly waking up

Your brows furrowed, and you fought the urge to flick him in the head, given his possible concussion.

"Freest damn ride of your life," you corrected. "Don't make me drop you."

Though, if you were being honest, you were already about two seconds from doing that anyway.

After trekking through the harsh terrain of the forest with a grown man on your hip, your muscles were reduced to nothing but jello, each step more painful and tiring than the last.

You definitely weren't going to make it to the house, let alone by yourself.

But as the running forms of Rick, Shane, Glenn, and T-Dog came into view, you suddenly had the feeling that you wouldn't have to.

"Les' prank 'em," Daryl mumbled into your ear, slightly delirious. "'Tend we walkers."

You scoffed, eyelids already beginning to droop, "That's gotta... be the stupidest... idea I've ever... fuckin' heard."

But he was tickled, chuckling into your neck once again, forcing you to burn.

"Yer no fun..."

"M'tryna... stay alive... asshole."

Guns drawn, the four finally reached you, confused, as you came to a stuttering stop.

"Is that Daryl?" Glenn asked, worried. "And (y/n)?"

Suddenly, it had become incredibly hard to speak, your throat weak and vocal chords dry as you attempted to rasp out a greeting.

"Thas' the third time you pointed that thing at my head," Daryl spat, eyes glued on Rick, who had his revolver trained on him once again. "You gon' pull the trigger or what?"

"Daryl... stabbed," you ground out, knees becoming shaky. "Walkers..."

Suddenly, a boom echoed throughout the field, the sound of a bullet whizzing past your ear before you were taken off your feet, a harsh ringing sound introducing itself to your head.

"NO!" Rick shouted, turning back to where the shot came from. "NO! NO!"

"(y/n)?" Daryl groaned, confusion lacing his tone as he weakly sat up from the ground, taking notice of the small pool of blood forming next to your unconscious head. "(y/n)?!"

"Rick?!" Lori shouted back, her along with everyone else running out of the house, terrified.

"What on earth's goin' on out here?!" Hershel barked.

Eyes wide, you stared up at the sky as Glenn and T-Dog quickly tried to hoist you up, a hot, sticky mess beginning to ooze out the side of your head.

"It looks like it got her in the ear," Glenn reported, carefully prodding it.

"Can't tell if she's awake or not," T-Dog added, brows furrowed with worry.

"Let's get 'em both back up to the house. Quick," Shane nodded, assisting Rick in getting Daryl up.

"Oh, my God!" Andrea cried, her and Dale sprinting toward you. "Oh, my God! Is she dead?!"

"Unconscious," Rick stated. "You just grazed 'er."

"But look at them! What the hell happened?" Glenn pointed toward Daryl, concerned. "Look, he's wearing ears!"

Quickly, Rick snatched the necklace up, stuffing it in his pocket.

"Let's keep that to ourselves."

"Guys!" T-Dog suddenly noticed, snatching the doll off of your belt. "Isn't this Sophia's?"

Eyes wide, everyone froze, turning to look at the small toy with a unanimous thought:

Oh, shit.

"We found it washed up on the creek bed right there," Daryl pointed to the location on the map, unflinching as Hershel stitched up his side. "She musta dropped it crossin' there somewhere."

"Cuts the grid almost in half," Rick remarked, glancing back at Shane, who looked less convinced

"Yeah, you're welcome."

Pensively, Daryl's gaze drifted to you, who was lying unconscious in the bed next to him, a thick gauze pad taped to your ear.

The bullet had grazed your helix, taking out such a large chunk that Hershel couldn't stitch it back together.

Unfortunately, that meant it would be split for the rest of your life, and until you woke up to confirm, it was very possible that you would lose all hearing in that ear.

Lips taut, Daryl couldn't help but feel a bit of resentment toward Andrea, as well as a little guilty concerning you.

You didn't leave him behind.

You went back, picked his sorry ass up, and dragged him back to camp.

And your thanks was a bullet to the ear.

He let out a soft sigh through his nose, watching as your chest rose and fell, your face so peaceful one would think you were simply napping—not unconscious from sheer exhaustion.

Why you did things for him, he would never understand; make him ammo... tune up his bike... save his ass.

It might not sound like a lot, but to him it was already a hell of a lot more than most.

He knew he was an asshole toward you from the very start, yet you still found it in your heart to be kind, courteous, and downright saint-like to him.

You could let out all the war cries and bash as many walker skulls as you wanted, but deep down he knew you were a sweet girl, genuinely.

And from now on, he was gonna start treating you like it, whether you could hear or not.

"How's he lookin'?" Rick asked, turning to the good doctor.

"I had no idea we'd be going through the antibiotics so quickly," Hershel sighed, not lifting his gaze from the wound. "Any idea what happened to my horse?"

"Yeah, the one who almost killed me?" Daryl scoffed, snapping back to reality. "If it's smart, it left the country."

"We call that one Nelly, as in Nervous Nelly... I coulda told you she'd throw you if you'd bothered t'ask."

Tossing a dirty towel into a hamper, Hershel turned to Rick, letting out a tired sigh.

"It's a wonder you people have survived this long."

Just then, you let out a sharp gasp, snapping your eyes open and abruptly sitting up, scaring the shit out of the four men in the room.

"(y/n)?" Daryl asked, perking up almost instantly.

"Fuck, that hurt," you groaned, hand rising to clutch your temple. "God, why's it feel like I got hit by a bus?"

"(y/n)..." Rick asked, warily, brow raised. "Can you hear us?"

"Yes, I can hear you," you answered, obviously, brows furrowed with confusion. "Why the hell wouldn't I?"

"'Cause ya got shot in the ear," Daryl clarified, amused by your response. "Andrea thought we were walkers."

Your eyes widened, jaw nearly falling slack.

"You're kiddin'."

"Wish I was."

"You, missy, are a very lucky woman," Hershel remarked, shaking out some painkillers in his hand before walking over to you, handing them off. "I was almost certain you'd go deaf in that ear."

"Yeah, well, lucky people don't get shot," you scoffed, taking the pills, thankfully, before choking them down and turning to Daryl. "You tell 'em 'bout the doll?"

"Yup."

Nodding, you let out a heavy sigh, before allowing yourself to flop back onto the bed.

"Good... now I can get some real rest."

"You been asleep for five hours..."

"Yeah, and I'll sleep five more. M' the one that schlepped your ass back here."

"Yer never gonna let me live this down, are ya?"

"Nope."

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter seven 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: you grow suspicious of shane during otis's funeral... and you and daryl run into a little trouble while on another search.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"Blessed be God... Father of our Lord, Jesus Christ," Hershel—the farm owner—began, head down as he read from the Bible, "Praise be to Him... for the gift of our brother, Otis..."

The group, along with the Greene family, stood somberly around the grave, expressions of varying sadness displayed on each of you.

'Never thought I'd be goin' to a funeral in the end times...'

"For his span of years... for his abundance of character... Otis, who gave his life to save a child's... now more than ever, our most precious asset."

At first light, you and the highway crew rode out to the farm, and were relieved to hear that Carl had survived his operation.

But, sadly, the man who had gone on a run for the supplies had been lost to a horde of walkers.

Slyly, your eyes shifted over to Shane, examining him with a suspicious glare as he stood to the side.

"We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace... he died as he lived... in grace."

Shane's expression was strained, almost painful, eyes shifty and distant as he looked anywhere but the grave.

Something was off...

You couldn't exactly put your finger on it, seeing as you believed Shane was a whack-job from the very start, but you had a feeling that the man knew more than he let on.

That he did more than he said he had.

"Shane," Herschel piped up, closing his book. "Will you speak for Otis?"

"I'm not good at it," he quickly denied, looking off to the side. "...M'sorry."

Sniffling, Otis's wife—Patricia—stepped forward, eyes foggy with tears.

"You were the last one with him... you shared his final moments," she pleaded, carefully hugging herself. "Please... I need to hear... I need to know his death had meaning."

Pausing a moment, Shane attempted to gather himself, swallowing thickly before giving her a faint nod.

And as you watched and listened to him regale his fantastical story, you found that only two words seemed fitting enough to describe it:

Bull. Shit.

It was too neat.

Too cut and clear.

Two men go up against a ravenous horde of walkers and one gets eaten alive, while the other makes it out practically unscathed?

You didn't know how to explain it, but somewhere in your gut you knew that the bastard was lying through his teeth.

If you tried to, you'd probably sound like some kind of insensitive, conspiracy theorist asshole.

'An' then get branded the Ice Bitch among this group of touchy-feelers...'

With a silent huff out your nose, you watched as Shane picked up a stone, placing it on top of Otis's grave with a sorry look.

While, the others may be oblivious, you knew the truth.

The glaringly obvious, painfully in-your-face truth.

And now that you did... your head was going to be on a permanent swivel.

"Mornin', guys. Let's get goin'," Rick started, ushering you all toward the cars and laying out a map on the hood. "We've got a lot of ground to cover."

Snatching up your thermos, you slung your quiver over your shoulder, heading off to join them.

"All right, everyone's getting new search grids today. If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found, she might have gone further east than we've been so far."

"I'd like to help," Jimmy, Beth's boyfriend, piped up. "I know the area pretty well and stuff."

Rick cocked a brow.

"Hershel's okay with this?"

"Yeah... yeah. He said I should ask you."

"All right, then. Thanks."

"Nothin' 'bout what Daryl found screams Sophia to me," Shane continued, taking a seat in the passenger. "Anyone coulda been holed up in that farmhouse."

"Anybody includes her, right?" Andrea leveled.

"Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger than yay-high," Daryl stated, holding his hand up to his hip. 

"An' even if it isn't her, I'd say it's worth investigatin' if we've got some rando roamin' around the area," you added, resting your hands on your hips.

"It's a good lead."

"Maybe we'll pick up her trail again," Rick nodded, resting his hands on the map.

"No maybe about it," Daryl scoffed, scratching his nose. "M'gonna borrow a horse, head up to this ridge right here, take a bird's-eye view of the whole grid. If she's up there, I'll spot 'er."

"Good idea," T-Dog nodded, giving him a teasing nudge. "Maybe you'll see your chupacabra up there, too."

"Chupacabra?" Rick asked, confused.

"You never heard this?" Dale smiled, plopping the gun bag on the roof of the car. "Our first night in camp, Daryl tells us that the whole thing reminds him of a time when he went squirrel hunting and he saw a chupacabra."

"Chupacabras are in Mexico, Einstein," you corrected.

"Chupacabras don't exist," T-Dog clarified.

At that, Jimmy let out a small snicker.

"What are you brayin' at, jackass?" Daryl glared.

"So you believe in a blood-sucking dog?" the boy asked.

"Do you believe dead people walkin' around?" Daryl asked back, sarcastically.

Rolling his eyes, Jimmy leaned forward, reaching for the rifle that sat nice and pretty in front of him.

"Hey, hey. Ever fire one before?" Rick quickly snatched it up, leveling the boy with a warning look.

"Well, if I'm goin' out, I want one."

"Yeah, an' people in hell want slurpees," Daryl scoffed, tossing his crossbow over his shoulder before starting off.

"You get eaten by a chupacabra, your shit's mine," you mumbled, teasingly, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Fuck you," he scoffed, flipping you off and poorly fighting the small smile rising on his face. "You comin' or what?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Rolling your eyes, you pulled yourself off the car door, attaching your thermos to your pack before grabbing your spear, doing a quick jog to catch up to him.

"Where the hell ya get that from?" he asked, brows furrowed in confusion at the large wooden staff in your hand.

"Carved it last night," you shrugged, glancing at it. "Got bored on night watch."

"S'damn near as big as you. How the hell you gonna move around wit' that?"

"I'll move around just fine."

"You better not slow me down, Geronimo."

"Don't piss me off, trailer park."

Crouching low to the ground, you examined the trail, raking over the grass and muck with an analytical eye as you led.

With the rustle of the leaves and clop of hooves behind—paired with a few quiet snickers—your brows flattened, though you continued your work.

"M'not deaf, Dixon..." you deadpanned, standing up straight. "I can hear you bein' an asshole."

"S'a wonder you can hear anythin' wit' that overgrown twig whooshin' past ya," Daryl chuckled, turning his sights to a nearby tree.

A squirrel had descended on the near side of its bark, prime and ready for the hunting.

Without hesitation, Daryl took aim and shot, killing the poor creature with the twang of his crossbow and ending its little life in an instant. 

"I'd like t'see your face when this overgrown twig saves your life," you countered, a small smirk rising to your lips as you glanced back at him.

He scoffed, avoiding your gaze as he snatched up the small vermin.

"That stick saves m'life, I got no right livin' it."

At that, you chuckled, turning back to the ground, watching your step as you began to descend a slope.

You never would've guessed the rough-and-tumble, Georgia wild-man was so dramatic.

'Must come with Dixon blood...'

"Whoa..." Daryl slowed, lightly pulling he reins of his horse.

"What is it?" you quickly focused up, hand hovering over your tomahawk.

"Look."

He nodded toward the creek below, and you followed his line of sight, heart sinking at what you found sitting in the shallows.

A doll.

'Oh, no...'

As Daryl hopped off his horse, you carefully sped toward the creek bed, spear at the ready as you approached.

Though, the closer you drew, the further that heavy pit in your stomach began to sink, the features of the small toy slowly coming into view.

It was no run-of-the-mill doll.

It was the doll.

Sophia's doll.

Trudging through the water, you picked it up with a saddened hand, eyes somber as you turned to Daryl.

His expression was one of slight panic, the unshakable confidence he once had visibly faltering in his eyes.

"Sophia!" he called, turning to look around the open clearing.

But he was met with silence, nothing but the babbling creek next to you offering a response.

Not saying a word, he turned on his heels, storming back toward his horse with an air of frustration that had even you keeping quiet.

Sadly, you glanced back down at the doll, her sopping wet hair and water-stained dress bringing a certain ache to your heart.

'If this is all that's left behind...'

You shook your head, unable to finish the thought.

Steeling your nerves, you tucked the doll into your belt, taking a deep breath before turning to rejoin Daryl.

This didn't mean anything.

She could've dropped it while running... or forgotten it while getting a drink... or maybe her arms got too tired.

But this was not the end.

The search wasn't over yet.

No way in hell were you going to go back to Carol empty handed.

You were going to find this little girl if it was the last damn thing you did, even if every damn walker in the area tried to stop you.

You were going to find Sophia.

With a sharp screech, you were snapped out of your thoughts, a small group of birds suddenly flying out of the brush and startling the horse.

"Whoa... easy, easy," Daryl cooed, attempting to soothe the creature.

Newly determined, you pressed forward, shifting your gaze from the ground to the trees in hopes of finding some sort of fingerprint or torn piece of clothing.

'She was wearin' a blue rainbow shirt that day, right? And some brown shorts...'

The kids of this new, apocalyptic generation were tough.

You knew that.

Hell, your logic was if Carl could survive a shot from a hunting rifle, then Sophia had to be alive and kicking.

Yeah, she was surviving just fine.

Keeping quiet... eating berries... hopefully armed with a decently-sized rock or sharp stick.

She was okay.

She was okay.

'She's okay.'

"Whoa, whoa whoa!" Daryl suddenly exclaimed, the fearful whinnies of the horse nearly making you jump out your skin.

Turning to the pair, it was clear the steed had been spooked by the large snake slithering not too far ahead.

Running over, you quickly drew your hunting knife, slicing the damned thing in half before turning to the horse, who had began to kick up its forelegs.

"Easy, there!" you cooed, holding out your hands, hoping to calm it down before it got too rowdy.

But it was too late.

With a harsh buck, it flung Daryl off its back, sending him tumbling down a nearby, stony-slope before making a run back the way you came.

"Daryl!" you exclaimed, quickly sprinting over to the edge.

He'd fallen into another section of the creek with a painful thud, managing to strike his head against a rock on the way down before landing in the shallows.

Right on top of one of his arrows.

"Son of a bitch..." he spat, hissing through his teeth as he clutched his side, which had already began leaking a steady stream of blood into the mucky water.

"Fuck! ...shit," you cursed, frantically looking around for a safe way down.

The man had practically fallen down a small cliff, and was actually quite lucky he didn't snap his neck during.

From what you could see, there was no route that didn't have you slipping and cracking your skull open on a rock.

"Don't move, alright!" you called, severely worried by the creek's growing stain of red. "M'gonna try to get down!"

"No!" he groaned, huffing out a deep breath before forcing himself to sit up, still clutching the arrow as he attempted to make his way to shallower water. "You stay up there!"

His authoritative tone slightly took you aback, having never heard him talk to you like that before.

Even when you both weren't on the best terms.

"We still got a job t'do..."

Eyes wide, you nearly scoffed, almost disbelieving of the words coming out of his mouth.

"You're kiddin'!" you shook your head. "Daryl, you're hurt! Bad! I gotta take you back to Hershel!"

"Sophia's still out there... ye gotta keep up the search..."

"Daryl, this is not—"

"I'll be fine... I'll meet you in that clearin' we passed 'bout a hundred yards back..."

"Daryl, I can't just—"

"M'gonna make a tourniquet before I make my way up there... keep goin' lil' bit more while we still got th'light."

"Daryl!" you exclaimed. "M'not leavin' you to bleed out!"

"M'not debtain' you, (y/n)!" he ground out, his breath cresting with a soft wince. "I'll meetchu at the damn clearin'!"

Slightly surprised, you clammed up, having never seen his eyes flicker with such incontestability.

Such certainty.

It wasn't a suggestion.

At the sounds, your heart sputtered to life—slightly—stomach buzzing at the imperious tone of his voice.

Any other time, you would've snapped at him for talking to you in such a way.

But this time?

The resonance of his voice left no room for argument, and, despite your better judgement, forced you to comply.

Before you could even form the thought of protest, your feet were already carrying you away, starting you off on the trail so you could turn around and double back to the clearing.

With a harsh sigh, your brows furrowed, your grip on your spear tightening as you pressed forward.

'I can't believe I'm doin' this... I can't believe I'm doin' this... I can't believe I'm doin' this....'

You were leaving a man to bleed.

Hell, you were leaving Daryl Dixon to bleed... just because he told you to?

Incredulously, you let out a dry chuckle, utterly dumbfounded by the series of choices that led you to this point.

When the hell did you start listening to Daryl fucking Dixon?

"It's settled," you muttered under your breath, almost amused. "It's the end of the world."

With a scoff, you completed the U-Turn, now on the path back to the clearing.

"M'listenin' to a goddamn Dixon."

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter six 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: you and daryl take some time to get to know each other while searching for sophia... and you both are quick to realize that the other isn't exactly all bad

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"So..." Daryl started, tightly gripping his crossbow as you both led the pack through the woods. "There any reason why you some sort of G.I. Jane?"

Confused, you cocked a brow, turning to him.

"'Scuse me?"

But he doubled down.

"You," he emphasized, plainly. "You got a city accent... but ye move like ye been raised out 'ere."

He sized you up, expectantly.

"I wanna know why."

You sighed, glancing around at the trees.

After leaving Dale and T-Dog behind to watch the RV, the group set off to widen the search.

You all managed to come across an empty, chiming church—save for a few walkers—and a graveyard in your travels; but no Sophia.

Just to be sure, Rick, Shane, and Carl hung back at the church to see if Sophia would come to the noise, while you and Daryl ushered the others forward to continue.

Which led you to this surprisingly normal conversation.

"I grew up in Jersey," you started with a grunt, stepping over a large log. "Spent my younger years runnin' amok... till I got shipped off to reform school in Georgia."

Using your hunting knife, you cut away some brush, slashing and slicing away some of the thinner branches.

"Made it 'bout a year before they kicked me out... and by then my folks wanted nothin' to do with me," you chuckled, dryly. "So I ran... hid from Social Services until I stumbled across a man."

Daryl raised a brow.

"A man?"

You nodded.

"Kehetu... native guy, Comanche..." you smiled, thoughtfully. "He took me in... brought me back to his cabin... raised me in the Georgia wilderness."

Daryl chuckled, things finally starting to click.

"'Splains all the yellin'," he nodded, glancing down at the ground.

"War whoop," you corrected, a small smirk rising to your lips. "Calls on strength."

"An' makes yer enemy shit their pants."

You snorted, shoulders bobbing with laughter.

"Yeah... that, too."

Deciding to take a page out of your book, he whipped out his knife as well, swiping at the overgrown leaves.

"But what was he doin' all the way over here?" he asked. "Thought all the Indians lived out west or sum?"

You shrugged, quickly scanning over another possible trail.

"He never told me," you answered, plainly. "Mentioned once that he had family in Oklahoma... but didn't get much into it... think it was a sore spot for 'im."

Pausing a moment, you turned to him, scolding.

"And it's Native-American, man."

"Native... Indian... same difference."

"It really isn't."

"What? Ye talkin' bout the lil' guys wit' the dots on their heads?"

"Please... stop talkin'."

"M'just sayin'..."

Just then, Andrea grabbed Carol's hand, comfortingly.

"We're all hoping and praying with you... for what it's worth," she assured.

Daryl scoffed, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"I'll tell you what it's worth," he sucked his teeth. "Not a damn thing."

"Dixon," you hissed, not wanting him to make it worse.

"It's a waste of time—all this hopin' and prayin'," he pressed on, not a doubt in his mind. "'Cause we're gonna locate that little girl. And she's gonna be just fine."

Quickly, his eyes scanned over everyone's face, huffing out another scoff.

"Am I the only one zen around here? ...Good Lord."

Turning around, he trudged back to the front, and you leveled Carol with a comforting look before following him.

He may be a little rough around the edges... but he was sweet.

In his own feral, Daryl-esque way.

He was plenty assuring and supportive when it counted, this—along with his words from last night—forcing you to really think on and reevaluate your previous judgement of him.

'Maybe there's hope after all...'

"How much farther?" Lori asked, picking up next to you.

"Not much. Maybe a hundred... hundred ten yards," you shrugged, slicing up a spider web.

"As the crow flies," Daryl added.

Andrea groaned, trailing a little ways behind, "Too bad we're not crows."

With the sun getting ready to set, you and Daryl thought it best to get the others back to camp; give them some rest before starting back up tomorrow.

Given how low morale was getting, you both figured it would do more harm than good continuing on from there.

But, of course, if it wasn't one thing... it was another.

Out of nowhere, Andrea let out a blood-curdling scream, making the lot of you nearly jump out your skin.

"Andrea?!" Lori panicked.

Whipping around, you turned to see the she was being pressed by a walker, her stabs to its chest doing nothing as it managed to get her down on the ground. 

You were moving before you could think.

Sprinting, you ran toward her, the others close in tow.

Besides the walker's snarls, you also heard a faint something beating against the ground from not too far away.

Like hooves...

Shaking your head, you focused up, drawing your tomahawk before winding up your throw.

"RAH!"

You chucked it with as much force you could muster, sending it soaring through the air with a sharp whoosh before punctuating the walker with a sick splat!

"Holy shit," Daryl marveled, wide eyed.

He'd be a bold-faced liar if he said he didn't find that hot... as fuck...

Andrea whimpered as she frantically crawled away, watching as the walker fell limply on the ground, dead.

"Lori?! Lori Grimes?!" a mystery woman exclaimed, suddenly riding over on her horse. 

'What the fuck?'

"Whoa. I'm Lori," Lori stepped forward, confused.

"Rick sent me! You've gotta come now!"

"What?"

"There's been an accident. Carl's been shot," the woman elaborated. "He's still alive but you've gotta come now!"

Shocked, Lori stood there for a moment, utterly dumbfounded.

"Rick needs you! Just come!"

Shrugging off her back, Lori dropped it on the ground, stepping forward to join her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! We don't know this girl!" Daryl exclaimed, incredulously. "You can't get on that horse!"

"Rick said you had others on that highway, that big traffic snarl?" the woman asked, turning to the rest of you as Lori mounted. 

"Uh-huh," Glenn nodded, dazed.

"Backtrack to Fairburn Road. Two miles down is our farm. You'll see the mailbox. Name's Greene. Hyah!"

And just like that, she was gone, riding off with one of your own and leaving the rest of you standing in the clearing, clueless.

'...What the hell just happened?'

"I won't do it," Carol denied, shaking her head. "We can't just leave."

"Carol, the group is split. We're scattered and weak," Dale sighed, leaning against the door of the RV. 

"What if she comes back? And we're not here? ...It could happen."

"If Sophia found her way back and we were gone... that would be awful," Andrea agreed.

Nodding, Daryl rested his hands on his hips.

"Okay... we gotta plan for this," he started. "I say tomorrow mornin's soon enough to pull up stakes. Give us a chance to rig a big sign. Leave her some supplies."

Glancing toward the others, he scratched the back of his neck.

"I'll hold here tonight, stay with the R.V."

"If the R.V's staying, I am, too," Dale stated.

"Thank you... Thank you both," Carol smiled, softly.

Turning to you, Daryl quirked a brow, somehow already knowing your answer.

"I'm in," you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Well, if you're all staying, then I'm—"

"Not you, Glenn. You're going," Dale denied before he could even finish. "Take Carol's Cherokee."

"Me?" he scoffed, annoyed. "Why is it always me?"

"You have to find this farm, reconnect with our people, and see what's going on. But most important, you have to get T-Dog there."

Pausing, you all turned to the man, who was hunched over off to the side, covered in a thick blanket.

"This is not an option. That cut had gone from bad to worse. He has a very serious blood infection... Get him to that farm. See if they have any antibiotics because if not... T-Dog will die. No joke."

Just then, Daryl turned around, sauntering over to his bike and tugging off a greasy towel, before rummaging through his side bag.

Out of it, he yanked a plastic baggie full of medical-grade pills of varying caliber.

"Keep your oily rags off my brother's motorcycle," he ordered, shooting Dale a sharp look before plopping the bag down on the hood of a nearby car. "Why'd you wait til now to say anythin'? I got my brother's stash."

You scoffed, both amused and disbelieving.

Of course Merle had a secret stash of pills just lying around.

"Crystal... X, don't need that... some kick-ass painkillers... Oxycycline."

He tossed the bottle to Dale, plainly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Not the generic stuff neither. It's first class."

He picked up the baggie, moving to put it back with his things. 

"Merle got the Clap on occasion."

"You really think we're gonna find Sophia?" you asked, lowly, as you stepped around a tree root, gaze trained on the ground.

That night, Daryl had agreed to go searching the nearby woods with you, hoping to find that Sophia had managed to wander her way back.

But so far, you were coming up empty. 

Turning to you, Daryl flashed the light in your face, disbelieving.

"You got that look on your face... same as everybody else," he stated. "Hell's wrong with you people? We just started lookin'."

"Yeah, and things already ain't lookin' so hot."

"It ain't the mountains of Tibet, it's Georgia," he scoffed. "She could be holed up in a farmhouse somewhere... People get lost and they survive. It happens all the time."

"She's a twelve year old girl," you emphasized.

"Hell, I was younger than her an' I got lost. Nine days in the woods eatin' berries, wipin' my ass with poison oak."

'Christ...'

"They found you?"

He shook his head.

"My old man was out on a bender with some waitress. Merle was doin' another stint in juvie... didn't even know I was gone.

He shrugged, glancing down at the ground.

"Made my way back, though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. No worse for wear... 'cept my ass itched somethin' awful."

You snorted, but quickly covered it up, guilt sinking into your chest.

"M'sorry," you apologized, lightly chuckling. "That's bad."

But he laughed along with, letting out a small sigh.

"Only difference is Sophia's got people lookin' for her... I call that an advantage."

Just then, a rustle sounded off not too far away, snatching both of your attention.

Without hesitation, you both readied your weapons, you drawing an arrow and Daryl taking aim with his crossbow.

Like a well-oiled machine, you both went back to back, not having to say a word as you both descended toward the disturbance, heading down the small decline.

Daryl scanned his flashlight over everything—the brush, the canopy, the roots—before he turned the corner, setting his sights on something hanging from a nearby tree.

"What the hell?"

Brows furrowed, you came out from behind him, only to find a snarling, chubby walker dangling from a branch.

"Got bit. Fever hit. World gone to shit. Might as well quit," he read the note stuck to the creature's chest, squinting in the darkness. 

"How poetic," you remarked, sarcastically.

"Dumbass didn't know enough to shoot himself in the head. Turned himself into a big, swingin' piece of bait... an' a mess."

"Probably ran outta ammo," you suggested, shifting your weight on your hips as you turned to walk toward a tree, drawing your tomahawk.

"I guess this is the closest he's been to food since he turned," Daryl continued, staring up at the thing. "Look at 'im. Hangin' there like a big piñata."

"You're real sick, y'know that?" you grimaced, chopping down a nice, long vine.

Moving his flashlight, he shined it on the walker's lower half, which was nothing but bone.

"The other geeks came and ate the flesh off his legs."

"TMI, Dixon..."

"Call it payback for laughin' 'bout my itchy ass."

"You were laughin', too."

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon," he chuckled, turning to you. "Les' head back."

"You're not gonna shoot it?" you asked, wrapping the vine around the handle of your tomahawk few times before tying off a knot.

"Nah. He ain't hurtin' nobody," Daryl shook his head. "Ain't gonna waste an arrow either."

"I can make you more."

"These are my metal ones," he denied, flashing his quiver. "He made his choice... opted out. Let 'im hang."

Starting off back the way you came, Daryl trudged past you, but you continued forward, approaching the trapped creature.

Stopping in his tracks, Daryl turned around, sizing you up with a raised brow.

Adjusting your grip on the handle, you gave yourself some slack on the vine, tucking your mini-flashlight in your mouth and aiming up at the walker.

It snarled and gnashed his teeth under the shine, swiping its arms in an attempt to grab you.

'Easy... it'll be over soon...'

Winding up, you swirled the tomahawk in your grasp before throwing it like you did earlier.

And it was a direct hit.

Instantly, the walker was put down, your ax sticking out of its half caved-in head as it finally fell limp.

Shifting slightly, you grabbed onto the vine, gripping it tight before giving a harsh tug, snatching your tomahawk back and catching it.

Grinning, you turned around with a satisfied air, only to find Daryl staring at you with a look you'd never seen before.

You were something else...

"What?" you asked, scrunching your nose in confusion.

But he shook his head, biting back a smile as he turned around.

"Nothin'... les' get back to camp."

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter five 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: after a horde of walkers scares the group on the interstate, and a little girl goes missing, you begin to overextend yourself... and daryl gives you a little pep talk.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

a/n: i love santana if you couldn't tell

"I said it. Didn't I say it?" Dale sighed as the crew exited the RV, joining you and Daryl outside. "A thousand times. Dead in the water."

"Problem, Dale?" Shane asked.

"She's done for," you shook your head, swiping the sweat from your brow as you leaned over the engine. "No more jury-riggin'. If we want 'er to move more than two feet, m'gonna have to completely replace the radiator hose."

Looking around the crowded highway, you shrugged, not entirely worried.

"Though that shouldn't be too hard. Can find one in any of these."

After the C.D.C fiasco, the group settled with Shane's plan of heading to Fort Benning, stocking up supplies and cutting your excess weight to make the hundred and twenty-five mile trip.

But, of course, you ran into a little hiccup; that little hiccup being a car-jammed interstate and a busted hose.

"There's a whole bunch of stuff we can find," Daryl agreed, rummaging through the open trunk of a PT Cruiser.

"I can siphon more fuel from these cars for a start," T-Dog suggested.

"Maybe some water?" Carol added.

"Or food," Glenn agreed.

"This is a graveyard," Lori stated, thoughtfully looking around. "I don't know how I feel about this."

"You like feelin', or you like eatin'?" you asked, raising a brow.

Daryl let out a loud snort, amused, as the woman sized you up with a flat look.

"M'serious," you shrugged. "If you're guilty pay your respects... do whatever you gotta to to make it right with yourself... but once you're done, you search." 

You doubled down, pointing your screwdriver at Carl. 

"I mean no disrespect, but you've got mouths to feed. You don't got time to worry about dead people."

At that, the group fell silent, but Shane was quick to get everyone back on track.

"C'mon, y'all. Just look around," he ordered. "Gather whatchu can."

Slowly, everyone began to drift, but you needed a word with a certain someone right quick.

"Dixon," you called, forcing the man to stop in his tracks.

Slowly, he turned around, expression expectant as he let out a sigh, resting his crossbow on his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"If the others don't find food, it's you an' me that's gotta go out and whip some up... How many bolts you got?"

"'Bout twenty... maybe eighteen."

"Think that'll be enough?"

"Should be."

"Oh..." you clammed up, suddenly unsure of why you stopped him. "Well... there's extras in the RV. Top shelf, right-hand side."

"Alright... thanks."

For a moment, you both paused, standing there in awkward silence.

Talking without hostility was still a little new to you both, and an adjustment to say the least.

Yet—for reasons unknown—something had pushed you to talk to him anyway, wanting some sort of interaction.

What you just told him could've been said later that day, and wasn't nearly as urgent as you'd made it sound.

Maybe you just wanted an excuse to talk to him...

But why would you want to willingly talk to Daryl Dixon?

He was loud... rude... rough... mean...

'Handsome...'

You face burned at the last part, cheeks stinging from embarrassment as he continued to look at you, sizing you up.

"Well then," you cleared your throat, straightening up your back before turning around. "Let's get to it."

For a moment, Daryl lingered, a little confused as he watched you get back to working on the engine.

Had your pants always been that tight on your ass?

Huffing out his nose, he quickly shook as head, turning to get back to scavenging for supplies.

He'd deal with that thought later.

"Ay, pizza boy," you called, resting a hand on your hip and Glenn made his way over.

"Yeah? What's up?" he asked, confused.

"I need you to clean this gunk off the carburetor," you handed over your bandana, along with a flat head screwdriver. "Scrape what you can. Don't touch it unless you want a nasty burn."

"Oh, no, no, no, I can't—"

"Relax. S'not like I'm askin' you to rebuild the damn thing," you chuckled, amused. "Just clean it off for me."

Warily, he turned to the engine, examining it with a nervous look.

Leaning in, he began to scrape, inhaling a huge cloud of fuel vapor before breaking into a coughing fit.

"Don't breathe it in, man!" you laughed, giving him a few pats on the back to clear him up. 

"Hold your breath!"

"An' it's just like the ocean... under the moon. It be the same as the emotion that I get from youuu," you hummed, happily, as you continued installing the new hose. "You got the kinda lovin' that could be so smooth. Gimme your heart, make it real, or else forget about it."

Dreamily, you sighed, taking a moment to stand up straight and crack your back.

"I'll tell you, if there's one thing I miss, it's my walkman."

Glenn cocked a brow with a chuckle, "Walkman?"

You sighed, plainly, resting your hands on your hips.

"You gonna tell me you miss floppy disks and eight-tracks next?"

Letting out a snort, you flipped him off, tugging down the brim of his hat as he let out another laugh.

"Fuck you. I never got cell service out in the woods."

"You used to live in the woods?!"

You nodded, going back to work tightening more screws.

"With my old man... He took me in when I was fourteen. Taught me about cars and survival."

Brows dropping, Glenn nodded, things about you slowly beginning to make sense.

"Mornings, I would go into town to work at his shop. Evenings, I'd come back to nice rabbit dinner."

You shrugged, letting out a grunt as you tried to twist a stuck nut.

"He never wanted me to get too attached to technological shit. In case somethin' like this happened."

Glenn sighed, taking a moment to look around.

"Well... he was right."

"Yeah..." you smiled, bitter-sweetly. "That was a pretty good habit of his."

"Get down!" Shane sharply whispered, grabbing you by the hips and shoving you to the ground, pushing Glenn along with you.

"What the—?!"

Quickly, he slammed a hand over your mouth, dragging the three of you under the RV as a herd of walkers began shuffling past.

'Oh, shit!'

There was easily fifty, maybe even sixty of them.

Every single one was passing through the rows of cars as if they were sheep crossing a pasture.

You had never seen it before.

'They're startin' to migrate... and travel in greater numbers... almost like a flock.'

This could be bad.

Not just for you, but for everyone.

All it took was one misstep, one mistake, and someone could be caught in an uphill battle of seventy to one.

You shook your head, chest sinking with worry.

This could be really bad.

"You sure this is the spot?" you asked, turning to Rick as both you and Daryl waded through the pond.

"I left her right here," the sheriff confirmed, pointing toward the mini-shelf that came off the nearby hill. "I drew the walkers way off in that direction up the creek."

"Without a paddle—seems where we've landed," Daryl sighed, moving toward the river bank.

Turns out, things had already turned out bad.

Somehow, as the walker herd was passing through, Sophia—Carol's daughter—managed to get spotted and chased into the woods.

Rick, of course, went after her, and hid her among the hunched trees while he lead the walkers away. 

But when he returned to retrieve her, she was nowhere to be found.

"She was gone by the time I got back here. I figured she just took off and ran back to the group," Rick continued, pointing toward the trail where Glenn stood. "I told her go that way. And keep the sun on her left shoulder."

"Hey, short round," Daryl called, eyes narrowing at Glenn. "Why don't you step off to one side? You're muckin' up the trail."

"Assumin' she knows her left from her right," Shane chimed, not so faithful.

"Shane, she understood me fine."

"Kid's tired and scared, man. She had her a close call with two walkers. Gotta wonder how much of what you said stuck."

"Got clear prints right here," Daryl reported, lifting up a leaf. "She did like you said, headed back to the highway."

"There's also the possibility that there were others," you suggested, somberly. "Stragglers."

Crossing your arms over your chest, you sighed, not very optimistic.

"I don't mean to think the worst, but other walkers could've heard her runnin'. Chased her down and veered her off route."

"Either way, let's spread out. Make our way back."

Quickly moving, you both stepped through the mud and onto the bank, starting off back toward camp.

"She couldn't have gone far."

"She'll be tuckered out hiding in a bush somewhere."

Heading to the front, you and Daryl watched the trail, getting down low to examine it better.

"She was doin' just fine till right here," he stated, resting a hand on his thigh. "All she had to do was keep going."

"I told you," you sucked your teeth, watching her trail shift over to the right. "She veered off that way."

"Why would she do that?" Glenn asked.

"Maybe saw somethin' that spooked her. Made her run," you answered.

"A walker?" Shane raised a brow.

"I don't see any other footprints," Daryl shook his head. "Just hers."

"Maybe she heard it from nearby. I can check the surroundin' area for tracks," you suggested, turning to him.

"What about the rest of us? We press on?" Shane asked.

"No, better if you and Glenn get back up to the highway," Rick stated. "People are gonna start panickin'. Let 'em know we're on her trail doing everything we can. But most of all, keep everybody calm."

"I'll keep 'em busy scavengin' cars. Think up a few other chores. I'll keep 'em occupied."

With that, Shane and Glenn headed back to camp, leaving the three of you to stand in the clearing.

"C'mon. Let's keep movin'," Daryl nodded to you, starting off on Sophia's trail.

"Right."

"Oh, god, they're back," Glenn announced as the three of you returned, dusk settling over the highway.

But when Carol realized that Sophia wasn't with you, she let out a faint whimper.

"You didn't find her?" she began to panic, hands shaking.

"Her trail went cold," Rick reported. "We'll pick it up again at first light."

"You can't leave my daughter out there on her own... to spend the night alone in the woods."

"Out in the dark's no good," Daryl shook his head. "We'd just be trippin' over ourselves. More people get lost."

"But she's twelve! She can't be out there on her own!" Carol pleaded before turning to Rick. "You didn't find anything?"

"I know this is hard," he assure, soothingly. "But I'm askin' you not to panic. We know she was out there."

"An' we tracked 'er for a while," Daryl added.

"We have to make this an organized effort. Daryl and (y/n) know the woods better than anybody. I've asked them to oversee this."

"Is that blood?" Carol suddenly asked, glancing down at your pant leg.

"We took down a walker," Rick answered for you.

"Walker? Oh, my God."

"There was no sign it was anywhere near Sophia."

"How can you know that?" Andrea asked.

"We cut the sum bitch open," Daryl answered, sincerely. "Made sure."

Suddenly lightheaded, Carol sat down on the divide, attempting to catch her breath.

She was reeling, and you couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor woman.

"How could you just leave her out there to begin with? How could you just leave her?!"

"Those two walkers were on us. I had to draw 'em off. It was her best chance."

"Sounds like he didn't have a choice, Carol," Shane supported.

"How was she supposed to find her way back on her own? She's just a child," she cried, inconsolable. "She's just a child."

With a sharp huff, you finally broke, quickly stepping over the divide before storming toward your duffel.

You couldn't just stand around twiddling your thumbs while a little girl was in danger.

You had to do something.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, where you goin'?" Shane halted, the entire group perking up to trail after you.

"Where do ya think?" you answered, sarcastically, as you reached the RV, snatching up your bag from the ground and rummaging through it.

"Nuh-uh," Rick denied, shaking his head. "No way. No one out after dark. We stay together."

"That girl is out there by herself, Rick," you reminded, brows furrowed as you searched. "If I got the means, I'm not gonna sit around and wait for morning."

"Ya can't track in the dark," Daryl interjected, resting his crossbow on his shoulder. "Les' you wanna be trippin' over yourself."

Finally finding it, you snatched your flashlight out your bag, flashing him in the eyes with the light.

"Who said I'd be in the dark?"

"Now, hollon a minute," Shane chuckled, dryly. "You had that thing the whole damn time and didn't tell nobody? Didn't consolidate it wit' the rest of our resources?"

"I ain't gotta tell you shit 'bout what's in my bag," you scoffed, snatching up your bandana and using it to tie the light to the side of your head. 

It was amusing he thought he had a right to your inventory. 

"I save this for emergencies only. No recreational use."

Sheathing your tomahawk, you started off back toward the woods, everyone in tow once again.

"Lemme get a word witchu," Daryl suddenly pipped up, grabbing you by the bicep and dragging you off to the side, out of earshot.

"You're not talkin' me outta this, Dixon," you stated, firmly, as you turned to him.

"What happens when you run into another herd of walkers, huh?" he asked, raising a brow. "Get surrounded? Cornered?"

"You think m'that stupid?" your brows furrowed as you snatched your arm from his grasp. "I can handle myself."

"'Gainst forty? Yer gettin' overrun."

"Fuck you."

"What is this? What? You tryna prove yourself or somethin'? You got a death wish?"

"There is a little girl out there that needs our help!"

"We tracked 'er all damn day! Any trace of her's gotta be more than a mile out now. For a trip like that you need water, food, an' supplies. Not a flashlight an' good intentions."

"M'not gonna sit around and wait for her to get eaten. I'm going to go get her."

"An' then when you never come back, we'll be down a man," he reminded.

"You act like I've never taken a night trip before."

"This ain't the quarry."

At that, you clammed up, letting out a sharp huff as you crossed your arms over your chest.

The little pout painted across your lips made his stomach twist, that sick feeling from the C.D.C returning and burning through his innards like wildfire.

He didn't know what was wrong with him today.

Checking out your ass in your tight jeans...

Oogling your face from afar while you worked...

Staring as a bead of sweat trickled down your neck, trailing down to your cleavage...

His stomach jumped at the image, pants stirring slightly as it replayed over and over.

God, what was the matter with him?

He didn't even know why he was over here talking to you.

When you said you were heading out to go look for Sophia, a certain pang of something hit his chest, forcing it to sink.

Annoyance?

Worry?

Fear?

The thought of you trekking through the darkness alone left a bad taste in his mouth, awoke a nagging voice in the back of his mind that wouldn't let him be until he talked you out of it.

But you, of course, were being you.

Stubborn as a mule.

"Hey," he restarted with a sigh, resting a sure hand on your shoulder. "We both been at it all day... and we ain't eaten neither..."

Trailing down your face, his gaze found yours, chest buzzing at the sight of your soft (e/c)s.

"If we wanna get back at it t'morrow... then we gotta get some rest."

Pausing a moment, you examined his eyes, searching for any insincerity.

Sadly, you found none.

"I promise... the moment that sun hits the sky, we're out... We'll lead the group on a wider search," Daryl continued. "But until then... we rest."

With a soft sigh, you exhaled out your nose, finally caving.

"...Fine."

With a grin, he gave you a firm pat on the back, thumb giving your shoulder a quick rub.

"Atta girl," he commended, turning to lead you back toward the others.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and brought a familiar burn to your face.

God, this man...

"C'mon... les' go get a couple a winks."

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter four 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: jenner reveals the truth of the countdown clock... forcing you and daryl to work together in order to make it out alive.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"Why's the air off?" Lori asked.

"And the lights in our room?" Carol chimed

"What's goin' on?" Daryl popped his head out his door. "Why's everythin' turned off?"

"Energy use is being prioritized," Jenner answered, curtly, as he walked down the hall.

"Air isn't a priority? And lights?" Dale raised a brow, confused.

"It's not up to me. Zone Five is shutting itself down."

At that, you and Daryl turned to each other, brows furrowed.

After the Good Doctor had explained how the walker disease worked, and confirmed that the rest of society had indeed fallen, the whole group split up to go cope in their own ways.

Daryl left to drink.

Carol went to cuddle Sophia.

Dale sat to think.

You went back to making more arrows.

And it was until the power cut off that people began to get worried.

Rightfully so.

"Hey! Hey, what the hell's that mean?" Daryl barked, quickly following after. "Hey, man, m'talkin' to you. What do you mean it's shuttin' itself down? How could a building do anythin'?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Rick!" Lori called, worried.

"Jenner, what's happening?" Rick asked, lowly.

"The system is dropping all the nonessential uses of power. It's designed to keep the computers running to the last second possible. That started as we approached the half hour mark," he explained, re-entering the control room he had you all in earlier, glancing at the large countdown clock on the wall. "Right on schedule."

An eerie silence settled over the group, the gravity and true meaning of his words slowly beginning to dawn on everyone.

Turning to Daryl, Jenner held out his bottle of whiskey, which the man only smacked away.

"It was the French."

"What?" you asked, confused.

"They were the last ones to hold out as far as I know," Jenner stated. "While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs till the end... They thought they were close to a solution."

"What happened?" Jacqui chimed, brows furrowed sadly.

"The same thing that's happening here... no power grid," Jenner shrugged, motioning toward the monitors. "Ran out of juice."

He chuckled, dryly.

"The world runs on fossil fuel. I mean, how stupid is that?"

"Let me tell you—!"

"To hell with it, Shane! I don't even care!" Rick held his friend back before turning to the group. "Lori, grab our things. Everybody, get your stuff. We're gettin' out of here now!"

"Okay!"

"On it!"

But before the lot of you could even start to pack, a deafening alarm began to blare, flashing red lights going off in every direction.

'What the fuck?!'

"What's that?!" Shane exclaimed.

"Thirty minutes to decontamination," the computer announced, starting a thirty-minute countdown on the big screen.

"Doc, what's goin' on here?!" Daryl shouted.

Using his keycard, Jenner swiped it across the desk, typing in a code.

"Everybody, y'all heard Rick! Go get yer stuff!" Shane announced. "Let's go! Go now!"

But before you could exit, the doors sealed, five feet of solid steel locking up tight and preventing your escape.

"Did you just lock us in?" Glenn asked, eyes wide in disbelief. "He just locked us in!"

"Carl!"

"Mom!"

Letting out a sharp war whoop, you snatched your tomahawk out your belt loop, running up to the railing.

"Shane!" Rick warned, frantically pointing. "Shane!"

Vaulting over, you tackled the doctor to the ground, lining up your blade with the apex of his throat.

"No, stop!"

"Don't!"

"You undo what you just did!" you roared as the men snatched you off him—with a great deal of effort, "Do some kinda override! Reboot the system!"

"It doesn't work like that," Jenner sighed, sitting up.

"Jenner, open that door now," Rick ordered, storming over.

"There's no point. Everything topside is locked down. The emergency exits are sealed."

"Well, open the damn things!"

"That's not something I control. The computers do," he denied. "I told you, once that front door closed, it wouldn't open again. You heard me say that."

Pausing a moment, everyone took a breath to look around, taking in the severity of your situation. 

"It's better this way."

"What is?" Rick asked, brows furrowed. "What happens in twenty-eight minutes?"

At his silence, Shane roared, harshly slamming his hands against the table.

"What happens in twenty-eight minutes?!"

"You know what this place is?!" Jenner shouted, rising to his feet. "We protected the public from very nasty stuff! Weaponized smallpox! Ebola strains that could wipe out half the country! Stuff you don't want getting out! Ever!"

Eyes widening, it hit everyone at the exact same time, your heart dropping to your ass at the realization.

'This bastard's gonna blow us all to hell...'

"In the event of a catastrophic power failure—in a terrorist attack, for example—H.I.Ts are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out."

You scoffed, resting your hands behind your head in disbelief.

"You can't be serious..." you shook your head, unwilling to believe it.

"Deadly, I'm afraid."

"What?" Rick asked, sharply. "What? What the hell is an H.I.T?"

"High-impulse thrermobaric explosive," you exhaled, still reeling. "Had an arsonist for a roommate back at St. Eloise. She was obsessed with the fuckin' things, always wanted one."

"Why?" Daryl asked, stepping closer to you. "What the hell do they do?"

"It sets the air on fire," Jenner answered, emptily. "No pain... an end to sorrow... grief... regret... everything."

Your body felt like it was shutting down, limbs numbing as you glanced at the countdown.

Twenty-five minutes...

Shaking your head, you let out another war whoop, jumping over the rail and running at the door, using your momentum to bash the metal.

But it didn't even make a dent.

'Dammit!'

You couldn't go out today.

Not like this.

Not when you fought so hard to survive... fought your whole life to survive.

Daryl roared, coming up behind you and smashing the bottle of whiskey against the door.

"Open the damn door!" he shouted, furious. 

"C'mon!" you tried again, not stopping your swinging, even as Shane and T-Dog joined in.

You weren't going to let yourself go out this way; it was out of the question.

Kehetu would turn in his grave if you did.

You all deserved a choice in the matter, and your choice was to keep on fucking living.

"Those doors are meant to withstand a rocket launcher," Jenner called from his seat.

"Your head ain't!" you and Daryl exclaimed in unison, you drawing an arrow and Daryl winding up his ax.

"Daryl!"

"(y/n)!"

"Just back up!"

"Calm down!"

"Don't fuckin' tell me to calm down!" you spat, shrugging off Glenn and T-Dog before turning around and heading back toward the door. "I ain't dyin' today and I damn sure ain't dyin' here!"

Snatching up your tomahawk once again, you stormed forward.

"Dixon!"

"On it!"

Together, you both began to wail in sync, smashing your weapons against the steel and hoping for a miracle.

But as the clock ran further and further, panic began to set deeper into your bones, gripping your heart with a fear you'd never felt before.

And, as much as you hated yourself for it, you began to contemplate the utterly irrational.

For example... saying a Hail Mary.

"Hail Mary... full of grace... the Lord is with thee," you muttered in between swings, completely and totally desperate. "Blessed art thou amongst women... and blessed is the fruit of thy womb... Jesus."

"You prayin'?!" Daryl asked, almost in disbelief.

"Shut up!" you huffed, cheeks glowing with embarrassment.

His judgement was the last thing you needed.

"Holy Mary... Mother of God... pray for us sinners... now and at the hour of our death... Amen."

You halted a moment, making the cross across your chest before hanging your head in reverence.

And just like that, the door opened, much to your disbelief.

It actually worked.

'No fuckin' way...'

"Holy shit!" Daryl exclaimed, grabbing your arm and his crossbow. "C'mon!"

Still in a daze, he practically dragged you out, sprinting down the hallway and up three flights of stairs with you in tow, the others following close behind.

"(y/n)!" he shook you, a little confused. "Hell's wrong witchu? Snap outta it! I can't carry you out here!

But you were still reeling, utterly floored that the prayer worked.

It had to be a coincidence...

An accident...

Maybe Jenner heard you...

There was no way your prayer was timed perfectly with the doctor's change of heart.

That chance had to be, like, one in—

"(y/n)!" Daryl barked, the group finally reaching the lobby.

With a sharp inhale, you snatched yourself out of it, snapping right back into survival mode.

You could war with your faith later... right now there was work to be done.

"Get them doors open!" Shane shouted as you all burst in.

"Come on!" T-Dog exclaimed as he shook the doors, to no avail.

"It doesn't work!" Glenn panicked.

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!"

T-Dog tried the keypad, typing in random numbers in hopes for the right one.

"Daryl!" Shane roared, tossing over an ax as he headed for the huge windows.

"Yeah!"

You roared, hurdling over the railing and using the ledge as a spring-board before smashing your tomahawk against the glass, creating a scratch.

The three of you wailed on the same pane, with little success, before T-Dog came running.

"Daryl! (y/n)! Watch out!" he shouted, getting a running start before slamming a chair against the glass.

Once again, with little success.

"Dog, get down! Get down!" Shane ordered, cocking his shotgun.

As T-Dog ducked, he let out the shot, only leaving buckshot marks behind.

"Jesus..."

"The glass won't break?" Sophia asked, terrified.

"Rick! I have something that might help!" Carol exclaimed, rushing forward as she rummaged through her bag.

"Carol, I don't think a nail file's gonna do it," Shane scoffed.

Your brows furrowed, your mind quickly archiving the comment before focusing on the task at hand.

"Your first morning at camp, when I washed your uniform, I found this in your pocket."

With shaky hands, she pulled out a grenade, holding it out for the sheriff to take.

Thankfully, he took it, before charging toward the door.

"Look out!"

"Get down!"

Quickly, Daryl shoved you to the ground, diving down right next to you as a click and a shink echoed throughout the air.

Along with Rick's gasp.

Quickly, he turned tail, running back toward the group.

"Oh, shi—!"

Before he could finish, the bomb went off, completely blowing out the window and giving you all an exit.

"C'mon!" Daryl quickly stood, you following after.

"With a boom like that, we'll have walkers comin' for miles!" you stated, readying your bow.

"Better get a move on it then!" Shane replied.

Rushing forward, all of you jumped out the window, landing on the grassy lawn below where, indeed, walkers had already started arriving on the scene.

With practiced ease, you shot down two, Daryl decapitating one right next to you with his ax.

Sprinting, you all raced for the cars, Rick, Lori, and company taking the RV while Shane took the Jeep, T-Dog took the van, Carol took the Cherokee, and you went with Daryl in his truck.

But just as you all were about to leave, Dale and Andrea emerged from the building, hobbling towards the RV.

"Goddammit," you muttered, shaking your head.

"They're not gonna make it," Daryl squinted, faithless.

"It's gonna blow any second."

"How much?"

"'Cording to my count... 'bout five seconds."

"Shit."

"Get down!"

Using your hand, you shoved his head down below the steering wheel, ducking with him just as the building blew.

And the rumbling that followed was enough to rock the whole damn city.

"Fuckin' Christ!" Daryl exclaimed as the truck violently shook.

The C.D.C erupted in a ginormous blaze that engulfed the entire building, creating a mini-mushroom cloud of smoke and smoldering debris that had been jettisoned into the air.

Slowly rising, you watched the whole thing go up, partly terrified, partly mesmerized.

It burned like a match stick, only twice as easy.

'Maybe Lindsay was onto somethin'...'

"Jesus, let's get the fuck out of here," Daryl groaned, carefully sitting straight before turning the key in the ignition, allowing the engine to roar to life.

Quietly, you nodded, resting your tired head against the glass as he made a U-Turn, following Rick's lead and forming the caravan back the way you came.

Walkers and death be damned... if there was one thing for certain...

You were going to enjoy this goddamn nap.

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter three 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: by a stroke of luck, the group finds sanctuary within the C.D.C... and after you give him a peace offering, daryl has a shocking reaction.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"All right, everybody. Keep movin'. Go on," Shane ushered, gun drawn as the group waded through the sea of dead bodies laying outside the C.D.C. "Stay quiet. Let's go."

Eyes narrowed, you drew an arrow, surveying the corpses you passed to make sure they were fully dead.

If enough of them were still alive, things could turn ugly fast.

But then again, it would be your fault for tagging along on this suicide mission...

After you and Dale managed to jury-rig the engine of the RV, the group set off to the C.D.C like Rick suggested, Morales splitting pretty early to take his family to Birmingham.

Along the way, you'd lost Jim—the man wanting to die in peace—leaving your numbers even fewer than they already were.

And you wanted nothing more than to leave.

To fuck off back into the woods...

To make your way up north back to your old man's cabin... 

To hole up there and ride out the rest of your life, lone-wolf style...

But whenever you thought about it, the image of Carol, or Sophia, or Jacqui flashed in your mind, helpless and weak as they were being stalked by walkers, before being eventually devoured, having no one to protect them.

You knew it went against everything ever taught to you—to look out for number one.

But you just couldn't do it.

You couldn't leave them to fend for themselves when you were perfectly able to lend a hand.

Sharply, you huffed out your nose, annoyed with yourself.

If you kept that mindset, you weren't going to make it another day...

'Survival of the fittest... I can't have dead weight holdin' me down...'

Yet you kept in step, and continued to cover the group's back as you hung in the rear.

You scoffed, almost amused.

'I know Kehetu's rollin' in his grave...'

"Nothin'?" Shane asked as Rick rattled the security grille, giving it a few bangs.

But when he was met with nothing, unease began to settle within the group.

"There's no one here..." T-Dog sighed.

"Then why are these shutters down?" Rick countered.

"You always lock up shop before you leave," you chimed, darkly.

"Walkers!" Daryl called, snatching everyone's attention.

Turning around, the group gasped, but Daryl was quick to dispatch of the one in front of him.

"You led us into a graveyard!"

"Shh!"

"He made a call!"

"It was the wrong damn call!"

"Just shut up!" Shane spat, getting into the man's face. "You hear me? Shut up. Shut up!"

"Rick, this is a dead end."

"Where are we gonna go?"

"Do you hear me? No blame."

"We can't be here, this close to the city after dark!"

"Fort Benning, Rick—still an option."

"On what? No food, no fuel. That's a hundred miles."

"A hundred twenty-five. I checked the map."

"Forget Fort Benning. We need answers tonight, now!"

"We'll think of something!"

"Dixon, we got incoming!" you called, still holding down the back line as more walkers appeared, drawn to the noise.

With a sharp snap, you shot one, hitting it right in the eye and taking it down for the count.

Quickly, Daryl moved back to join, taking aim before shooting down another.

"I count ten," he reported, trailing a biter down his sight with practiced ease.

"Twelve," you corrected, letting loose another arrow. "With four more approaching from way back."

"Goddammit."

"It moved!" Rick exclaimed, staring up at a camera hanging from the awning.

"Rick, it is dead, man! It's an automated device! It's gears, okay?" Shane shut down, grabbing him by the arm. "Now, come on! We've gotta go!"

"Rick, there's nobody here!"

"I know you're in there!" the sheriff shouted, banging on the doors. "I know you can hear me!"

"If there's a time to move, it's now!" you barked, not taking your eyes off the slowly growing horde. "We've got 'bout ten seconds before we're overrun!"

"Everyone get back to the cars now!" Shane ordered, turning to everyone else.

"Please! We're desperate!" Rick pleaded. "We have women! Children! No food! Hardly any gas left! Nowhere else to go!"

"Rick, please!"

"C'mon, buddy, let's go!" Shane ordered, grabbing the man.

"You're killing us!" Rick shouted, utterly desperate. "You're killing us! You're killing us!"

"We got more incoming! Two o'clock!" you quickly turned, now letting out arrows in rapid succession.

"I see 'em!" he turned with you, shooting off a few more bolts.

"I only got so many arrows! Not long before this turns into a fire fight!"

"And ring the dinner bell for the whole damn city?!"

"Well, unless you can pull some arrows out your ass, I'd say we're outta options!"

Suddenly, with a loud thud, the doors pulled open, bathing the entire group in blinding, white light.

'No fuckin' way...'

Rick was right—to everyone's surprise.

Maybe there was some semblance of the world left...

"Daryl! (y/n)! You two cover the back!" Shane ordered as the group quickly entered.

"Hello?"

"Hello?!"

"Close the doors!"

"Watch for walkers."

Taking a moment, you all frantically glanced around the silent lobby, suspicious of the eerie quiet.

The place looks like a ghost town...

A shotgun cock snapped you all out of your stupor, and you, as well as the other gun-wielding members of the group, turned your sights on the red-haired man in the corner.

"Anybody infected?" he barked, sharply.

"One of our group was," Rick answered, divulging a little more information than your liking. "He didn't make it."

"Why are you here? What do you want?" the mystery man continued.

"A chance," Rick responded.

"That's asking an awful lot these days."

"I know..."

Silently, the man scanned over each and every one of you, checking for bite marks or any signs of sickness.

Luckily, he found none.

"You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission."

"We can do that," Rick nodded.

"You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed."

"Y'know, in Italy, children have a little bit of wine with dinner," Dale chuckled, pouring Lori a glass. "And in France!"

"Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, he can have some then," she denied, resting her hand over his cup.

"What's it gonna hurt? C'mon," Rick assured with a smile. "C'mon."

With a sigh, she relented, and the group grinned as Dale poured the little boy a glass.

"There you are, young lad."

Eager, Carl drank it, face immediately scrunching at the taste.

"Eww!"

The table rang with laughter, Lori rubbing comforting circles on her son's back.

"That's my boy... That's my boy."

"That tastes nasty!"

"Well, just stick to soda pop there, bud," Shane suggested.

"Not you, Glenn," Daryl chuckled, teasingly.

"What?" the young man smiled, confused.

"Keep drinkin', little man. I wanna see how red your face can get."

You grinned, rolling your eyes as you shoveled some potatoes in your mouth, the table continuing their merriment.

"Don't think you safe either, city girl. You barely touched yours," Daryl doubled down, nudging you. "You a lightweight or somethin'?"

You scoffed, flipping him off as you took a tasteful sip.

"Fuck you. I've been drinkin' since I was twelve."

"So what's yer excuse?"

"I don't do wine."

"Oh, excuse me."

"Go to hell."

At this point, the group was in stitches, amused by your sharp banter with the man.

That is... until Rick called the table's attention, standing from his seat.

"It seems to me we haven't thanked our host properly," he started, smoothly.

"He is more than just our host," T-Dog toasted, raising his glass.

"Hear hear!"

"Here's to you, Doc."

"Booyah!" Daryl cheered, holding up the whole damn bottle.

"Booyah!"

"Thank you."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Booyah!"

"So when are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, doc?" Shane piped up, silencing all the celebration. "All the-the other doctors that were supposed to be figurin' out what happened, where are they?"

"We're celebratin', Shane," Rick warned. "Don't need to do this now."

"Whoa, wait a second. This is why we're here, right?" Shane countered. "This was your move—supposed to find all the answers. Instead we... we found him... found one man. Why?"

"Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just... left. Went off to be with their families," Jenner started with a sigh. "And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted."

"Every last one?"

"No," Jenner denied. "Many couldn't face walking out the door. They... opted out..."

He let out another sigh, glancing down at his lap.

"That was a bad time."

"You didn't leave..." you stated, looking up from your plate. "Why?"

"I just kept working... hoping to do some good," he answered.

At that, an uncomfortable silence settled over the table, double-tapping all the joy created in the previous few minutes.

Glenn sighed, turning to look at Shane.

"Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man..."

"Knock, knock," you called, softly rapping at Daryl's door before opening, peeking your head in first to make sure it was safe.

Lifting his gaze from his crossbow—which he was cleaning—he sized you up, raising a sharp brow.

"The hell you want?" he asked, gruffly, returning to his work.

Taking that as the go-ahead, you fully entered, adjusting your duffel on your shoulder as you padded forward, setting it down.

Lowering yourself to the floor, you sat on your knees, unzipping the bag before starting your search.

"You deaf or somethin'?" Daryl glared, unappreciative of your self-invitation. "This ain't no social club. Tell me whatchu want, or get the hell out."

Ignoring him, you continued to rummage past your things, until you finally grabbed onto what you were looking for.

Yanking it out, you tossed them in his lap, his eyes widening with surprise as he got a good look at the bundle held together by a hair tie.

"That's about twenty-five, maybe thirty bolts," you stated, nodding to your hard work. "Oak. They're not metal like yours, but they'll do in a pinch."

You sighed, resting your hands in your lap.

"With society down for the count, and ammo scarce, there's gonna be a day in the future where we run out... for good."

You chuckled, dryly.

"If we survive that long... figured it be good for you to know that I can make us some... if it really comes down to it."

Picking up the bundle, Daryl examined it as if it were some sort of alien thing, utterly taken aback by the gesture.

No one had ever given him anything before.

Not like this.

It felt... nice?

Weird?

He didn't know.

What he did know was that it felt even weirder coming from you.

You were supposed to be against him; the enemy of my brother is my enemy, right?

But in this instance, this very moment... he felt no ill-will toward you.

Not an ounce.

"Look," you started up again, letting out a sigh. "I know you don't like me. And I'm sorry t'say, but my issue was with your brother, not you."

At the mention of Merle, he sharpened up again, leveling you with a warning glare.

"But if this is for the long haul, and we're really gonna be surviving together, then I need to know I can trust you."

His brow quirked, eyes silently telling you to elaborate.

"When we're runnin' from walkers, I need t'know you're not gonna take an ax to my head while my back is turned. Or use me as a goddamn human shield."

Your brows furrowed, eyes narrowing as you stood up

"'Cause if that's the case, then I'll just walk out tonight."

"M'not gonna take an ax to yer head," he assured, flatly, rolling his eyes as he looked up at you. "I wouldn't do that... without reason."

"Looked like you would with Jim."

"That was different."

"Not from where I was standin'."

"Why the hell are you even tellin' me this anyway? Why am I the deal breaker?" he asked, rising to his feet.

"Shane's always been unstable," you listed off on your fingers. "Rick's naive, Dale's opinionated at best, and the rest of them wouldn't harm a fly."

Flipping your fingers around, you poked him in the chest, softly.

"I can't defend myself on two fronts. So if I got you comin' at me, too, then it's only a matter of time before I get done in."

Stepping forward, you pressed further into him, further invading his space.

"So, tell me... Dixon..." you lowered your voice, eyeing him up and down with a hooded look. "Can I trust you?"

Daryl swallowed thickly, his shirt suddenly too tight as he glanced at you; the room too hot, despite his lack of sleeves.

He had never seen you like this before.

Sure, you'd always been demanding, maybe even a little bit bossy.

But this was different.

The way you were looking at him—like you'd bite him if he got too close—made his hands clammy, and forced something in his stomach to roar to life.

He felt sick.

Not in the deadly, walker way... but in the churning, nauseous way.

He'd need to check if he got bit when you left...

"Well?" you raised a brow, suspicious of his silence.

Snapping himself out of it, the man quickly cleared his throat, taking a cautionary step back.

"You can trust me," he nodded, gruffly, avoiding all eye contact. "You watch my back, I watch yours. But don't go thinkin' that makes us friends or whatever."

At his awkward reaction, you chuckled, but nodded nonetheless, scooping up your bag and tossing it over your shoulder.

"All right, then," you held your hand out. "Shake on it."

'Fuckin' Christ.'

Why couldn't you just leave?

He needed a moment to deal with... whatever it was you had just done.

With a groan, he snatched up your hand, giving it a firm shake before tossing it off like it burned

But what he had managed to notice in that short time was that—despite your callous-covered palm—the back of your hand was softer than anything he'd felt in a while, practically like silk under his touch.

He immediately wanted to touch it again, but fought the twitch of his fingers, his inner self harshly cussing him out for the betraying thought.

"Then it's settled," you sighed, faintly relieved. "You go back on your word, I cut both your balls off."

At that, he let out a small chuckle, the outlandishness clearing some of the tension in the air.

You were funny, too.

How had he not noticed that?

"Whatever you say."

With that, you turned around, moving to head out the room.

Though... not before Daryl suddenly remembered something.

"(y/n)," he called, stopping you in your tracks.

Turning around, you raised a brow, expectantly.

Suddenly embarrassed, he avoided your eyes, instead holding up his new bundle of ammo.

"Thanks... for the bolts."

At that, you smiled slightly, shooting him a firm nod.

"Don't mention it."

Continuing on your way, you headed out, limply waving over your shoulder.

"Night, Dixon."

Punctuating, you shut the door, leaving the poor man standing in the middle of his room, looking like a goddamn idiot.

'Jesus Christ...'

Silently, Daryl swiped a hand over his face, resting his other hand on his hip.

A million different things had just happened at once, all of them leaving an odd feeling to fester in his stomach.

Where the hell did it come from?

He'd never felt this way around you before... hell, he couldn't stand you before.

So why did he suddenly feel lighter?

With a groan, the man raked a confused hand through his hair, plopping himself down on a nearby couch.

Looking down at the ground, he rested his head in his hands, utterly baffled.

"What the fuck?"

[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter two 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: the camp gets overrun thanks to the new sheriff in town... and you and daryl come to a shaky agreement over a newly infected member of the group.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"Pass the goose, please," Sophia asked, politely.

"Here you go," Carol doted, plopping some more onto her plate.

"Man o' man, that's good," Shane nodded, approvingly. "Whew, I missed this."

"(y/n), this goose is delicious," Dale commended, taking a large bite of some breast meat. "I don't know how you do it."

"That's what I'm sayin'," Jacqui agreed, letting out a grunt of satisfaction as she licked her fingers. "Never woulda touched this stuff in the real world. But this is one of the best things I've ever eaten. How do you do it?"

You faintly grinned into the mouth of your beer bottle, taking a quick swig before putting it back down.

"Watch a few things, pick up a few tricks," you shrugged, adjusting the fire with your crowbar.

"Y'know, I've gotta ask you. It's been driving me crazy," Morales piped up, staring at your neck.

"What?" you asked, cocking a brow.

"That cross," he pointed.

You sat up a little straighter, fingers rising instinctively to fiddle with the golden chain.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Not to mean any disrespect... but you don't really come off as the religious type," he elaborated. "You Christian?"

"I've wondered this myself," Jacqui agreed.

You shook your head, leaning back. "No... m'not."

"Catholic?" Morales tried again.

"Nope."

"Orthodox?" Andrea chirped.

"Not the right cross for that," Dale corrected.

"No... m'not anything," you denied, glancing down at the ground. "S'just a necklace."

"Oh, come on," Morales scoffed with a chuckle. "It's gotta be something for you to be wearing it if you're not religious."

"Honey..." Miranda whispered. "Why don't we leave it be?"

"Memento?"

"Family member's?"

"Just thought it was pretty?"

"S'a gift..." you stated, carefully twisting it between your fingertips. "From Sister Martha."

At that, the group went silent, the crackle of the fire filling the empty, slightly uncomfortable space.

"When I was a kid, I ran with a bad crowd. Was always gettin' into shit with the cops, or gettin' in trouble at school... After a while, my folks got fed up. Sent me up the river to a boardin' school called Saint Eloise's... for wayward girls."

Glancing into the fire, you let out a dry chuckle, allowing the kindly face of your supervising nun to drift through your mind.

"You can guess my behavior didn't change much... and I made it about a solid year before they were ready to kick me out, too... But there was one woman that didn't give up on me."

Lifting up your cross, you looked at it proudly, swiping a reverent thumb over its face.

"She gave me this right before I left... said God would be with me and all that junk... But since then, I haven't had the heart to take it off."

Allowing silence to settle once again, you lifted your head, expecting to be met with judgmental looks.

But to your surprise, they were all filled with warmth and understanding.

"That's... sweet," Andrea smiled, kindly, just like a certain someone you knew. "Y'know, I think you're sweeter than you make yourself out to be."

You scoffed, letting out a stronger chuckle as you took another swig of your beer.

"Don't push it."

At that, the group broke out into laughter, amused.

"Hey!" Amy called, exiting the RV. "We're out of toilet paper?"

But as the others continued to joke, a walker emerged from the shadows, getting the jump on the poor girl and taking a large bite out of her forearm.

Taken by surprise, she let out a blood-curdling shriek, abruptly grabbing everyone's attention.

'Shit!'

The whole entire group screamed in terror, eyes widening as even more walkers began to appear, gnashing their teeth as the stalked forward.

Panic ripped through the camp like wildfire—bodies scrambling, children crying, tents tearing open.

Quickly, you snatched up your bow and quiver, slinging them over your shoulder before kicking up your crowbar and catching it.

"Lori, get him down!" Shane exclaimed, nodding to Carl as he aimed his shotgun.

She snatched him up without hesitation, and Shane fired, managing to take out two of them

While he defended the campfire, you ran to assist Amy, whacking out three biters on the way.

"No! No! Noo!" Andrea shrieked as she watched the undead devour her sister, taking chunks out of the young woman's throat and shoulder.

Rolling your lips, you wound up your swing, using your momentum to knock the walker's head clean off its neck.

But you didn't have time to celebrate, and allowed Andrea to rush to her sister's side as you ran off to assist the others.

Coming across a woman about to be snatched up, you quickly drew your revolver, shooting two out of the three biters in the head before stabbing the other.

"Thank you!" the woman sobbed, launching forward to cling to you.

"Don't thank me! Get to Shane and the others!" you barked, yanking her off and shoving her behind you as another five walkers emerged from the trees.

Running forward, you let out a traditional war whoop, charging toward them with murderous intent as you smashed in their faces.

It was a blood bath the way you tore through their numbers, ripping through them like a wild animal hellbent on its prey.

'Those fuckin' morons! That stupid wailin' car Glenn rode up here must've drove the biters north!'

"Everyone, work your way to the RV!" Shane shouted, his voice barely carrying over the screams of horror. "Morales! (y/n)! Work your way up here!"

"Fuckin' dammit!" you spat, taking out a walker's leg before drawing your revolver, shooting it in the face.

Working in tandem, you shifted to striking with your right and shooting with your left, the new efficiency allowing you to take out the undead quicker.

You were so preoccupied, you didn't even notice the rescue team that left for Merle had come back, guns blazing.

Instead, you focused on your own—and by your own, you meant yourself— continuing to slaughter all the surrounding corpses.

Letting out another war cry, you beat down three more walkers, now taking out your fury on the creatures.

It was all that new guy's fault...

The sheriff.

He rode in on his high horse—literally—walking around like his shit didn't stink and barking out orders like he was still a cop and this was still the real world.

And because of that people were dead.

People that wouldn't be coming back.

Oh, you were gonna tear him a goddamn new one...

As the dust settled, you finally allowed yourself to catch your breath, chest heaving as you looked down to realize you probably looked terrifying.

Dripping in walker blood... 

Crazed look in your eye... 

Crowbar drawn...

But you didn't give two shits.

What you did give a shit about, however, was the man in the sheriff's hat, standing among the other survivors in the dim light of the RV.

Rage flooded every cell in your body, and without hesitation, you stormed up the small hill, objective set in stone.

Nearly half your camp was gone.

Esteban. Clint. Maria.

Micheal. James. Louis.

Edna. Tucker. Ed.

They didn't deserve to die.

Not like this.

Materializing out of the darkness, you finally reached the group, winding up your arm as you approached Rick.

"(y/n)—"

You didn't let Dale finish his sentence, slamming your fist into Rick's cheek with a killer hook, sending the man straight to the ground.

"Whoa! Hey!"

"Whoa, whoa, come on!"

"Dad!"

"Rick!"

The men quickly scrambled to hold you back, despite your intense struggles.

"You fuckin' moron! It's barely been a goddamn day!" you shouted, completely livid. "A goddamn day since you fuckin' showed up!"

"Back up, (y/n)!" Shane barked, gun at the ready.

"None of this is on Rick!" Dale defended.

"Oh, yeah?! Who's bright idea was it to drive a wailin' sports car back to camp, eh?"

At that, the crowd went silent, but you pressed on.

"You've been survivin' for what? A few days? A week? And all of a sudden you think you know everything?" you spat. "People are dead! People that woulda survived had you not decided to play cop and cuff someone to a goddamn roof!"

You scoffed, incredulously, finally looking around to see that Merle wasn't even part of the surviving group.

"You didn't even bring the bastard back!"

"We got the guns..." T-Dog chimed.

"Yeah, with no one to use 'em! Now we got half the hands and twice the weight!"

You huffed, sharply shrugging off the hands of the others, before sizing up the sheriff with another glare.

His guilty expression only pissed you off more, and you knew you'd have to walk off soon before you got mad all over again.

"This blood's on your hands, officer... Your hands."

"Y'all can't be serious... Let that girl hamstring us?" Daryl scoffed, pointing at Andrea—who was still hunched over Amy's corpse. "The dead girl's a time bomb."

"What do you suggest?" Rick asked.

Daryl stepped forward, resting his crossbow on his shoulder.

"Take the shot," he made a shooting motion. "Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes at this distance."

"No," you denied, arms crossed over your chest.

"For God's sakes, let her be," Lori sighed, taking a seat on a stump.

Silently, Rick and Shane shared a look, before Daryl sucked his teeth and waved the rest of you off, leaving to assist the clean-up effort.

"C'mon, Jimbo, we got work to do."

At first light, you'd left to secure the perimeter, surveying the woods in every direction about half a kilometer out.

Luckily, there were only a few straggling walkers, which you dispatched of easily.

When you came back, it was around noon-time—if the sun was anything to go off of—and the camp was still hard at work mourning your dead.

Discreetly, you glanced at Andrea, a heavy feeling settling at the bottom of your chest.

Some... more than others.

"You reap what you sow!" Daryl suddenly barked, dropping another body in the human pile with Morales.

That pissed you off...

"Hey, do you ever shut the fuck up?!" you spat, brows furrowed as you turned toward him.

"Fuck you! Y'all left my brother for dead! You had this comin'!" he fired back.

"Fuck you! Your brother had it comin'!"

"Whatchu say to me?!"

"You heard me, asshole!"

"Hey, hey, hey! Cut it out, you two!" Shane ordered as you both began to charge for each other, he and Rick getting ready to hold you both back.

"A walker got him!" Jacqui exclaimed, stealing everyone's attention. "A walker bit Jim!"

At that, you and Daryl shared a look, him shifting a grip on his pickax and you drawing your hunting knife as you both moved toward the man.

"I'm okay... I'm ok—"

"Show it to us," Daryl ordered, nodding to the man's shirt.

Whipping around, Jim quickly picked up a shovel, holding it at the ready.

"Jim, put it down!" Shane exclaimed.

"Put it down, man!"

"Easy, Jim!"

"Grab him!"

Lunging forward, T-Dog grabbed his arms from behind, Daryl quickly moving to lift the man's shirt, where a bite mark sat nice and pretty on his stomach.

"I'm okay... I'm okay," Jim continued to mutter, seemingly more for himself than for you. "I'm okay... I'm okay... I'm okay."

Quickly, Shane and Rick pulled all the adults into a huddle, allowing Jim to sit next to the RV as you held a council deciding his fate.

"I say we put a pickax in his head," Daryl chimed, sharply. "An' the dead girl's, an' be done with it."

"S'that what you'd want if it were you?" Shane asked, raising a brow.

"Yeah, an' I'd thank ya while ya did it."

"Can't we just use a gun?" Carol asked, nervously.

"And have a repeat of last night?"

"I hate to say it—never thought I would—but I think Daryl's right," Dale sighed, somberly.

"I can make it quick," you suggested, genuinely. "Quick stab to the brain. He won't feel a thing. No need for a shot."

"Jim's not a monster," Rick stated, resting his hands on his hips. "Or some rabid dog."

"We're not suggesting—"

"He's sick. He's a sick man. We start down that road, where do we draw the line?"

"The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be," Daryl countered.

"What if we can get him help? I heard the C.D.C was workin' on a cure."

"Yeah, that was before the world went to shit," you scoffed.

"But what if it's still up and runnin'?"

"Man, that is a stretch right there," Shane shook his head.

"Why? If there's any government left, any structure at all, they'd protect the C.D.C at all costs, wouldn't they? I think it's our best shot. Shelter, protection—"

"Okay, Rick, you want those things, all right? I do, too, okay?" Shane sighed. "Now if they exist, they're at the army base. Fort Benning."

"That's a hundred miles in the opposite direction," Lori shook her head.

"That is right. But it's away from the Hot Zone. Now listen to me, if that place is operational, it'll be heavily armed. We'd be safe there."

"Military were on the front lines of this thing. They got overrun. We've all seen that," Rick denied. "The C.D.C is our best choice and Jim's only chance."

"You go lookin' for aspirin, do what you need to do," Daryl scoffed, turning around and running toward Jim, winding up his ax. "Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem!"

"Hey, hey, hey!"

Quickly, you moved to step in front of him, acting as a shield as Rick aimed his gun, stopping the man dead in his tracks.

"Look, asshole," you caved, arms outstretched to cover Jim at all angles. "I agree with ya. This problem's gotta be dealt with now... but this... is not the way."

Gazes meeting, you and Daryl exchanged another look, a flicker of something flashing behind his eyes.

"We can find another solution besides hackin' each other to pieces."

Calming down, his breath began to steady, his grip on the ax's handle loosening ever-so slightly.

"So just drop the weapon... and we'll figure out somethin' else."

He waited another moment, seeming to war with himself before finally letting out a frustrated huff, tossing the ax.

He grumbled, quickly swiping his nose before storming off.

"Whatever..."