☆ Daryl is afraid. Afraid of longing for you. Carrying the weight of survival and grief, you fight to live again. What happens when two people fear falling for each other? ☆
Relationship: Daryl x f!reader [use of she/her]; y/n = your name; h/c = hair colour; s/c = skin colour; e/c = eye colour; no mention of y/n’s body; he falls first, fluff, slowburn, yearning.
Tap tap. You tap your machete on the door frame. You wait. No growls or glass is cracking underneath some feet. Carefully, you step inside, followed by David.
The shop is dark. Boards loosely cover the windows, with sun rays slipping through the cracks. A desperate attempt to protect the goods from vandals, probably.
Clearly an unsuccessful effort.
You begin to look through the dusty and empty shelves, holding onto the hope you might find something.
“It’s a miracle if we find anything…” mumbles David.
You sigh a little. “Just a can could do us good.”
“We’re almost there now. We will be fine even without.”
You nod slowly. “Yeah, can’t believe we’ve managed to keep up such a good pace.”
“They’re stronger than they look.”
“They really are.” You turn to him and slightly shake your head. “I hate the way you trained them. But seems that your methods can work.”
He huffs, “I knew you’d come around at some point.”
“Okay, pipe down, I didn’t say I agree with those.”
He smiles at you before his face turns stoic. “y/n, you didn’t tell me much ‘bout Alexandria. What should we expect?”
Your eyes widen a little at his question. “I mean… I only saw snippets of the place.” You mindlessly push a mouldy box of crackers away. “But it’s very different from Richmond.”
“Elaborate.”
“The place is pristine. As if nothing ever happened out there.” Your brow furrows a little when you remember the people you saw. “And the people that live there… they aren’t survivors. I bet most of them haven’t set foot outside their walls in years.”
David turns a box of cereal in his hands. “Kinda worrying.”
You nod once: “Yeah, I am not sure they’re up for a fight against what’s awaiting us.”
“Hm. Can’t risk it. We’ll do things our way then.”
“David, you need to understand that things will be fundamentally different.” You turn to another shelf. “We’re not in charge of anything. It’s not just us. We’re joining a whole existing and working community.” You shrug. “Whatever we’re told to do, we’ll do. Simple as that.”
He snorts, “We don’t have to stay there anyway. We can find a place for us to start again.”
Your heart aches a little at his words. He isn’t wrong. You don’t have to stay. It could be temporary. At least until you’ve dealt with the Saviors.
“Yeah. Not until we’re done with the Saviors, though.”
“They’ll need us.”
“They do. And I don’t intend to be passive.”
David keeps quiet for a minute. His fists close tightly. “They’ll pay for it. A fucking heavy price.”
You bite the inside of your cheeks. You wish you were stronger than that. Stronger to not run after vengeance. Because what’s the point of it? You know already it won’t fill the hole that Javi’s death has created. It never does. So, you try really hard not to think of this whole venture as revenge.
What matters is to eradicate them. No. The word is unfamiliar to you. You’re trying so hard to not let hatred overpower your mind. Hatred can confuse one’s logic. A mistake that can cost a lot of lives in this situation.
You cross your arms. “Anyhow, once we get to Alexandria, we won’t have the time to idle for too long. We need to act fast.” A small smile blooms on your lips. “We’re a step ahead of them, we’ll make sure to take advantage of that.”
“Ah, here’s the spirited y/n I know. Glad to have you back with us.”
Daryl delicately bandages Jesus’ wound. It’s looking better. Though it hasn’t healed yet.
“Will definitely leave a scar.” He says.
Jesus nods, “One amongst the others.”
“Hm. You should get it checked by Alexandria’s nurse when we’re there.”
“Will do.” Jesus pulls his shirt back on. “I can’t believe we’ll finally be there tomorrow.”
Daryl takes a seat on the sidewalk next to Jesus. “Yeah.” His eyes fall on the couple of Richmond survivors standing in the quiet street. “Didn’t think they would make it that far.”
“You think they’ll be fine in Alexandria?”
Daryl shrugs. “Guess so. Will be a change, though.”
Jesus nods. “Undoubtedly. But y/n will make sure things will settle nicely.” He shakes his head slowly. “I am worried about David, though. Something is telling me he won’t make it easy for any of you…”
“Hm… Rick ain’t gonna like him…” Daryl mumbles.
“He won’t.” Jesus frowns when he sees you and David come out of the shop. “He isn’t a bad man. But I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.”
“Will do.”
Balancing your machete from one hand to the other, you move your lips downwards. The weight of your bag hasn’t changed since your search through the shop.
“Fuck all in there. Any luck on your side?” You ask tiredly.
Jesus shakes his head. “Nothing too.”
You turn your head towards the Richmond survivors.
“Well, we’ll finally reach Alexandria tomorrow anyway!” You nod firmly.
“We’ll get plenty of food then.” Jesus smiles.
You whistle, calling for everyone’s attention. The Richmond survivors move closer to you, and the little Arthur tucks his head against your hip. You put a hand around his head.
“Sorry to disappoint, but some of us won’t be able to eat tonight.” Your voice dips quietly. “But we’re reaching Alexandria tomorrow. So, hold on one last night. Please. We’re almost there.”
Distributing food is different from rationing. It is a difficult task to decide who gets to eat and who doesn’t. But your people make it easier, as they don’t protest or futilely fight your decision.
However, you do feel guilty as you’re nibbling on the miserable portion of canned butter beans. Though you didn’t want to take away someone’s food, you weren’t given a choice by David. And you feel terribly embarrassed. While you get to have some food, some people aren’t eating because you’ve said so.
So, you’re eating slowly. Terribly slowly. So you let your stomach take in the food so it can digest and feel full with a little portion. You hope you’ll be able to save some for someone else.
Dimly lit candles light the room. Tucked under worn-out duvets, quiet voices rise. The air is soft, calm. As you approach the end of your journey, their shoulders and chest have already begun to relax.
Daryl is sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, legs stretched. He notices the way you slowly bring the fork to your mouth. And the slow motion of your jaw. He sighs to himself when he sees you put the bowl aside: it’s not empty.
You slowly stand up from the floor and walk towards Jesus. You hand him the unfinished bowl.
“Here, have the rest.”
Jesus lifts an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
You nod. “Yeah, I am not hungry anymore, and we can’t afford to waste.” You smile.
He smiles back at you. “Thank you.” And takes the bowl.
You sit back down on the floor, your eyes falling on the people in front of you with care.
“y/n, look at what I found.”
You turn towards the voice. David is holding a guitar and hands it to you.
“Oh, nice!” You say, carefully taking it between your fingers.
Light steps approach you.
“Are you going to sing?” Arthur asks softly.
You look up at him. “You want me to?”
He nods shyly.
“Alright, just for you.” You wink. “Come here.”
You open your legs to let him rest against your chest. You set the guitar against his little body.
“You have a request?”
“The one you sang on mommy’s birthday.” He says, eyes filled with exhaustion, but still alive.
Your chest tightens a little. You remember that day. You always made sure to organise something for every resident's birthday. Whether it was just a cake, a movie, or a simple card, you always made sure to let your people know that their existence matters. Their lives matter.
Some thought it to be futile. That a birthday didn’t mean anything before, and it still doesn’t. But not to you. It’s a celebration of life, and one during which our existence is celebrated by those who love us. And that is something precious, particularly in this world.
“Okay, I’ll sing that one.” You faintly smile.
You adjust the cords. It’s off-key. You’ll have to transpose the song to two semitones.
You huff a little, “Excuse the terrible pronunciation…”
As you play the first notes, the world stops. The survivors drop what they’re doing, their eyes magnetically moving towards you.
“Foi numa tarde de domingo,
Que alguém perguntando por ela, chegou.”
You could have played something else. But Arthur made a good choice. A softly lively song. One that brings a bit of warmth to a group of exhausted and broken people.
Daryl’s eyes widen. Your fingers move naturally on the strings, up and down. A couple of days ago, you told him that your brain is broken. So, he can’t help but be impressed by the ease of your fingers' dexterity. As if it were muscle memory more than your brain working. His lips faintly move upwards: your brain might not be as broken as you think it is.
“Pensados nos beijos, nos carinhos dela
Carolina, Carol, Carol, Carolina bela.”
He doesn’t understand what you’re singing. He doesn’t even know what language it is. But he knows your voice is filling the hollow spirits of the people in the room. Everyone’s eyes have softened. David is slightly smiling, taking in the delicate harmony of the strings and your voice.
Daryl’s heart twitches a bit. His eyes don’t leave your fingers and mouth. Because neither your brain nor your humanity is broken. But he fears that your spirit is. And there’s no telling if you’ll be able to piece it back together.
The final notes linger in the room. No one claps. Not because they don’t want to. But because safety is still fragile. However, the survivors gently say thank you. Arthur lifts his head, his eyes staring deeply at you. You set the guitar next to you.
“You chose a good song,” you whisper to him, landing a peck on his head. You look up at the survivors. “Get some rest, guys; we’re going to leave as soon as morning rises.”
You gently nudge Arthur away, and he hops to his sleeping bag, tightly tucked between the other adults.
As you stand up, David pats your shoulder.
“Thank you, y/n.”
You smile. “Thank you, I’ve missed that.”
“Wake me up when I need to take watch.” He says.
You nod at him as he moves away from you. While everyone is getting ready to sleep, you grab your machete and head outside. You’re the first one to take watch tonight.
The forest is quiet. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, the moonlight offering a serene atmosphere. Pulling a cigarette out, you light it, slowly inhaling the smoke.
Through the window, Daryl peeks at you. Your fingers are lingering on your machete as you stand still in the night. He hesitates to come to you. But surprisingly enough, he could do with some company. Your company. Your quiet but warm presence. When he sees all the sore bodies, close to each other, breathing deeply, his own shoulders relax.
By tomorrow, this journey will end. He’ll be back in Alexandria. He’ll see his people again. Things will get back to normal. But something in him, which he cannot pinpoint, has changed. And it’s this change that pushes him to join you.
He quietly pushes the door and stands next to you. Your eyes don’t move, though the horizon is still. His eyes fall on your hand, moving closer to him. You hand him your cigarette.
Without a word, he takes it. His fingers brush yours. They bear a couple of blisters from gripping your machete tightly every day.
“Didn’t know ya could do music,” Daryl says while exhaling some smoke.
“Never thought about saying it.”
“Hm.” He hands the cigarette back to you, and finally, your eyes find his face. “What language was that?”
“Portuguese. I didn’t do it justice, though.” You huff.
He hesitates carefully before speaking. Sharing bits of his past is not easy. He is almost afraid of vulnerability. But through you, he has been learning that maybe those moments of honest intimacy can help.
Finally, he speaks up. “Had a friend who liked singing too. She was good.”
“Yeah? What did she sing?”
“Can’t really remember.” He shrugs, “but I know she made people calm.”
You smile at his words, “What was her name?”
“Beth.”
You nod to yourself, “I am glad to know that she kept singing then. That some people haven’t lost their voices.”
“You haven’t lost yours too.”
You pinch your lips together; your eyes move away from Daryl’s face.
“Hm. I guess.” You huff drily and put out the cigarette. “Though if I keep smoking, someone will have to replace me.”
“I won’t give you cigarettes anymore” Daryl says, his lips slightly moving upward.
You frown at him. “Okay, give me a couple of years, and then I’ll stop smoking.”
“How long ya been sayin’ that for?”
You shrug. “Ah, maybe over twenty years?”
“Damn, you started smokin’ when you were five or somethin’?”
Finally, you laugh and slowly shake your head. “Fuck no, how old do you think I am? I started smoking when I was about twelve or thirteen.” You smirk at him. “I bet you were born a cig between your lips.”
Daryl huffs, “Kinda. My mum smoked when she was pregnant.”
“No wonder you’ve got such insane cardio.”
He huffs. “I guess.”
Gently, you nudge his leg with your foot. Jerking your chin towards the door “Come on. Get some rest.” You say.
He looks at you, and before he can open his mouth, you continue.
“If anything happens, I’ll call out for you.” You nod at him.
Giving him one last look, your eyes move back to the forest ahead of you.
You let a deep breath out when your feet finally reach the cracked asphalt. On the horizon, on your right, you can faintly see the gates. The group moves behind you.
“Last push, guys.” You simply say.
As you move ahead, you hear the steps of the survivors fasten. Giving their bodies their last bits of energy to reach safety.
Daryl, who was at the tail, moves beside you. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is worried. A bit. He’s been away for over a month now. But it feels like he left everyone for longer. And after what he has seen in Richmond, his chest is tight, afraid he’ll see Alexandria in the same state.
He lets out a breath of relief when he sees an Alexandrian at the gates, which are still standing, untouched.
At the sound, you discreetly peek at him and smile. Alexandria still is.
With a holler, the man shouts “Daryl is back!”.
The slow metallic sound of the gates opening echoes in your ears. You walk to the survivors behind you and gently pick Arthur up in your arms.
“We’ve made it guys.”
Hesitantly, you enter the community, the survivors naturally congregating closer around you.
Alexandria is still pristine and lively, like you remembered. Everyone is still holding their breath until the gates close.
You look at Jesus, who’s slowly coming closer to you. He gently wraps an arm around you and Arthur, whose little arms hold onto your neck.
“You’ve done an amazing job.” He whispers to you.
As he says so, people come running to you all.
Carol, Rick, Aaron, and others you haven’t made the acquaintance of, jump on Daryl. Hugging him, welcoming him home. You notice how big Daryl’s smile is. And you can’t help but melt emotionally. He’s finally back with his family. Those who make his existence meaningful.
“I am so glad to see you all. I didn’t realise how long you would be.” Aaron smiles.
“Neither did we.” Jesus adds.
Aaron shakes your hand tightly and looks at the Richmond survivors.
“Are they your people, y/n?” He asks.
You nod, “Yeah. The Saviors took them. Thought it would be safer to bring them here than to Hilltop.”
Rick comes to you and shakes your hand. “You did well.” He faces the survivors who are standing still. “Welcome to Alexandria. I am Rick. Aaron, settle them in one of the houses. Get them food, clothes, first aid, anything they need.” Hands on his hips, he stands tall and proud “You’re safe here.”
You drop Arthur on the ground and hear quiet sniffing. One of the survivors is feebly weeping.
You turn to them. “Go with Aaron, I’ll be with you in a bit, okay?” you gently say.
At your words, they finally move, an adult holding Arthur by his hand. But David doesn’t follow them. Of course.
“I am staying with you.” He says steadily. You read the wariness on his face. Brows close together, his arms firmly crossed.
Rick notices Jesus holding onto his side. “Hurt?”
Jesus nods, “Yeah, gunshot wound.”
“Daryl, take him to the infirmary.”
Daryl nods at Rick and leaves his friends. His eyes are soft. Softer than you’ve ever seen.
“I’ll come by later.” He quietly says to you before walking away with Jesus.
Carol comes to you and gently hugs you. “Glad to see you safe.”
“So am I, I was worried about you.” You simply say. Turning your face to David, you introduce him. He shakes Rick’s hand tightly, and you bite the inside of your cheeks. As usual, he believes a handshake is enough to make people feel belittled. But not with Rick, who’s unimpressed.
David snorts, “What kind of place is that?” He asks, his eyes judging the normalcy of the Alexandrian.
“A community. Like any other.” Rick answers drily.
“Doesn’t look like any other to me.”
“Some people are lucky.” Rick says before jerking his head towards a house, inviting you to follow him.
With your elbow, you hit David in the chest. You glare at him, silently ordering him to shut up.
“So, did you find out anything?” Rick asks, walking ahead of you.
Carol presses the gauze against a cut. Daryl silently winces a bit.
“You could have stayed at the infirmary,” she says.
“Hm. It’s just bruises.”
“If you say so…” mumbles Carol while applying a plaster to him. “Those people you came back with… who are they?”
“Richmond survivors.”
“So, y/n’s people?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like they’ve been through a lot…” she sighs, putting away the medical material.
“They have.” Daryl takes a sip of water and scratches his throat. “Those Saviors, they fuckin’ massacred them.”
Carol slowly nods at his words. “You found out much about them?”
“Yeah, enough to get us started.”
“Good.” She gently ruffles his hair. “And you made it back. That’s what matters the most.” She smiles.
He smiles faintly and stretches his legs over the coffee table.
“And y/n, how is she?”
Daryl lifts an eyebrow at her question. He doesn’t know how you are doing. He has never asked you. But he has seen it. Weak, but resilient. Your will to bring your people to safety drove you through the toughest moments of the journey.
And you haven’t lost your voice.
“Tired, I think.” He sighs when he reminisces about how you seized on the ground a week earlier. “She had a seizure in the middle of a horde”
Carol’s eyes widen “why?”
“She’s got epilepsy, like… she’s got meds to take an’ all.”
“Poor girl…”
“She didn’t tell me ‘bout it.” His fingers tap the couch. “T’was scary. I ain’t ever seen somethin’ like it.”
“Bet it was… but she’s safe now, they all are.”
“Yeah.”
Daryl slowly stops tapping his fingers, steadying his hands. Carol’s right. You are safe. But his brain still hasn’t registered it. Your absence is heavier than he expected. So, he stands up from the couch. He needs to make sure, with his own eyes, that you’re safe and resting.
“I am gonna check on her.” He mumbles and walks towards the front door, leaving Carol alone in the house.
Alexandria is slowly turning its lights on, the night settling quietly. In the middle of this normalcy, Daryl feels odd. Like the first time he arrived. The lingering fear of being out of place. He wonders if that’s how you and the others are feeling right now.
The curtains of the house you’re staying in are closed. A sliver lets a bit of light through. Daryl slowly approaches the front door. The porch creaks under his steps. He lifts his fist to knock but stops. He doesn’t know if you’re in there. But he wants to make sure you are, so he finally gently taps on the door.
The door opens. David keeps his hand on the handle, his face impassive.
“What can I do for ya?” He simply asks.
“y/n in?”
David frowns a little. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just want to check on everyone.”
David sighs. “Look.” He rubs his forehead. “I appreciate what you’ve done for her and the others. But we’re fine now. We just want to be together.”
Daryl scoffs “You don’t know this place.”
“We don’t. That’s why.” David answers drily.
Daryl clenches his teeth. But he relaxes when your voice rises in the background.
“David? Who is it?” You ask.
No answers. You roll your eyes and stand up from the chair you were lying on.
Daryl sees your exhausted smile. All the blood and dirt that has accumulated over the month has vanished from your face and your hair. The tank top you’re wearing reveals the numerous bruises you’ve gotten during the journey.
You pull David away from the door. “Come in” you say to Daryl.
David stares down at him, obviously annoyed by his sudden presence. For a minute, Daryl holds his gaze before finally walking through the door.
You walk towards the kitchen counter and open a bottle. Rum. You pour a glass and hand it to Daryl.
“Your friend Abraham kindly gave it to us.” You sit back in the chair, sipping on your own drink. “Best welcoming gift yet.” You huff.
Daryl brings the glass to his lips. The alcohol burns his dry lips. You jerk your chin towards the couch, inviting him to sit down. David sits at the dinner table, his eyes not leaving Daryl.
“How are ya?” He asks.
“Safe. Everyone is already asleep.”
“Good.”
You bend towards the coffee table and pick up a pack of cigarettes.
“Smoke?”
Daryl lifts an eyebrow. “Inside?”
You chuckle “Yeah fuck it. I think I deserve to smoke a couple in a nice chair.”
Daryl nods “You do.” And takes one out. He lights yours, then his.
“How’s Jesus?” You ask, exhaling smoke from your mouth.
“Fine. He’s sleeping over at our house.”
“That’s great. I didn’t get the chance to check on him.”
“Ya will see him tomorrow.”
“I will.” You nod once.
Silence falls. Not the usual comforting kind. Over his shoulder, Daryl feels the weight of David’s gaze. It is irritating him, and subconsciously, he drinks his glass faster.
You notice the hurry. You’re not stupid. You know David’s presence is making the air tense.
“David, you should go rest too. You’re exhausted.” Your voice is firm: it’s not a request, but an order.
David mumbles something between his teeth. The chair scrapes the floor with his movement.
“Goodnight.” He says coldly before walking up the stairs.
You let a sigh out and rub your eyes when you hear a door closing upstairs.
“Sorry about him… He’s been tense since we arrived…”
“Wasn’t expecting him to be all giddy ‘bout this place anyway.” Daryl answers.
You laugh through your nose. “He’ll adapt. Doesn’t have a choice. I am not risking his stupidity for their safety.”
“I know.”
You put out the cigarette in an ashtray and sip on your rum.
In the dimly lit space, Daryl sees you stare at him. Deeply. He lingers in your eyes. That’s when he realises he has actually never looked at them. There wasn’t time to. Surviving stopped him from noticing their colours and the size of your pupils.
None of you look away. As if you both were staring at each other for the first time.
You break the silence, your voice gentle, almost feeble “Daryl… I—“
He doesn’t cut you off. Giving you the time to piece a sentence together.
“I can’t thank you enough. For what you’ve done for us.” You don’t break eye contact. Keeping your eyes deeply focused on him. “For me.”
Daryl suddenly looks in another direction. His pulse slightly increases. He doesn’t want you to thank him. He has barely done anything.
“It’s nothin’” he simply says.
You shake your head. “No. It’s nothing.” Your voice is weak now, when you reminisce on the long and draining journey you’ve been through. “We barely knew each other and… you followed me. Into something that was… well, fucking dangerous.” You add.
You wish you could put into proper words the gratefulness you feel. Because he has stood by your side for over a month now. He picked you and the group up in tiny pieces.
“We wouldn’t have made it without you. So thank you. From the bottom of my heart.” You finish.
Daryl stays silent. He doesn’t know what to say anymore. Suddenly it all feels too much. Heat crawls into his body; his pulse rate increases. So he finishes his drink.
“Hm. Said I would help you.” He simply says.
A Daryl, you’re welcome. You know he wouldn’t have said it anyway.
Your eyes slightly widen when you see him stand up from the couch abruptly.
“I’ll leave you to rest.” He says softly, “Goodnight, y/n”.
And before you can say anything back, he closes the door behind him. Leaving you alone in that pristine and unfamiliar place.
Okay I know I know... Took me ages to publish Chapter 9. Between work and my account being terminated for two weeks for no reason, it has been a struggle... But I am back on track!! ♡
I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, I wish you all an amazing week! ♡
Hello guys!! Just want to say i haven’t forgotten about y’all!
Been super busy with work, plus the heatwave is killing me so I have been struggling to focus! But next chapter will come out on Monday as it is my day off (then I am working 8 days in a row help)
Stay safe everyone, do not go out if possible, drink drink drink loads of water!!
The heat clings to your neck as you lie down in the grass. Eyes closed, your chest slowly rises to the rhythm of the faint breeze tickling your face. The still and quiet forest is your only companion. No voices, no movements. Just you and the gift of nature.
It’s been a week since you left Richmond. A week of overbearing work. You knew it wasn’t going to be an easy journey. But the physical toll it’s taking on you is growing each day. The headaches have been unbearable. And the tremors have been occurring more often. When trying to change Jesus’ bandage, you realised how weak your hands are.
You slowly sit, bringing your knees to your chest. Ahead of you, nothing but what feels like an endless maze. You usually would take in the beauty of the forest. But your patience is thinning.
Between the rationing, the walking, the fighting, the group has been on edge. A split can be enough for two people to fight. People’s care. That’s what you’re used to doing. Supposed to. Not leading a whole group of broken and exhausted people.
You lift a picture up to your face. One of Javi, shirtless, holding two plates in his hands. You took it before leaving to get the Richmond survivors.
“I wonder what you’d do right now…” You murmur to the still face, closing your eyes to reminisce on his being. “For fuck’s sakes, Javi, how did you use to do all that…”
Flashback
You collapse onto a threadbare couch. Shoes still on, you lie down, eyes closed, your body making one with the leather. Your arms are weak from swinging your machete, and your legs are sore from all the running. It was supposed to be an easy supply run.
The smell of a vegetable stew lingers in the room. The spices' aromas are soft. Javi never makes it too spicy. His gringa cannot handle it. He knows.
Javi peeks at you over his shoulder. He lowers the fire and lets the food steam. He crouches next to you and strokes your face before sealing his lips on yours.
“How’d go?” He asks.
You melt under his skin, his fingers magically making the weight of today’s run vanish. “We all made it back.” You murmur, your voice feeble.
“Hm… so not how you wanted it to go.”
“Absolutely not.” You open your eyes and mindlessly stare at the cracked ceiling. “That boy, Harvey, he’s not ready.”
“Okay. I’ll move him to the patrolling team then.”
“Hm. Sounds good. He isn’t bad with a gun and all, but he freezes at every walker he fucking sees…” You bring a hand to your forehead, a throb pulsing behind your eyes.
“I’ve already got a new running team organised,” Javi says, moving back to the kitchen to stir the stew.
You huff quietly. “Of course you do.” You pause. “I am assuming I am not on it.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not. Got something else sorted for you.” He moves back to you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But you’re home now. We’re not talking work.” He cups your face with his hands and drops a quick kiss on your forehead. “Found something I think you’ll like.”
Still lying on the couch, you follow his figure going to your bedroom. He comes back holding a CD. He inserts it in the CD player, checking if it’s working.
The violins start. And you know what song it is. Javi notices the faint smile appearing on your face. The notes, the smell of the food, the tall and broad, alive figure in front of you. All of it eases the cramps in your body.
Javi walks back to you and takes your hand.
“C’mon.”
You pout a bit, your body feeling inadequate to move at the moment. “I don’t know if I can, it aches everywhere…” You say.
Javi shakes his head. “Please. Forget about everything for a couple of minutes. Just you and me, cariño.”
You’re reluctant to move when the verse begins. Still holding your hand, Javi, off-key, begins to sing along.
“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off you” he shouts, more than singing.
You laugh and look at him: his eyes are brown and bright. Pleading for you to join him. So, you give in and wrap your hands around his neck. Side by side, your bodies give in, and you dance, blissfully unbothered by the noise your feet are making.
I love you baby and if it’s quite all right, I need you baby the two of you scream at the top of your lungs.
For a couple of minutes, it’s just you and Javi. The world around you feels like a mirage. The walls of this decayed flat, the music weaving around, the food, and your existence are the sole reality.
As the music fades, Javi spins you around. You gasp, startled by his sudden move. Slowly, he brings you back against his chest. He slides a hand down your waist, and another cups your cheek.
“You’re mad.” You murmur between two breaths.
“Madly in love.” He teases, a tired but real grin on his face.
You gently roll your eyes. “Oh shut up.”
His lips move onto yours. Passionate, loving, and pure. You're under his spell, his kiss making the day’s frustration disappear, as if this whole time it had just been you and him. He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.
“y/n, I love you. More than you can imagine.” He murmurs, his breath warming your face.
You caress his cheeks with your hands, stroking the growing crow’s feet which you adore. “I love you too, Javi.”
Three words, I love you, three simple words strong enough to make you forget about all the losses, the pain, the misery, the cruel world standing still outside of the confines of your two bodies intertwined together.
Sitting on a chair in front of the porch, Daryl sharpens his knife with a whetstone when the front door abruptly opens. He drops his tools on the floor when he is grabbed by his collar.
“You let her go by herself? Are you fucking stupid?” Shouts David.
Daryl roughly pushes him away.
“Fuck you. She wanted to go alone.”
“And you didn’t tell me? Are you insane?” Shouts David.
“She ain’t a child, man. She can handle herself fine.”
“Oh because you would know.”
“Yeah I fucking do, you jackass.”
“What did you call me?” Growls David, angrily coming closer to Daryl.
“David stops.”
They both turn around at the scream. You’ve just made your way back, slipping through the trees. Furious, you walk towards them, a satchel in your hand.
“Fucking lay off him.” You violently, but weakly, push David away from Daryl.
David grunts and grabs you tightly by the shoulders. “Why didn’t you say something?”
You throw his hands away. “I wanted to go alone. I wasn’t gone for too long.” You say, voice harsh.
“Still—“
You cut David off. “No. No still.”
Your tone is rough. Not angry, but frustrated. Frustrated at David almost throwing hands at Daryl over a mere minute of peace away from all this.
You hand the satchel to David. “Give that to Jesus. Mushrooms in there. Just go. Now.”
“You’ll be the death of yourself y/n…” David murmurs before walking away from you and Daryl.
You pass a hand over your head and let a sigh out.
“Sorry about that… he doesn’t know how to handle his emotions…” You say to Daryl.
“Yeah? Well he betta keep his hands away.” He answers, obviously angered by the interaction.
“Thank you for staying calm.” You mumble.
Daryl doesn’t answer. He almost punched him. You just came at the right time to stop him. His eyes linger on the tools he drops when he feels a pat over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t even entirely alone. You’re not as stealthy as you might think.” You smirk.
His eyes abruptly find your face. He awkwardly rubs his neck. “Sorry… I just wanted to make sure you were alright…”
“I know, I know. Just make sure you’re more discreet next time.” You faintly smile. “Come on, let’s go inside. Got a few things to say to everyone.”
Followed by Daryl, you push the front door open to see the group busy finishing packing up their bags. Your eyes fall on Arthur, the four-year-old boy, who, despite his age, has managed to keep up with all the adults. Orphaned because of the Saviors.
You knew his parents. He was barely one year old when you met him. First baby you’d seen since the beginning of the end. You wonder if he knows. If he knows what grief is. He must do. Every adult around him adorns the dreadful face of pain and loss. Looking at the tragic group of people in front of you, your heart aches. But you shake the feeling of sadness lingering in your heart. Because for once, you have good news.
So you smile. A big grin, the one you offer every time you want to ignite a fire of hope in people’s minds.
“Guys,” you clap your hands to get their attention. “Stop doing whatever you’re busy with and listen for a bit.”
Everyone turns their heads to you, bodies immobile.
“You’ve been doing amazing guys, really. I know resources are scarce, and the rationing has been tough. But you don’t stop. And that’s worth everything.” You stand near the dinner table and tap the surface with your fingers. “It’s paying off, guys. I’ve reviewed and modified the routes. If we keep up this pace, we can make it to Alexandria in four days. Three more nights out there before we finally reach real safety.”
Gasps fill the room. Some murmurs thank God, others finally move their mouth muscles upwards. Relief, excitement, and exhaustion all at once.
Jesus looks up to you and raises a brow. “You’ve rerouted it all?” He asks.
You nod. “Yeah, I—“
You’re cut off by a little figure hugging your legs. You softly smile and pat Arthur’s head. He doesn’t say anything. He’s not much of a chatterbox. You turn your attention back to Jesus, your hand still on the boy’s head.
“I’ve been keeping track of our pace. We’re waking way faster than I thought. It’s been boiling as well for a while now. Water levels will have dropped, so we can easily cross through streams and creeks without being worried about being current and depth.”
“Shit y/n, that’s fucking great news!” Exclaims David.
You put a finger to your mouth. “Language David.” You say, jerking your chin to the boy still stuck on you.
“It is amazing news yeah.” Nods Jesus.
“But again, we can make it. It’s not certain.” You lower to the ground and pick Arthur up in your arms. “Oof, you’re getting heavier every day.” You lightly poke his nose, and his little arms wrap around your neck. “So yeah, let’s keep in mind that it’s possible. But as soon as I notice anyone falling behind, we slow down.”
Jesus sighs. “I am sorry y/n, I wish I could do more…”
You gently shake your head. “Your shoulder is far from being healed, and we’re almost out of antibiotics. If you did more, you’d definitely run a fever. We don’t want that…”
Daryl hasn’t said a word. As you walk further into the room to help Arthur pack up, he bites the inside of his cheeks.
He saw you earlier, lying, legs and arms stretched on the ground. Murmuring to yourself. He remembers that night he offered you a cigarette and, though it was barely noticeable, the way your hand was shaking when you were smoking. You’ll be the death of yourself y/n, said David earlier. Maybe he isn’t wrong.
The fire crackles, its ashes rising into the night sky. Sitting against a tree, Daryl’s eyes linger on the group, deep asleep. But his ears are listening to your soft voice. He can’t exactly make up the words you’re saying. Probably murmuring a tale, a story, to Arthur, who’s finally falling asleep. Earlier today, you encountered a group of walkers. Nothing worrying, only three of them. But enough for the boy to be scared.
The soft light of the fire transcends the scene. Through your soft voice and words, you’re trying to bring a little bit of warmth to the boy. And it works. You stroke Arthur’s little head one last time and move away. Through the shadows of the dimly lit fire, you notice Daryl watching you. So you walk to him, nudging him gently so he can give you space to rest against the tree.
“We saw quite a few walkers today. I am scared we’re going to see more.” You quietly say, your gaze taking in the stillness of the survivors sleeping.
“Hm. Comin’ from the south. They’re migrating.” Daryl answers.
“Migrating?”
“Yeah. Ya know, they’re like… lookin’ for food somewhere else.”
“Ah. Yeah.” You bring your knees to your chest and rest your face on them. “Guessing there isn’t much left in Richmond.”
Daryl discreetly glances at you. Though he expected your eyes to be sorrowful, they’re empty. He sees and knows the exhaustion has been growing. He wanted to shout at you earlier when you said you’d skip dinner.
Though everyone is barely eating, you’re not nourishing your body at all. Here and there, he subtly gets you to eat, I am full, here. He’s also been pretending to be a picky eater. Though he is absolutely not.
For a couple of minutes, both of you simply stare at the camp, the fire giving up on its final embers.
Weakly, you gesture to Arthur. “You think he’ll be okay?”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Growing up without your parents. And in this world.” You sigh. “It’s… tragic.”
Daryl shrugs, “he’ll be.”
You fiddle with your hands. “How do you know that?”
He doesn’t answer straight away. He hesitates. He never truly talks or thinks about all that: his childhood, his family. Always fled the thoughts and feelings that come with these words. But the softness of your voice earlier lingers in his mind.
“‘Cause I turned out fine.” He finally says.
He glances at the faint smile on your face.
“You did.” You simply say.
Daryl expected you to tease him with a Pipe down or I love your self-esteem. But no, you simply listen to his words, quietly and still.
You wished you could ask a little bit more about all that. But you fear making Daryl uncomfortable. And his words are enough to let you believe that he’s right: the boy’s going to be okay.
“But… though things were mad before, it wasn’t that insanely violent. If it were just the walkers, things would be easier, I think…” You quietly add.
“Hm.” Daryl takes two cigarettes out and hands you one. He lights yours, then his. “He ain’t alone though. Family ain’t just blood.”
You nod slowly while puffing on the cigarette. “You found yours yet?”
Yeah, he did. Rick, Carol, Glenn, Maggie, and all. It is not a mere friendship or companionship. It runs deeper in his heart. Deeper than any other relationship he has ever known.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Rick and the others?”
“Hm.”
Silence settles, your cigarettes offering little spots of light in the dark. The only sound is that of your breath when exhaling the smoke.
“And ya?” voice just above a whisper, asks Daryl.
“Me what?”
“Your family.”
“Oh,” your eyes turn to him. “I don’t know if I still have a family.” You finish your cigarette, throwing the butt away in a metal box. “I never got to go back home.”
Your voice is steady. As if you’d made peace with it. But with the light of his lit cigarette, Daryl observes the way your pupils have dilated: your eyes can’t hide the pain.
He feels bad now. He should have known. But for a moment, he foolishly forgot that it wasn’t just walkers and madmen keeping you away from home, but a whole damn ocean.
“Sorry.” He mumbles, his glance falling to the ground.
You shake your head. “It’s alright.” You stand up. “Death, loss. It’s normal. It just happens differently now.”
Daryl doesn’t say anything. You’re right. It’s a new world. Hence, a new perception of death. Not tragic but evolving with its time.
“Night, Daryl.”
“‘Night.”
And just like that, reflecting on the emotional and physical pain of this new world, Daryl’s eyes linger on you slipping into a miserable sleeping bag, close to the little boy.
Your breathing is uneven. The adrenaline keeps your muscles going, but your head is throbbing. A walker comes close to you, and you push him aside, machete through its head.
“Don’t stop running!” You shout at the group behind you. Jesus is beside you, keeping up with your weakened pace.
The Richmond survivors look exhausted, too. Thankfully, they still have enough strength to keep fighting, but for how long?
You can’t fight the horde. It would drain everyone, too risky. So, you have decided to make a run for it.
Daryl and David are at the tail of the group, fighting alongside each other.
Suddenly, your legs feel numb. You fall to the ground. Jesus abruptly halts and holds you.
“y/n! You okay?”
You nod faintly. “Yeah yeah…” as you hold onto him to stand up, your head is boiling. Your grip on your machete falters, and it drops to the ground. You quickly glance at Jesus, whose eyes are wide open.
“y/n?” He frantically calls out for you.
You don’t have the time to answer; everything turns dark. Your body stiffens and your jaw locks. Your body falls to the ground, and the convulsions begin.
The group halts. The walkers are closing in on you all.
Daryl and David notice that everyone has stopped running and are exhaustedly trying to fight off the horde.
Jesus winces, his wound still not fully healed. He crouches beside you and puts a hand over your forehead.
Daryl calls out to Jesus amongst the chaos. “The fuck’s going on!”
Jesus sees a walker getting closer and stabs him. “y/n! Somethin’ happening to her!” He shouts back.
David, with rage, takes care of two walkers and makes a run for you, followed by Daryl.
They see you seizing on the floor, drool and blood forming in your mouth.
David crouches beside you. He takes a piece of fabric and wipes your mouth. “Circle up and keep ‘em back!” He shouts. “You don’t stop ‘til I tell you.” His harsh gaze lands on the Richmond survivors. They know what to do. David trained them for these types of situations.
Daryl shouts at David. “What’s that!” He stares at your crooked fingers, looking frozen; your jaw seems like it’s about to snap. And your eyes, your damn eyes, are empty and rolled back, as if they didn’t belong to you anymore.
David puts you in the recovery position and puts a hand over your chest to check your breathing. “She’s seizing.”
Jesus and Daryl stare at each other, confused. David notices it and groans. “Just fuckin’ take care of ‘em. I got her.”
The final walker falls to the ground. Everyone is breathless. Some survivors drop to the ground to catch their breath, while others check if all walkers have been taken care of.
Your breathing has settled; your eyes are closed now. David is still crouched beside you, carefully patting the back of your head.
Daryl retrieves his final bolt, and he stares at your limp body. You’re not moving anymore. An intense flash of worry runs through him, and he jogs towards you. He lets a breath of relief out when he sees your chest rising.
“She okay?” He quietly asks David.
David doesn’t look at him, his hands still holding your head. “Yeah.” He sharply answers.
Daryl doesn’t like David. He’s heard what he did to Jesus, and about the New Frontier. And the way he tightly gripped your shoulders despite your obvious weakened state, enraged him.
But he needs to know. “What happened to her?” He finally says.
David turns his harsh gaze to him and Jesus, who’s coming over. “She didn’t tell you?”
Daryl grunts, “Obviously she fuckin’ didn’t.” He clenches his jaw. That man is a pain in the ass.
David’s eyes soften when he looks back at you. “She’s got epilepsy.” He simply says.
Jesus sighs and rubs his forehead. “fuck…” he mutters.
Daryl’s grip on his crossbow loosens. This medicine, that’s why. Why would you not tell him? Why the hell did you keep that to yourself?
This morning, you’re not walking ahead as usual. Your body is still weakened from yesterday’s seizure. Every fibre of your muscles aches. You’re at the tail end of the group; Daryl is right behind you. He’s checking every tremor you have, ready to reach for you in case you’d have an attack again.
You halt to stretch your legs. He comes up beside you.
“You okay?”
You nod abruptly. “Yeah. All good.” You sigh a little and move again, your legs carrying a burden heavier than just physical.
He slowly walks behind you. “You shoulda told me.” He quietly grunts between his teeth.
You swallow hard. Should you have? You’re not too sure. Epilepsy is a scary word to those who don’t know it.
“I…” you pause. “I should have.” You quietly answer. He’s right. You know it. But things have drastically changed.
Daryl sighs. His heart aches a bit when he hears the tint of exhaustion in your voice. And the worst part: you’re not breaking. Still not. But your voice is extinguishing after each day. And today is the quietest it’s ever been.
“Why you didn’t.”
You huff a little. Not in a hostile way, but frustrated. “How do you expect me to? ‘Hey, it’s the end of the fucking world. Oh, and by the way, I have fucking epilepsy.’”
“Well like that.”
You gently roll your eyes. “It’s not that easy Daryl…” You slow down to match his pace. “But you’re right. I should have told you.”
“Then why didn’t you say somethin’.”
“I just…” you flex your sore fingers. “I don’t want to be a liability.”
“You’re not.”
You scoff a little. “Well, yesterday proved otherwise.”
“I coulda done somethin’ ‘bout it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve hidden from me that you’re a neurologist, you can’t do much.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” You try to put a sentence together; your words are still slurring a bit. “You can’t fix a broken brain.” Your gaze lowers.
That’s when he notices the way the usual glistening in your eyes has vanished. It vanished days ago, but after the seizure, a white veil covers your eyes, drained of life. He understands that not only your body, but your whole spirit is collapsing. Because once again, you’ve decided to carry that by yourself.
“Just wish you woulda told me,” he sighs. “Or I don’t know. Fin’ out another way, ya know.”
You faintly smile. “First time seeing a seizure, I am assuming?”
He grunts. “Yeah. ‘S scary as hell.” Unconsciously, he reaches deep into your eyes. “Thought we’d lose you.”
You nod at him. “I know. I mean… I’ve never seen one myself, obviously…” You weakly joke. “But… every fucking time it happens…” You pinch your lips together. “The fear in people’s eyes… And it’s always been like that.”
You halt again, this time massaging your neck. He moves his bag over one shoulder and moves his hand to you.
“Gimme your bag.” He orders.
You smile a bit and hand it to him.
“Thanks” you murmur.
“You ain’t got to carry all that alone.” He pauses.
Neither of you realises that the distance from the group is increasing, leaving you two behind. You look into Daryl’s blue eyes. For a minute, you forget about the group ahead of you. Simply taking in the care and trust emanating from his eyes.
“Maybe I don’t have to anymore.” You grin a little.
Notes: Why epilepsy? I really wanted to write a disabled reader, as we don't have many stories with such readers.
It is slightly self-centered, but as an epileptic myself, I thought it was quite an interesting way to put in perspective what would happen to us disabled and chronically ill people in an apocalyptic world.
I could have used diabetes, Crohn's disease, COPD, or even asthma, but I landed on something I know best: epilepsy.
DO NOT WORRY, it is absolutely not central to your character, because, like in real life, we're more than our disabling condition!
Anyhow, I hope you don't mind it, and will keep engaging with the story!
Also weird time to post, but unfortunately I have work tonight (I am a waitress), so I'll probably have to post earlier than expected from now on :(
Wishing you all a great week, and take care of yourselves! ♡
Relationship: Daryl x f!reader [use of she/her]; y/n = your name; fluff, slowburn, yearning.
Special notes: I want to wish you all a very HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!! May you all be safe and free to love and be whoever you want. You're all extraordinary and should be proud of the incredible achievements you've made throughout history and the incredible culture and arts you've created.
And as a straight cisgender woman, I owe you one of my reasons to live, which is electronic dance music and clubbing culture, without you, none of this would exist. So thank you so much for disco, house, techno, hardgroove, voguing, and more. ♡
The wet morning dew makes your arms shiver. You’re lying on the grass, Jesus and Daryl beside you. You’ve decided to reach the abandoned warehouse before sunrise. The little time window between night and morning is when exhaustion prevails. When people shift patrol, some have only been awake for a few minutes, while others have been awake for too long.
You know that for a reason. Most settlements adopt such harsh routines. You’ve changed that in Richmond. Fewer people patrolling, shorter shifts. And you get a team ready to fight if needed.
“Two of ‘em.” Daryl whispers. “Front door and catwalk.”
“We need to get in quietly. We don’t know how many are inside.” You add.
There’s barely any cover around the warehouse. Its car park is overgrown with tall grass and abandoned cars. You scan the area and spot a hollow and rusty truck.
“Daryl, think you can shoot them from here?” You jerk your chin towards it.
“Yeah. Close 'nough.” He answers.
You nod. “Clear the one on the catwalk first. The other will hear and look up. He won’t have the time to understand.”
Daryl moves away from the ground and kneels. “Don’t move ‘til I am done.”
He silently speeds to the truck. The smell of the mouldy leather hits his nose as he ducks down. He quickly peeks up at the man on the catwalk. He positions his crossbow and waits.
The man standing in front of the door looks away for a second. Daryl pulls the trigger. The bolt lands. The man on the catwalk falls, and a dull thud rings on the metal. The other man lifts his head. Just like you’ve said. Daryl stands out of his hiding spot and shoots again. The body slumps near the entrance.
He turns to you and Jesus. “C’mon.” He motions with his hand.
You jog to him. “Impressive.” You say, eyes fixed on the limp bodies.
You crouch near the door and reach for the man’s gun. A rifle. You take the magazine out and count. Twenty rounds.
You sigh, “I am going to hope they don’t have automatics…” You leave the gun aside and stand up. “Let’s go.”
The metal door creaks open. The horrid, acidic smell of the rusty steel makes you squint your nose. A long corridor is ahead of you. On its right side, broken windows give a peek into the structure. Two huge cylinders, darkened with rust, stand in the middle of the warehouse. The acrid smell of rotten malt tells you it used to be a brewery.
“What? Don’t like the food?” A rough voice rises in the silence. A dish is thrown aside and breaks.
Through the broken glass, you peek towards the sound. Familiar figures are sitting, their faces lowered, standing still. Your breathing halts.
“It’s them.” You whisper to Daryl and Jesus.
They look in your direction. Four people. Richmond’s people. Daryl notices how frail their frames are. One of them is small: a child.
“I only see three guards. But there will be more.” Mutters Jesus.
Ducking down, the three of you move through the corridor. On the left, a door is ajar. A sound comes from it.
“James, you copy?” A low voice says.
A static sound rises from a walkie. “Yeah. We’ve made it. You ain’t gonna like that…”
“What is it?”
“They’ve been killed.”
“What?” A chair scrapes the floor.
“Yeah. All of them.”
“Shit…” the man keeps quiet for a minute. “Joe said anythin’?”
“Just said to keep an eye out. We’re gonna stay around for the day. Try to find out where whoever did that is.”
“Okay. Keep us updated.”
“Will do. Over.”
The man’s steps come dangerously closer to the door. You motion to Daryl and Jesus to lie back against the left side of the corridor. The door opens.
As you get ready to make a move, Jesus stops you, knife in hand. He closes the distance between himself and the man. He sweeps him off his feet. He slides his knife into the head.
You don’t say anything. But you don't blink for a moment. Jesus turns to you.
“We can’t risk their lives.” He sternly says.
You nod at his words when a voice comes from ahead of you.
“Hey, I heard—“ A man appears from around the corner, rifle in his hands, and freezes. “Who the fuck are you?!” He shouts, now aiming at you.
Your eyes widen. He doesn’t have the time to shoot. Daryl’s bolt slides right through his neck. But now, the others are aware of your presence.
It doesn’t take long for them to begin shooting towards you. The three of you run towards the other side of the corridor while the bullets land over your heads. You quickly grab the rifle and look at Daryl and Jesus.
“Here!” You pass the rifle to Jesus. “Cover me! I am going in there.”
“You sure?” Asks Daryl.
“Yeah,” you take your pistol out. “Just make sure you shoot them before they shoot me.”
He nods at you. “Will do.” He firmly holds his crossbow. As he sees you move towards the metal doors leading to the main room, he calls out to you. “Stay safe.”
You faintly smile and push through the door. Shots are erupting from inside the room. They echo loudly in the empty space. Between the two cylinders, the Richmond’s survivors are hiding away from the bullets.
Your eyes widen when you notice three more men running from a corner of the room. While two join the others shooting at Daryl and Jesus, one of them jogs towards the survivors. He grabs one by the arm and throws him aside.
“Move!” He pushes them violently. “I said fucking move!”
Your blood boils when you see him kick the survivors in the back. You peek at the people shooting. They’re too busy to spot you. So you decide to make a run for it.
Still ducked down, you reach the survivors before they’re out of their cover. The man sees you and raises his rifle at you. Your first bullet lands in his shoulder, prompting him to drop the weapon. The second through his trachea. He stumbles on the floor. One of the survivors reaches for the gun and erratically turns to you. His stare falters when he notices you.
“y/n!” He says, his voice silenced by the deafening sound of the shots.
They all turn towards you, and you move closer to them.
“Don’t move and stay low.” You motion to the survivor holding the gun. “Give me the rifle.” You order.
He throws it. You work the lever and aim at a man. The shot echoes in your ears. The recoil is strong enough to make you jolt a little.
Daryl relaxes when he notices you reach the survivors. He sees you kill a Savior with a rifle. Three left. But the tension crawls back when he spots in his dead corner two men coming at him and Jesus.
“Behind!” Daryl shouts.
Jesus quickly turns around and raises the rifle, but a bullet tears into his shoulder. He jerks behind and chokes on a scream.
Daryl shoots a bolt through one of them, while Jesus manages to take the other one down.
“Shit…” Jesus mutters, raising a hand to his bloody shoulder.
“You okay?” Shouts Daryl, eyes focused back to the other side.
“Yeah, let’s just end this.” Jesus manages to answer between his clenched teeth.
Daryl breathes in. Pulls the trigger. Two left. He draws back the string. Another shot. One left. The sound of gunfire has slowed down into a quiet pattern. A loud pop rings in Daryl’s ear. His eyes turn to Jesus, whose arms fall to his sides, the rifle slipping away from him. Silence comes, quietly broken by Jesus’s halting breathing.
Daryl moves his crossbow aside and comes to Jesus.
“Lemme have a look.” He says, tearing the fabric apart to have a proper look at the wound.
“How does it look?” Jesus asks weakly.
“You’re lucky, man. Clean shot.” Daryl takes a cloth out of his pocket and applies pressure to the shoulder. “Don’t seem like it tore any muscles.”
Jesus nods. “Great.” With one hand, he stands up. “Let’s go check on y/n.”
When they come to you, Daryl’s eyes soften. Two people are hugging you, and the others are close to you. The smaller frame he’s spotted earlier reaches the height of your knees and is tightly holding you.
“How did you find us?” Says a woman.
You lift your eyes to her. “One of them told us where you were.” You pinch your lips together. “I am— I am sorry for coming so late.”
“No no. You’ve made it. That’s what matters.” Prompt the woman, whose gaze falls behind you.
You turn around and see your two friends coming up. Your mouth opens when you spot Jesus’s shoulder. You gently push the people away and jog to him.
“Oh my God! Are you okay?” You worryingly ask, mechanically assessing the wound.
“Yeah I am okay. Just need some sutures, and it will be all good.” Jesus answers with a faint smile.
“Just— Just sit down there,” you point at a chair, “I’ll take care of it in a minute.”
Your eyes now move to Daryl. “And you? You alright?”
He nods, “Hm, all good.”
He sees your shoulders relax a bit. Your hand falls on his back.
“This is Daryl and Jesus. Friends of mine. They’re with us.” You say, voice steady and firm.
You walk away from Daryl and back to the Richmond’s survivors.
“Okay now listen carefully.” You take a deep breath in. “We move in a couple of hours. In the meantime, get ready.” With your hands, you motion to the warehouse. “Get some bags ready with food and water, we’ll need quite a bit. Then weapons: only a couple of rifles, the strongest of you carry them; take smaller guns and melee weapons primarily. We’re going to walk. A lot. Avoid carrying bulky items so we can make the journey quicker. First aid, find some rubbing alcohol, or just any alcohol. Only small plastic bottles. If you find clean cloths, rip and take them. Get yourselves changed too.” You stare at their shoes, which definitely won’t make it through the whole journey. “We’ll find you new shoes, you can’t walk in those… I’ll tell you more about the plan once we’ve made it to a safe place. Oh, and eat something before we go, okay?” They nod at you. “Good, come on, let’s hurry.” You clap your hands together.
“Wait y/n,” interjects a survivor.
“Yeah?”
“There are two more of us.”
“Where?”
“Here, behind that door.” The survivor points at an eerily still metal door.
“Okay, I’ll get them.” You nod at him.
The metal door is heavy. You clench your teeth as you try to open it. Daryl notices it and takes the handle.
“I’ll do it.”
Slowly, he opens the door. The smell is atrocious: sweat, rotten food, and piss are hitting your nose. The people inside hold their breath when they see light. You peek in carefully.
“Guys, it’s me. It’s y/n.” Voice low and gentle. You see two figures appear, and you hear them exhale, finally feeling safe enough to breathe.
“No fucking way…” whispers a deep voice.
The shadow comes into light.
Your eyes widen, and your mouth stands slightly open.
The man walks to you and wraps you. You grip his side.
“Oh my God, David.”
“I thought you were dead.” He moves his hand on the back of your head.
“Me too.”
Slowly, you move away and take a look at him. His usual olive skin is pale. His eyes and cheeks are sunken. He smells terribly bad, and his clothes are in a pitiful state.
“I can’t believe it.” You whisper again.
Daryl stands behind you. He observes the way your hands move on the man’s face, inspecting each bruise and wound.
“What have they done to you…” Your eyes are filled with pain.
David doesn’t answer. His gaze falls to the ground, letting you touch his face.
Your arms fall to your sides. You take a small breath in.
“David…” you pause, taking one of his hands in yours. “Javi… He…”
David stops you and takes you in his arms again.
“I know y/n” voice gentle “I know.”
You furrow your head in his shoulder. Holding onto the last physical proof that Javi was.
Finally, you leave his arms and turn to Daryl.
“David, this is Daryl and—“
“Ah, it’s you.” A voice appears from behind you.
David’s face distorts, and you follow his gaze. Jesus, hand tightly wrapped on his shoulder, stares at you.
David grunts quietly, “y/n, what is he doing here.”
You cross your arms and furrow your brows. “He’s with me, David.”
“Why?”
“Javi told me to go to him.” You move to Jesus and gently nudge him towards the chair he was sitting in. You sit him down and reach for a little bottle of alcohol and a clean cloth. David slowly steps behind you, his eyes fixed on Jesus.
You pour some alcohol on the cloth and look up at Jesus. “This is going to hurt a bit...” He winces quietly as you carefully press the gauze on his wound. “Whatever happened between you two, deal with it later.” You take out a little sewing kit and sterilise the needle. “Jesus is a good friend. I couldn’t have made it all the way here without him.” You firmly say.
Jesus faintly smiles at you. “It’s all good y/n. I ain’t got no problem with him.”
David sighs. “I don’t either.”
You nod to yourself. “Good.” You pull the thread through the needle’s eye. “David, do me a favour and help the others get ready. Daryl will fill you in. I need to suture the wound.”
“C’mon.” Mutters Daryl, who has kept silent, watching the tense interaction unfold in front of him.
David clicks his tongue against his teeth and reluctantly follows Daryl.
“And you, you are?” David asks, while they’re walking towards the Richmond’s survivors, prepping for the long journey.
“Daryl.”
“Yeah, I got that. But who are you?”
Good question. Who is he? A travel companion, a colleague. A friend? Yeah, friend sounds right. After all, you said it yourself.
After a little bit of thinking, Daryl finally answers. “A friend.”
“Since how long?”
“Why all the questions.”
“Just making sure she is surrounded by good people.” David roughly says.
Daryl huffs a little. He begins to be irritated by that man. “She’s here and alive. Says ‘nough.”
“We’ll see.”
“Sure…” mutters Daryl, unimpressed with David’s words.
The room, overgrown with vines, looks like a makeshift command centre. Three walkie-talkies are on a table. You pick one up.
“We take these.” You turn one on and switch the station. “We have a bigger group now. We need to keep in contact.”
Daryl nods in agreement. “Yeah. Only if necessary.”
“Sounds good to me.” You hand one to him. “Here. I’ll give Jesus the other one.”
“Hm. Not David?”
You gently shake your head. “No need, he won’t leave my side.” You huff quietly.
Daryl hesitates for a moment, fearing the question might be too intrusive.
You notice the way his mouth distorts: he wants to ask something, you know it.
“What is it?” You ask.
“David. Who is he? And… how’d he know Jesus?”
You attach one of the walkies to your bag and move towards Daryl. “David is Javi’s brother. Used to be one of the leaders of the New Frontier.” Your face falls. “And to make it short, David put Javi, Jesus, and the rest of their group in quarantine when they reached Richmond. And there is a certain… morality conflict between them. They believe in different things.”
“What does David believe in?”
“That roughness and authority are key to survival.” You shrug. “He was a soldier before all that. He still believes in military logistics, I guess.”
“And you?”
“Hm?”
“What do you believe in?”
Your eyes slowly fall on Daryl’s face, taken aback at his question. “I… I believe in my own methods and structure.” You shrug a bit. “It’s not perfect. But… with you by my side? I’d say it’s almost infallible.”
He chuckles discreetly. “Ah, so I am part of this structure thing?”
“Now? Definitely.” You pause. “I think we make a pretty good team. No?”
“Hm. Guess so.”
You laugh a little and playfully push his shoulder. “Come on, I know you think so too.”
He almost grins. “Maybe.”
You move towards a desk. A couple of papers and a map are sitting on it.
“Daryl, come have a look at this.”
He leans over the papers. “That’s a big inventory.”
You nod. “Yeah, seems like they took a lot.”
He taps his finger on the map. “Here, that’s the spot that guy told us about.”
“Other spots as well…” you sigh and rub the side of your temples. “Shit. There are way more than I expected… How are we supposed to deal with them?”
Daryl stays silent for a minute, thinking. “One by one.”
“Hm?”
“We take ‘em one by one. Look.” His fingers trace over lines. “Routes. We mess with their system.”
You nod. “Yeah. Weaken their links to each other. If they’ve got that many spots, they must be delegating some kind of responsibility or resources to each point.”
“Just need to figure out where to start,” Daryl adds.
He notices your eyes moving from one point to another.
“Can’t be that one near Alexandria. It will bring too much attention to the area. Too risky.” You quietly say to yourself, forgetting for a moment that Daryl is standing next to you.
You quickly peek at your watch. Time is running. You will need to leave in a bit. You fold the map and slip it into your bag.
As you move away from the desk, you brush Daryl’s shoulder. He freezes slightly and doesn’t move away from the desk.
Feeling that he isn’t following you, you turn to him. His gaze falls on the floor.
Your eyes soften, and you gently call out to him. “Daryl, you’re worried?”
Daryl slowly moves his eyes up, but doesn’t look at you. “‘Bout what?”
“Alexandria.”
“Hm.” He pauses for a second. “A bit I guess.”
You nod once. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to you all.”
Finally, he stares at you. You’re resting your hands on your hips, standing steady, certain of what you’ve said.
“I know.” He quietly adds.
He means it. He sees that you’ve already started preparing a plan. Every new piece of information you get, your mind straightforwardly goes to work. Whatever you decide, he’ll listen.
The room is warmed by the multiple bodies sleeping tightly together. Their exhausted breathing forms a symphony that tells a story of resilience and relief. Amongst them, you’re tucked into a worn-out duvet, David resting beside you.
Jesus painfully tries to sleep, but the sutures are still aching. He needs some fresh air and heads outside. Daryl is there, a cigarette lingering in his mouth.
“How’s the wound?”
“I have to admit, y/n’s suturing might not be her strongest skill.” Jesus chuckles.
“She’ll keep an eye on ya the whole trip.”
Jesus nods, “Yeah.” He sighs. “But now she's got more people to look after.”
“Hm. She ain’t going to slow down.” Adds Daryl, smoke leaving his mouth.
“She won’t.” He pauses. “So, we’re heading back to Alexandria.”
You’ve laid out the plan to the group earlier. Alexandria is where you’ll take everyone. You’ve decided it would be safer than Hilltop, considering they know what the Richmond survivors look like. Too risky for them, and for Hilltop, if you bring them there. Jesus has agreed, and Daryl has reassured the survivors by saying they have enough space to take them all in.
Daryl nods. “Yeah. Goin’ to be a long way though. They’re exhausted.”
“And rightfully so.” Jesus smiles at Daryl. “But you and y/n sorted out a good way.”
Indeed, you have. With Daryl’s hunting ground knowledge and now the precise locations of some of the Saviors bases, the two of you have carefully drawn a sixteen-day journey that will provide you with food and safety from the Saviors.
“It’s a good thing you’re here, Daryl.”
“Hm?”
“You’ve got a good thing going on with y/n. Her plans are good, but they don’t always go as planned. And you know what to do in those moments.”
“Hm. I don’t really know, I just act.”
“That’s good. Acting is necessary.”
“I guess so.” Mumbles Daryl.
Jesus moves back to the door. “Anyhow, I think we’ll be fine. You two will make sure of that.”
He closes the door quietly behind him, leaving Daryl alone in the dark and silent night. Jesus’s words linger in his mind.
He doesn’t know when it began. When he started to be a part of your plan. The unusual steadiness that comes with following your plans.
The way you pause between sentences when giving instructions, so people can breathe in and understand clearly. During those moments, you stand proud and sure of every step.
At some point during this whole journey, you’ve stopped being a simple survivor. The way you and Daryl work together feels disturbingly natural to him. As if you completed his own survival logistics. And for once, he can work with someone, and it feels easy.
“Oh no no no. You two aren’t doing that.” You shout, voice rough.
“He could have gotten us killed y/n!” A survivor says.
“I didn’t fuckin’ mean to!” Another cries out.
“Who gives a shit who, why, what. Everyone’s safe. He’s learned his lesson. So quit it, will you?” You shout, pointing fingers at the two men. “Bickering like a couple of maidens… you’re wasting everyone’s energy.” you calmly, but harshly say.
The two survivors stop talking, sensing the air shifts around you as a tall figure makes its way to you.
“He isn’t wrong y/n, who knows what could’ve happened.”
You turn around and see David, arms folded, coming up beside you. You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.
“It was an accident.” You firmly say.
“A dangerous one.” David retorts.
You put a hand over your forehead, cooling down your fiery nerves. “That’s the core of an accident.”
“Don’t play smart mouth. You know what I mean.”
“I know, I know… But what’s done is done. And we’re all here. Mark, I believe this won’t happen again, right?”
The survivor named Mark nods at you frantically. “Yeah of course, I am sorry.”
You smile faintly and walk towards him. “Keep your hands busy with a knife or something, it will stop you from fidgeting with your holster.” You pat his shoulder. “Let’s move and reach that cabin before nightfall.”
You up your pace, staying ahead of the group as usual. David quietly joins you. From the corner of your eye, you can see him shake his head.
“You’re too lenient.” He says, a tint of worry in his voice.
“What do you want me to do? Scold him? Give him a time-out or something?” You irritably answer.
“At least shout at him, tell him he acted like a dick.”
You sigh. “I don’t want to waste energy like that. He hasn’t done it on purpose.”
“I know. But sometimes they need to be reminded that consequences are real.”
You turn your gaze to him, brows furrow. “Consequences." You huff in disbelief. "You don’t think they’ve been through enough already? Why do you want to make it harder for them? They got punished for existing.”
He grabs your wrist abruptly, forcing you to slow your pace. "Stop that. We've been punished too y/n. Doesn’t mean we’re allowed to fuck up.” You shake his hand away. "Their fuck ups put us in danger too. You want to be almighty and sacrifice yourself? Fucking go for it. But you know I won't let that happen," he gravely says.
“No, it's... I just don’t know what you want me to do, David.”
He stops and walks towards Mark, whose eyes widen.
“David stop—“ you say.
“Give me the gun. Now.” Roughly says David.
Without any argument, Mark takes the gun out of the holster and drops it in David’s hands.
“You can’t handle a gun. You don’t get to have one until you do. You hear me?” David waits for an answer, which doesn’t come. “You hear me?” He raises his voice.
“Yes David…” quietly says Mark.
“Good.” David comes back next to you, gun in his hand.
You can’t help but let a sigh of relief out and. “Thank you…” you mumble.
“You know I am here. I’ve always been.”
“I know. It’s just that…” you pause. “Without Javi, I am… I don’t know how to do all that.” You vaguely gesture in the air.
David huffs lightly. “He didn’t know how to do it without you either.” He smiles to himself more than to you. “Remember that time you and some runners got stuck because of walkers, and you didn’t come home that night? The man was a mess. Acted like a complete dumbass.” He softly shakes his head and sighs. “Got a whole group of people and was ready to get out there in the middle of the night. I had to fight him to get him to wait for daylight.” He puts an arm around your shoulder and gently squeezes you. “And you made it back in the morning.”
You smile, reminiscing on the way Javi held you so tightly you thought he was going to turn you into dust. And the way you simply smiled and said I wasn’t gone for too long, was I? which earned you a deep frown.
“But he knew how to lead people. Because he wanted to. I… I don’t want to do it, David.” Your voice dips down, the weight of an unspoken role that has been cast on you crushing you down.
“Hey, I do the firm. You do the gentle, okay? You don’t have to do it all. And I know you’ll have a go at me if I go too far, so they’ll be okay.” He jerks his head towards the group behind you.
“Oh you can be sure of that.” You huff. “Go at the tail, they’re missing a gun now, so you stay behind with them.”
He nods and walks away from you. A lone walker comes into your view, and before you say anything, a bolt lands quietly in its head.
Daryl moves ahead, and your eyes follow him. As he retrieves the bolt, he feels your body’s warmth behind him, as you peek over his shoulder.
“Anything on him?” You ask.
He shakes his head “no, just a random walker.”
You quietly nod and follow the trail again. Daryl puts the bolt away and picks up your pace, walking beside you.
“How much longer?”
“Only a couple of hours.” You answer.
Silence settles, occasionally broken by the quiet words of some survivors.
Daryl huffs quietly, and you raise an eyebrow at him.
“What?” You ask.
“Bickerin’ like a couple of maidens, where d’ya get all these weird things from.”
You chuckle a little, “My vocabulary extends when needed.”
“Hm, soundin’ fancy even when you’re tired.”
“Ah, I am not tired. Just… slightly on edge.”
“So tired.”
You sigh. “Yeah, I guess I am tired. Just a bit. Is it that obvious?” Your voice subtly falters.
“Dunno, I’ve just noticed.” He mumbles.
“We all are to be honest. It’s only been three days, and it feels like we’ve been walking for weeks already…”
Daryl hears your voice falter.
“Goin’ hunting tomorrow.” He pauses. “You comin’ with me.”
You shake your head “I need to stay—“
“No. David’s with ‘em. They’ll be fine.” He says.
His tone lets you understand that you have no choice but to listen.
“Okay, it can’t hurt if I leave them for a bit.”
“It won’t. And you still need to learn.” He gently adds.
You sweep away the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.
“It’s fucking boiling…” You comment, unnerved.
Despite the trees’ shadows, the snippets of sun that slip through their leaves make your body struggle.
Daryl looks behind him to check if you’re still walking. You’ve unbuttoned your shirt and rolled up your sleeves in a desperate attempt to cool your body down.
He halts, and you mechanically look around you.
“You saw something?” You quietly ask.
Daryl doesn’t say anything. Branches crack underneath his steps as he comes closer to you.
His brows furrow when he glances at your damp forehead. It’s not that hot. You shouldn’t be sweating that much.
You’re about to ask him if anything is wrong when you feel a cold hand on your face.
“You’re warm.” He simply says.
You huff, slightly irritated. “No shit mate.”
“Ya shouldn’t be.” His hand leaves your skin. “You sick or somethin’?”
You shake your head. “No, I think it’s just this mad American heat. Driving me fucking mental.”
“Let’s stop for a bit.”
“No, let’s just get that last rabbit and join the others.” You breathe in slowly, hands on your hips.
At least he’s tried, though he knows you would have never agreed. His eyes fall on your lips, smirking a little. He silently gets ready to hear the snarky comment you’re about to say.
“And as much as I enjoy your company, I don’t want to drag this out too long.” You finally say.
He fucking knew it. But even if he did, it still rips a faint chuckle out of him. Moving his hand to you, he flicks a finger on your forehead.
“C’mon.”
You smile to yourself before picking up his pace. The dead rabbit he caught earlier is dangling, tied to his backpack.
After about fifteen minutes, the heat has increased. You feel the sweat forming on your back. You squint your eyes; the frantic swinging makes your head ache.
Daryl’s eyes haven’t left you. He sighs at your demeanour and stops again. But this time, he sits down against a tree before you get the chance to say anything.
You slightly tilt your head at him.
He shrugs, “I just need a break.” He mumbles.
You smile and laugh. Not a little. A full-on laugh. Daryl times your movements: five shoulder shakes, then you’re going to bring, not your right, but your left hand to your mouth in an attempt to hide your growing grin.
Your laugh finally quiets, and you softly roll your eyes at him. “Fuck off”, you simply say, before taking a seat next to him. You’re not stupid. You know he doesn’t need a break.
You rest your head against the tree, your eyes closed. Neither you nor Daryl says a word. You don’t want the silence to end. You wish life could pause just right there. So that you could blissfully embrace some rest, sleep until you melt with the trees’ roots. But for now, a couple of minutes will suffice.
The sound of a lighter prompts you to open one eye. Daryl is lighting a cigarette. He can feel your gaze on him, that single eye of yours coming to tickle his bare neck. Without a word, he passes the lit cigarette to you. Your fingers brush his hands when you take it. It sends a shiver down his arm, which he retreats brusquely. He takes another cigarette out and hurries to light it.
You don’t notice the abruptness and thank him. As the smoke twirling over your head begins to form one, you smile.
“Enjoying your break?”
Daryl flicks some ashes away. “Yeah. You?”
You inhale the smoke. “Yeah. It’s nice.” You pause. “Almost wish time would just stop.”
Daryl discreetly moves his eyes to your face. Your face adorns a tired state, your gaze fixed on the endless forest.
“Hm. Means you’ll have to bear with me.”
“I mean… You don’t talk much. And I don’t mind your company.” You shrug.
His gaze falters, and he nods to himself. “Good.” He quietly comments.
Life falls still. Right now, there’s no journey back to Alexandria. No Saviors. No impending doom. Next to Daryl, there’s no exhausted leader: simply you. And next to you, there’s no rough and wary man: just Daryl.
While the two of you sit quietly next to each other, a rabbit comes hopping right in front of you.
You slowly turn your face to Daryl, whose eyes are already on you. Carefully, he hands you his crossbow.
“Ya got it?” He murmurs.
You nod once and bring the scope to your eyes. “I do now.” You say, a smile tugging at your lips.
Notes: Hi guys!! I am so sorry for how late it took me to publish Chapter 7! Between my family visiting me and starting my new job it has been quite hectic!
But here we are haha, hope you've enjoyed it and I wish you all a good week ♡
꩜ Summary: As another quiet morning settles over the quarry camp, you struggle to shake off the strange sense of disconnect that’s followed you since waking up. Between awkward conversations, laundry duty with Andrea and Amy, tending to Carl’s injured hand, and uncovering small pieces of a life you don’t fully remember, the camp begins to feel both comfortingly familiar and deeply unsettling — but after taking a walk alone through the woods in search of a moment of peace, you come face to face with something that leave you questioning far more than just your place in the apocalypse.
꩜ A/N: Second chapter! I'm very proud of myself for posting it a week after the first one because I'm not known for being consistent and usually is stopped abruptly by writer block (which is a pain in the ass). English is still not my first language (when will that change may you ask? Never) so sorry for any grammar and/or spelling mistakes, or even sentences that might be harsh to the eye. Thank you for taking the time to read this and hope you enjoy!
Previous || Next
You spend a good fifteen minutes staring at the other tents and dead fires, the blackened wood staring right back at you.
The sound of your shoes is almost inaudible on the grass as you walk away from your own tent. Your feet drag you toward the most recognizable thing that the quarry held, Dale's RV.
The man himself is on top of the roof of the large vehicle, looking at the horizon, probably to see if any danger was coming toward the camp. You look up, squinting as the sun hit right above this area.
As if feeling your stare, Dale turns his head toward you. He gets up from his low seat, adjusting the strap of his shotgun on his shoulder before putting on a smile.
“Well, hello,” he says your way. “Sleep okay? Me, Andrea and Amy were starting to get worried. You never sleep this late.”
You stare at him, unblinking, as if he might disappear within the next second. After a moment, you shake yourself out of it.
“Uh—yeah...” you say, a little louder than necessary.
Awkward.
You feign a cough. “My sleeping bag was... somehow comfier than normal, I guess,” you add with an uncertain smile.
Dale makes a face, unsure of why you were acting that way, before his smile widens. “That's great news then!” He says, his tone mixing up with a hint of confusion.
The awkward moment is cut short as someone pats your back, the force pushing you a bit forward as you weren't prepared for it.
“What's up with you today?” Amy asks as she sees your body sway from the impact of her affectionate pat. You turn to look at her, hiding your sweaty palms in the back pockets of your jeans.
“Nothing—it's just...” You say defensively. Surely you couldn't be figure out the first twenty minutes here. “Ever woken up confused? I mean... I don't know. I guess I forgot our situation for a moment,” you add, hoping that would satisfy her.
“Oh, yeah. Totally,” Amy says, offering you a smile before linking her arm with yours. “Come on now. Andrea's gonna be pissed if you miss laundry day again,” she says, dragging you away from the RV, toward the lake. Her hand raise to wave goodbye to Dale, the man offering her the same gesture.
You were still very confused as to what was happening right now.
Scrubbing someone's shirt beside Andrea and Amy, you mostly keep to yourself as the two sisters chatted. Deep in your existential crisis, you don't notice the looks they give you.
Andrea lets the cloth she was scrubbing fall into the metallic basket, staring straight into your skull. “What's up with you today?” she asks dryly.
You look up at her. “I've heard that before.”
She sends you a look, raising her eyebrows. You let out a quiet sigh, shrugging as you let the shirt fall back into your own basket.
“It's stupid,” you start, unsure of how to get yourself out of this situation.
“I'm sure it's not.”
Your eyes fidget all over her face before doing the same for Amy's, who was also staring at you, scanning them.
And as you open your mouth, you hear a yell coming from your right. You turn your head around as the two other women stand up in concern.
Carl, followed closely by Sophia, Eliza and Louis, runs toward you three. You stand up as he stops right in front of you.
“I cut my hand,” the boy says, raising his hand to show the damage. “Mom said to come to you.”
Your eyebrow raise at the end of his statement, both of your hands coming up to take his smaller one. “It's not deep... What happened?” You ask, making sure to soften your confused tone as you look at the damage.
You had quite the medical background, having pursued nursing studies after secondary school. You suppose your... alternative self had roughly the same experience, considering you were apparently the designated nurse of the camp.
You’re extremely confused when the boy starts rambling about a branch being a little too sharp, but you assume that’s just a kid thing.
“Go ask your mom to disinfect it. Do not use hand sanitizer,” you say, your tone balancing firmness with softness. “Water mixed with a bit of salt is perfect... Go on. I'm going to check something in my tent.”
And with that you abandoned Andrea and Amy to the laundry task, ushering the four children toward the center of the quarry as you jog back toward your yellow tent.
You shuffle your tent open, rummaging through the few bags and scattered belongings on the ground in search of the black tube. After a moment, you come up empty-handed.
But you do find car keys.
Which means you have a vehicle.
Keys in hand, you leave your tent in a hurry to the cluster of cars scattered around the quarry. Pressing the lock button, you hear a single honk and see a flash of blue in the corner of your vision.
You turn your head and push on the same button, a Toyota Echo 2000 honking back at you.
You basically throw yourself into the driver's door, clumsily trying to open the door before face palming when you remember that you had locked the vehicle. Twice.
You unlock the car, entering it with a sigh. Opening the glove compartment on the passenger side, your eyes brighten at the sight of the tube you'd been searching for.
You snatch it, deciding to explore the vehicle later.
You find Carl a few moments later, his mother gently rubbing a wet cloth on the palm of his hand. “Did you put salt in it?” you ask, your eyes still on the boy as you pull a nearby camping chair to sit on it.
Lori turns to look at you, hands resting on her hips. “I did,” she says, nodding to herself. “Do you—do you need me to go get bandages, maybe?”
“If we have some, yeah. Dale probably has that in his RV.” You had absolutely no idea if what you've said was true, but you figured people usually stocked that kind of things in RVs.
You show the tube to Carl as to include the boy in your conversation. “Polysporin. This may be the best thing man invented,” you comment, a smile appearing on your lips as you squeezed the clear gel on your index finger.
“Why?”
You gently spread the gel over the thin cut, massaging the substance into his skin with a circular motion. “Because this can heal a lot of things. It's an antibiotic—you know what antibiotic mean right?” you start, glancing up at the twelve-year-old, still massaging the gel into his palm.
He nods, even though it was obvious he had no idea what you were talking about.
You exhale through your nose, your smile widening. “It's a medication that you either, inhale—like pills, for example—or apply directly to the infected area, like the gel I'm using,” you start, observing his expression. “—it's to get rid of all the mean bacteria around and inside your wound.”
Lori finally comes back, roll of bandages, scissors and tape in hand. She hands you the items, resting the palms of her hands on her son's shoulders. She gives an appreciative smile. “Thank you for doing this.”
“Being useful is the only thing I know,” you mumble out, wrapping his hand firmly before cutting it. Making sure it sticks, you pat the back of Carl's hand. “Come see me later, we'll apply some more.”
You ruffle his hair clumsily, unsure if you were actually allowed. Lori sends you a smile before you get up from the chair, walking back toward your car.
Entering the vehicle, you close the door shut as you observe the interior. You open the glove compartment, sighing as you found mostly junk. You open the sun visor above the driver seat, immediately spotting a picture tucked into the small shut mirror. You take it, bringing the picture closer.
There was you and your mother, the picture probably taken by your father. Both of you wore toques and winter clothes, your own hat falling on your face as it was too big. Your mother held a Tim Hortons cup, as she was always of coffee fanatic, something you did not pick up.
Something in the pit of your stomach tighten as you did remember this picture.
You smile despite yourself at the memory. It had been your first winter in Montreal, this much snow being something quite new for you and your family.
After a moment of just staring at the picture, you continue exploring the vehicle. You find yet again junk and trash.
You exit the car, sighing as you didn't have a clue of what was currently happening.
You had taken the time to go on a walk. Which may seem stupid for everyone else back at the quarry, but you couldn't stand another second around fictional people.
You clumsily walk deeper into the forest, the cicadas singing louder as you approached them. You mentally hoped that you wouldn't cross path with a walker as you did not pack a weapon.
Stupid, you think to yourself.
But who could blame you? It's not like being in a fictional apocalypse was an every day occurrence for you.
Perhaps the universe wasn't on your side because just a few minutes later you bump into a walker.
You freeze, as it was the first time you saw them in person, the walker snarling and groaning your way lazily. You were about to push it away when you realize that it had completely ignored you.
It limps away toward the camp. It doesn't go very far as a sudden bolt pierced its brain abruptly, the walker falling on the ground with a faint thud.
Your eyes stay lock on the corpse as Daryl passed you, sending you a look before taking back his arrow from the body.
He cleans the dirty edge using his pants before turning to look at you.
“The hell you're doin' out here, nurse?”
Thank you for reading!
Interactions and reblogs are welcomed and greatly appreciated, thank you in advance.
꩜ Summary: You wake up in a yellow tent with no clear memory of how you got there. At first, everything feels strangely calm — soft light, scattered belongings, and the distant sound of life outside. But as you explore your surroundings, small details begin to feel wrong, and familiar objects raise more questions than answers. When voices finally reach you from outside the tent, that fragile sense of safety begins to fall apart.
꩜ A/N: I'm actually shitting my pants right now... Uhhh I hope this first chapter will get you interested in reading the rest! English is not my first language, so bear with me if there's any spelling mistakes, or even sentences that are harsh to the eyes... I really tried to correct myself! Anyway, have fun reading!
Next
There's nothing more that you like than sleeping.
The comforting sensation of being wrapped in fluffy blankets, creating a warm cocoon around your being was everything you could ever wish for. And fortunately for you, that sensation came every single night, as you purposely had bought soft fabrics to suffocate yourself each day.
You always enjoyed sleeping with nature sounds. Never too loud, as you were quite the light sleeper, and the loud noises could possibly ruin your night.
You smile contently at the sounds of crickets and cicadas around you. Your limbs stretched lazily as you felt a warm sensation, as if the sun was hitting your whole body.
After a moment of just enjoying the moment of coziness and calm, you open your eyes.
You're met with yellow.
A dread feeling forms itself in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes widen as your upper rises, never leaving the warm and endless yellow that was over your head.
Finding the courage to break the stare, your gaze shifts lower, observing your surroundings.
Your legs fidget under the covers before stopping entirely when you realize that you were sitting inside a green sleeping bag. Your breath quickens in confusion as you shakily unzips the sleeping bag.
You crawl out of it, feeling the hard sensation of the groundsheet, small and sharp pebbles digging into the palms of your hands. You let out a quiet and annoyed wince at the feeling before fully getting up, being awkwardly stopped by the low roof of the tent.
The cicadas outside kept singing, now a few chirps echoing along with them, as you look down at yourself. You knock over a water bottle, it being fortunately closed, into the ground by accident as you tried to sit back down. The feeling of having to bend down your upper body as you were standing up was incredibly annoying and awkward.
Plopping back on the sleeping back, your eyes observe the inside of the tent. There's a few clothing items scattered around, blushing at the sight of what looked like one of your pair of panties on a closed lantern. You snatch the item, examining the pattern of the fabric.
You trace the lace of the plum underwear, the ribbon mocking you.
"Those actually belong to me," you whisper under your breath, as if scared of concretizing the moment. Your eyes shift back up to continue to examine the inside of the yellow tent.
You stretch out your arm to grab the nearest backpack, tugging the heavy item with a bit of a struggle. Your heartbeat had slowed down as the minutes passed, the warmth of the sun above having its way of calming your nerves.
You zip open the backpack and you're met with what you'd consider a junk backpack.
Protein bars being the first thing you see. You take one of the few you apparently had, eyeing the brand. You compare it to the others, noting how all of them somehow contained chocolate chips.
The next thing you get out is a sunscreen bottle, the smiley sun mocking you in a way. You put the bottle next to you, having the dreadful feeling that you would somehow need it.
Your hand digs deeper before being stopped by the crinkly sound of plastic. You pat the item before getting it out.
Your eyes widen at the sight of red Bigfoot feet. "Oh, my God," you say, a bit more loudly than you intended, bringing the package closer to your face. "Allan Candy... Wow! Can't believe I have that."
With a newfound eagerness, you rip open the package, plopping a foot into your mouth. You hum at the taste, chewing slowly as if to memorize it.
Your exploration and candy savoring moment is abruptly cut short as a dark figure appears infront of the closed tent opening. Your eyes stay on the figure, the soft sweetness melting inside your cheek as you freeze.
The figure seems to hesitate before it's joined two others. From the outlines of their bodies, you can see a man and two women.
The man and one of the women seems to bicker before the other feminine figure stepped closer to the opening, her fingers tracing the top of it.
"(Y/N)?" A soft voice echoes behind the yellow entrance. "Are you okay in there? You've been inside for a while now."
Your breath hitches, your heartbeat picking up. Her hand trails down to the zipper on the tent, starting to open it. You look down at yourself to see if you were at least wearing something decent, which you were definitely not, being only in your underwear.
Your hand reaches out to the nearest blanket, hiding your partly naked body as the tent opened.
You're met with... Amy?
Your eyes stay still on the woman as she eyes the inside of your tent, her eyes stopping at the opened package of raspberry candy.
"You said you were going to share next time," Amy says, her tone light, even as she feigns annoyance. "And honestly? I can't believe candy is the first thing you eat in the morning. I thought better of you," she scolds you.
You blink at her words, shocked by the normalcy of the situation. "W—what?" You stutter out.
She lets out a sigh, already exiting the tent. "Dress up! It's the end of the world, dumbass, not a family brunch." And with that, she disappears, leaving with the two other unknown figures.
You stay silent for a moment, the pit of your stomach setting still as the door of your tent flaps with the wind.
You hurry your body off the sleeping back, trying to find proper clothes. You wiggle yourself into a nearby pair of jeans, happy to see they weren't high rise before sliding your upper body into a black camisol.
The top stopped a little under your belly button, disappointed setting in your heart as you didn't have a mirror to see how you looked. Your head turned from side to side, trying to find a way to look at your bottom, an habit of making sure your ass didn't look fat, in a bad way, of course. You frown at the sight of the lace of your panties sticking out, pushing the fabric down to hide it.
You slip on a pair of socks then the only sneakers you had, climbing out of the yellow tent clumsily.
The wind brush against your hair, pushing it off of your face in a refreshing way. You look up, squinting as the sun peaked through a few tree branches that was draped over your tent.
You turn your head to the side, a bit surprised to see other tents and little dead bonfires.
You had a bad feeling about this.
~~~
Thank you for reading!
Interactions and reblogs are welcomed, thank you in advance.
one of my lowk horrible hot takes is that i kinda don’t like big age gaps….
like i get the idea and all but i just feel so uncomfortable by it?? and like i love old guys and silver foxes and x readers but for some reason there’s never a reasonably aged reader??
like MYYY bad i want to be a hot grown lady in her 40s-50s with silver curls and creases around her eyes with her hot equally grey 40-50 year old husband?? my bad i want them to have met really young and have been childhood sweethearts who had a bit of situationship in their 20s and then realised they were utterly unabashedly inlove with one another in their late 30s and are married??? and maybe have a baby???
i’m obvsly still gonna read age gap x readers because i gotta get my jack abbot and joel miller fill but PLEASEEE someone let me be a hot older lady!!! a milf even!!!
(this is me whining about stupid stuff!!! please write whatever you want if your a tumblr author!!! you guys keeps the platform running ilysm)
That final stretch to Richmond is deadly quiet. You have barely said anything this morning. Daryl and Jesus haven’t pushed it. They know. Twelve days of travelling finally coming to an end. The closer you get to Richmond, the tighter your chest becomes.
On the horizon, you see the city: a block of bricks and concrete surrounded by evergreen views. You’ve been dreading the day you would walk through Richmond again. What remains of it.
Flashback
You gently greet the people you meet in the hallway. You trace over the banister with your fingers while walking down the stairs. The sun hits your face through the glass door.
You’re on armoury duty today. Walking on the main square, your gaze lingers on the life surrounding you. A kid runs into you and briefly apologises before running off again. You see another kid catching up to him.
You push the heavy armoury’s door. It’s dark in here. You’d rather be out on patrol duty, or just anything that would involve getting sunburned for once. But not today. You’ve got to count, sort, and clean weapons and ammunition.
For the number of people they have, they’re pretty low on everything. You go over what is supposed to be a logbook. But the information isn’t precise enough: no indication of who took what other than ‘patrol: three’ or ‘runners: one + four’.
You sigh to yourself. The door opens gently. A pair of brown eyes land on you.
“How’s our new recruit doing?” A deep voice asks.
You softly roll your eyes. “It’s been almost a month already.”
“Hm. Already?” Javi fully comes through the door and closes it behind him. “I might have to drop the ‘new’ soon.”
You huff a little bit. “Yeah. You ought to.”
Javi smiles at you. You feel a flush of heat flow in your face.
You scratch your throat and, with a finger, point at the logbook. “You need to change that. It’s an absolute mess.”
“Ah, is it?” He asks.
“Yeah, impossible to keep track of who took what, when, and where to. It’s confusing. Confusion leads to mistakes.”
He moves beside you, his shoulder briefly brushing yours, making your heart skip a beat.
“Hm. Okay, I see.” He mumbles. “Would you mind?…”
You shake your head. “I don’t. As long as you let me do it my way.”
“Your way sounds better than whatever we have going on.” He huffs.
“Good. I’ll handle that then…” you quietly add.
“Date wise. You want to handle that too?” Your gaze turns to him. His face adorns a soft smirk. “I had something planned but we can do it your way if you prefer”
You scoff a little to regain composure. “Is that your way of asking me out?”
He nods. “So, what do you say?”
You lightly tap on the table with your fingers. “Alright, sure.” You cross your arms. “I am going to hope you organise those better than this armoury mess.”
Daryl looks around him. Apartments blocks are still standing proud: their red bricks offering a vibrant contrast with the overgrowing vines climbing on them. The cars are now hollow shells: metal, cushions, everything has been ripped away. He looks up and stares at the cracked bridge. Its pillars have been fragilized by the time. But it’s still standing, and its shadow casts over Richmond’s streets.
You walk ahead, as usual. However, you don’t look around you. You don’t need to. You are wary of the silence. You’ve only seen a couple of walkers. But no sign of human life. You’re tightly holding onto your machete, your palms sweating from the growing anxiety.
Daryl notices a burnt truck, a machine gun barely still standing on the trunk. His pace slows down. You said it. They were more prepared and armed. But he hadn’t expected them to have such weaponry. Alexandria doesn’t have the means to fight against that either. He sees you and Jesus turn left in an alley, and he quietly comes back behind you.
A gate, or what’s left of it, is ahead of you three. It’s pierced by bullet holes, a first sign of the violence that erupted. You can feel the anxiety growing when you finally set foot inside Richmond. The main square has lost its grandeur. Two walkers turn to you. Slowly, you walk towards them and mindlessly finish them. Though your eyes are open, you try to stop them from paying attention to the two walkers you’ve dealt with. Afraid that despite their horrific state and soulless gaze, you might recognise them.
The bodies pile up. It’s not a war zone. It’s the brutal aftermath of a massacre. It’s been a month since you fled Richmond, but the smell of the burnt wood, bricks, and vegetation is still strong. There’s not a single noise. No birds. As if life had stopped entirely that day.
The amount of bullet shells on the floor and the amount of dried blood ignite an overwhelming sense of fear in Daryl. He can’t help but imagine Alexandria’s fate.
He sees you stare at what used to be a proud fountain, now destroyed, almost reduced to rubble. At the sight, Jesus stops breathing. The Saviors have obliterated a whole community; turned it into the ghost of a once-living settlement. Fiddling with his knife, Jesus sees another walker up ahead, near the fountain.
Voice quiet, filled with exhaustion. “I’ll take care of it.” He says.
A metallic thud echoes in the lifeless square. Daryl’s eyes follow the sound. You’ve let your machete slip out of your hand. Slowly, you kneel. Fists clenched, resting on your thighs, the tears flow quietly. You wish you could cry out as loud as you can. But you’re afraid to wake up the dreadful sorrow you’ve been carrying all along. Afraid the noise would echo the screams of those who lost their lives.
Daryl hesitates. He knows there’s nothing that could soothe your pain. But he walks and crouches down behind you and sets his crossbow aside. Carefully, he brings a single hand on top of your shoulder. He feels your body shaking, but controlled. His breathing halts when he feels your hand on his. A simple acknowledgement of his grounding presence. But a touch that warms your heart, more than any words he could say would. And a touch that relieves him: you’re still here.
Daryl feels you steadying your breathing. Slowly, your touch slips away from his hand, which he moves away from you. You carefully pick up your machete. You don’t know if it’s because of the heavy pain you’ve been carrying or the long journey, but your legs feel sore when you stand up.
Your back still turned away from Daryl, you wipe your teary eyes with your hand, and you mutter weakly, “Need your help with something.”
“Okay.” He simply says.
Ahead, Jesus is standing still, his eyes lingering on the devastation. He hears you two coming and opens his arms to you. You snuggle up to him.
“Thank you, Jesus. For coming…” You say, voice just above a whisper.
At your words, he holds you slightly tighter. “Of course…”
You gently move away from him. “We need to do something.”
You walk through an alley, Jesus and Daryl behind you. You turn into a dead end. Slowly, you go towards a big sheet of metal. You move it just enough to see some brown hair. It’s been over a month since you left. You can’t bring yourself to see his body. It would haunt you.
Eyes closed, you kiss the top of the head and murmur in his hair “I am so sorry…”
Jesus understands who it is and drags a hand over his face. “Javi…” he whispers.
You caress his head. “I can’t leave him like that.” You say to the two men who stand a few feet away from you. Despite it all, your voice is filled with a sorrowful warmth. You’ve made it back to Richmond. With Jesus. Like Javi has asked. You’ve achieved his last order.
Daryl evens out the fresh dirt with his hands. He and Jesus took care of it all. They didn’t want you to have to do it. Standing next to the grave, your hands remain still at your sides. Daryl looks at you when he’s done, and you give a faint thankful smile.
“Here,” Jesus hands you a rubble of pavement on which he’s written ‘Javier Garcia’. “You should put it.”
You keep it in your hands for a minute before setting it against the grave. Reaching into your backpack, you take out a baseball and carefully put it next to the makeshift tombstone.
“You mind if I say a few words?” Gently asks you Jesus.
“Of course not, please do.” You softly hold his hand.
“Javi was a great leader. People listened to him. Trusted him.” He breathes in. “I knew he was the right fit to lead Richmond. And he did.” He gently wraps your shoulders. “And he gave me one last present: a friend.” He holds you slightly tighter. “I’ll look after her for you.”
You pinch your lips together and lean your head on Jesus. “He was a great man. And the cockiest baseball player I ever met.” You huff a little. “You should have seen the look on his face when I said to him that I have never watched baseball. “Perdòn? So you really don’t know me?” You pause. “Of course, I never did, no one watches baseball in England.”
Jesus laughs lightly. “Bet you know everything about baseball now.”
You nod. “Yeah, I think I do.”
Javi is finally resting. And for the first time in over a month, the chains of grief wrapped around your heart loosen.
Rummaging through a crashed car, Daryl opens the glove box. A map, drawn by hand. He slips out of the vehicle and calls out for you and Jesus.
“Found that.” He hands you the paper.
You unfold it, and your face distorts. “It’s a map. Of Richmond.” You set it on the top of another car. “The armoury, the infirmary… Patrol routes…” Your fists clench. “Everything’s on here. What the fuck…”
Jesus leans over the map. “They’ve got it down to the daily runs…”
You run a hand over your face. “Someone worked with them. From the inside.”
“You thinkin’, someone in Richmond helped them?” Daryl asks.
You nod once. “Yeah. That would explain why they came out of nowhere.” You trace over the patrol routes. “They knew right when to hit.”
“Saviors couldn’t pull that by themselves. They were helped from inside... Any idea of who it could be?” Jesus asks, brows furrow.
You exhale faintly. “I mean… I got a few suspicions.” You move away from the car. “They lost a few people after that last fight against the New Frontier. I know some people resented Javi for it.” You shake your head. “But pulling out a whole massacre for one man? It’s fucking insane…”
Jesus assesses the map. “y/n, did you expand the walls?”
“No, but we were planning to.”
“Any outposts outside Richmond then?”
“No, none.” You move back beside him. “Why?”
He points to a cross. “Here, look.”
“It’s East. We didn’t scout there for expansion.” You fold the map and put it in your bag. “We’re going there. There could be some information.”
You start walking through the rubble, closely followed by Jesus. A garage stands ahead of you. Its door is open, and two trucks are parked inside. You motion to Daryl and Jesus to crouch.
“This is the place.” You whisper. “And those trucks? Not ours”
Daryl jerks his chin to the building. “Imma check if anyone’s in there.”
Quietly, he jogs to one of the cars and hides his figure behind it. Carefully peeking over, he notices four men. Two are rummaging through some crates, while the other two are chatting carelessly. They’re all armed. Automatic rifles. Heavy weapons. Daryl turns back his eyes to Jesus and you and shows four fingers. Once he knows you’ve understood, he gestures with a hand for you to come beside him.
“Lemme check the crates on the other side.” Says one of the men. The clinging of his boots echoes on the hard ground. He stops right between the two cars. You carefully leave your hiding spot and come behind the man. Slowly, you stand up.
Usual technique. You swiftly slice his throat and cover his mouth with your hand. You feel the blood flooding in his mouth, and his breathing falters. You carefully carry his weight to the floor. None of his partners have moved, oblivious to what is unfolding behind them.
Jesus moves immediately towards the two men chatting. Daryl follows him with his eyes and raises his crossbow. The conversation halts when one of them widens his eyes and sees Jesus. Daryl reads the surprise on the man’s face. He triggers his crossbow. The bolt goes right through the head. Mechanically in sync, Jesus stabs the other guy. Their bodies slump forward, and finally, the remaining man turns around.
Erratic at the sight of his friends, he tries to seize his gun. But Jesus is calmer and faster and knocks him down. Face on the ground, the man spreads his arms.
“What—What the fuck do you want?” He weeps.
“Don’t kill that one!” You say, coming up beside Jesus. “I have questions to ask.”
Daryl sets his crossbow back and glances around the garage. He lowers himself and picks up an electronic cable.
“C’me here.” With ease, he swings the man by the collar and sits him against a pipe. He ties the man up.
You can finally have a good look at him. His nose is slightly bleeding. Must be from the fall to the ground. His eyes are looking at you, emotionless.
You attach your machete and breathe out. “Are you Saviours?”
“You kill three men to ask that?” He spits on your shoes. “Fuck you.”
You nod once. “So you are…” You reach for the hand-drawn map and show it to him. “This. How did you know the patrol routes?”
“Ah shit. We forgot to kill one.” He coldly huffs.
You bite the inside of your cheeks and notice Daryl taking a step forward. With a hand, you stop him.
“Not yet…” You quietly say. You turn your attention back to the man. “Did someone from Richmond help you?”
“You really think I am gonna tell ya?”
“I think you’re not in a position to fucking argue.” That’s it. You’ve had enough. You put the map away in your jeans and take your machete out.
“Hey hey” he calls, “what you doin’?”
You aggressively pull his hair with your other hand and bring the machete to his scalp.
“For each word that I don’t like, I’ll skin your fucking scalp off little by little.”
“y/n…” Jesus’ eyes are wide open. “He has barely talked to begin with.”
“Well, hopefully he’ll say more now.” You mutter to the man.
“You fuckin’ psychos…” he answers.
“Did someone from Richmond help you?” You ask once again, voice steady.
“Yeah, got some help from inside.”
“Who?”
“Why? You goin’ on a witch hunt or somethin’?” He snorts.
You slice carefully into his scalp, slow enough for him to cry out in pain.
“I don’t know! I don’t fuckin’ know who helped us!” He whimpers.
“Why did you attack Richmond?”
“I don’t know, didn’t ask why they were sending us here.”
“You don’t know much, do you?”
“Because I am just a soldier, I follow orders that’s all.”
“Then who supervised you all?”
“Joe. Joe. He is the one who sent us here.”
“Where is he?”
“I am not sure. He— Last time I saw him, he left the old mill with some Richmond people to go to an abandoned warehouse.”
Your grip loosens up. “Some Richmond people?”
“Yeah. Yeah — some survivors. Joe. He is the one in charge of them.”
You feel your legs go numb. Dizzily, you move away from the man and, with one hand, lean over the wall. “Oh my fucking God…” you murmur.
Daryl understands that you need a break. So he speaks up. “Abandoned warehouse, where is it?” His voice is steady and low.
“I am not sure…”
“Well, you better be for your own sake.”
“I think it’s— west of the old mill.”
You finally gather yourself and reach for your worn-out map. You go over it quickly. “Got it.” You say. “Ask him about their turf.” You quietly say to Daryl.
“Where’s your base, headquarters or whatever the fuck it is.”
“The Sanctuary? I don’t know…”
“What the fuck d’ya mean?”
“We’re settled in different places. With different people and— and leaders.”
“Factions type of things?” Asks Jesus.
The man nods. “Yeah man… the big boss? I don’t know where he is.”
“Where are your other outposts then?” You move away from the wall and bring your map to his face. “Show me.”
“I— I don’t know ‘em all… but here. Northwest of Charlottesville. That’s— that’s where my group’s settled.” The man points with his nose.
You take out a pencil and draw a mark on it. “We need to get those survivors out. I am not going to leave anyone behind… again.” You firmly hold Jesus and Daryl’s gazes.
“Of course. We’ll get them.” Nods Jesus.
Daryl raises an eyebrow when his eyes fall on the man. “What d’we do with him?”
Jesus crosses his arms. “Let’s just leave him here. Think he’s had enough.”
“Yeah man— definitely. I won’t say anything.” He quietly adds.
You clench your jaw. Fiddling with your gun holstered at your side, your gaze lingers on the man. Finally, you walk to a car and slice into the cushions with your machete. You rip away some foam and take your revolver out.
“y/n? Let’s just let him go. We don’t need to do that.” Worryingly says Jesus.
“I know.” You mutter. If things were different, you might have let him be.
“What— what’s going on?” Frantically asks the man.
“But his life…” You pause. “His life isn’t worth those of my people.” You firmly hold the foam against his face while he pleads for his life. “Sorry.” You whisper. You press the cannon to his head, and the shot makes a muted and ugly pop.
Jesus stands still behind, nails digging in his palms. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
You slowly move away from the still body. “I do.” You put your gun away. “If we’d left him, I would have had to cut his tongue off…” You murmur.
Jesus runs a hand over his face, slightly shaken by this sudden burst of violence. But Daryl’s eyes linger on the bloody piece of foam. He understands. This life doesn’t always give you options.
“It’s a miracle this place is still standing…” Your hand lingers on the doorknob for a moment. The door quietly creaks open. Your gaze falters when you see the state of your place. The couch and coffee table have been overturned. The kitchen’s cabinets are open, and most are empty. Jesus carefully closes the door behind you and Daryl. You put the furniture back in place, as if it’d matter. But it does to you.
You notice your mug, shattered on the floor. And your lips move downward. “That was my favourite mug.” You mumble. You pick up the pieces and drop them in the trash. Daryl’s eyes land on the front door, where multiple pairs of boots are sitting. Two different sizes: one smaller than the other.
You go into the bedroom. The bed you and Javi shared is intact. You can still make up his form in the mattress. You rummage in a chest and take out various sheets. “Here,” you hand them to Daryl and Jesus. “Hang those on the windows.”
While setting the sheet over the window by your bed, Daryl peeks at the pictures stuck to the wall. On one, you’re deep in sleep, pillows thrown away. Your hands are tucked under your head. On another, you’re staring at the camera, obviously annoyed, while sitting behind a desk covered in papers, a chewed-up pen between your fingers. His breathing halts when he sees one of a tall and broad man, bare chest, smiling as he holds two plates. Your bare legs appear in the corner of the picture, indicating you’ve taken that one.
He doesn’t notice you coming behind him until he hears you sigh. “Javi loved taking pictures when I didn’t want him to. Found a polaroid on a run. I had to tell him to slow down on the memories because I didn’t know where to find more films for it.” You huff a little.
Daryl fleetingly glances at you before going back to the window. “They’re nice.” He mumbles. He hasn’t picked on it until now, and you've never said it out loud. He has known that Javi meant a lot. But foolishly, he didn’t understand that you were each other’s. And suddenly it all makes sense. How your grief isn’t just about losing a home, a community. But also about a life that has been ripped away from you. He hastily finishes his task and leaves you in there, afraid to intrude on a still and precious memory of a life that used to be.
The dinner is lit by the few candles you’ve managed to find. You try to eat as much as you can. But the knot in your stomach stops you from finishing your meal. You’re lying on your bed, trying to shut the thoughts running in your mind. You sit on the edge, resting your head between your hands, when a faint knock rings on the door. Quietly, Jesus slips into the room.
“You mind?” He asks.
You shake your head and pat the mattress next to you. “Of course not.”
He sits beside you. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you know why he’s here.
“I am assuming you're here to talk about earlier, right?” You say softly.
His eyes widen a bit, and he nods once. “Yeah…” he breathes a sigh of exhaustion. “I am just… worried.”
“But you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“The amount of people I have seen lose themselves in this world is… unfathomable.” He takes your hand in his. “And you haven’t. You’ve shown me that you didn’t let this world eat you. Yet.” He pauses. “I am afraid you’ll lose yourself.”
You try to find your words. “It’s about protecting my people. And protecting Alexandria too. If losing myself is the price to pay to keep everyone safe, I will pay it.”
“y/n…”
“It’s a burden people don’t want to carry. It just… fell upon me. And I can’t go back now.” You faintly smile. “But I promise you to fight for my own sanity. I don’t want to turn into them.”
Jesus lets out a sigh of relief. “I trust you. I know you won’t. Just… Come to me. When this world feels too much.”
“Thank you for bearing with me. Take the bed and get some rest. I got a few things to do and can’t sleep anyway.”
You close the bedroom door behind you. Daryl is sitting on the couch, crossbow on his lap, a cigarette tucked between his lips.
You smirk at him. “You think you can smoke inside?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Huh? Sorry, didn’t mean—“
You cut him off with a huff. “I am pulling your leg.”
He scoffs a little, “Course you are…”
You ruffle through a cabinet and take out a notebook and a couple of pens. You set those on the dinner table, next to your map, and sit down.
Daryl glances at you scribbling over the map, writing down whatever on the paper. He slowly stands up and sits down in the chair in front of you.
“What you doin’?” He asks.
You don’t look up at him. “Planning the way back. We’re going to leave with more people. It changes things a lot.” You lightly tap on the table with your fingers. “They’re going to be exhausted. So the journey back will be longer. We can’t push through water or the denser forest paths we took.” You sigh and rub your eyes. “And food-wise… We’ll need to monitor. Obviously, we’ll need to prioritise the weakest, but we also need to compromise so that the strongest don’t lose their strength…”
“Hm. Sounds like a hellish job.”
You laugh faintly. “It is…, but it’s worth it.”
A cigarette comes into your view. Your eyes move to Daryl.
“You need one.” He simply says.
You bring it to your mouth, and he lights it.
“Thank you."
“Ain’t nothin’…” Daryl furrows in the chair. “If you need help, lemme know.”
You nod and drag on the cigarette. “Yeah?” You exhale the smoke and move aside. “Bring your seat here.”
Daryl huffs a little. “M’okay.”
“If we don’t hunt, we definitely won’t be able to feed everyone.” Daryl notices the little light back in your eyes. “We’re lucky to have the greatest hunter with us. Come on, show me where we can stop to hunt. And I’ll sort a proper route for us.”
Notes: Ooof, that was a tough one to write, I can't lie! Once again, getting out of my comfort zone, but I think I am starting to get the gist of tense scenes!
For some reasons I had queued it to be posted at around 11pm UK time but it was posted this morning? So sorry to those who saw it earlier :(
Also I want to let you know I won't post next week as I've got family visiting me!
I wish you all a great week, and take care of yourselves! ♡
Hello!! I hope you’re all doing well!! Very excited to share Chapter 6 this Sunday.
And more personal new, I finally got a job and celebrating two years drug free so yay!! So glad I managed to quit addiction, sobriety has been a blessing!
Wishing you all the best and I’ll see you on Sunday! <3
Daryl motions to you to halt, and you crouch when he does. Beside him, you glance between the trees, trying to find what he sees.
“Look,” he points at a couple of small tracks on the ground. “A rabbit.”
You squint, trying to see the prints. “How can you tell?”
With his fingers, he traces over the track. “V shape. Hops.”
“Okay…” you say, unsure of your ability to distinguish between other animals’ paws.
“You’ll learn.” He stands up and moves his crossbow from his shoulder to his hands. “Can’t believe you never hunted.”
Hands on your hips, you snort. “Never needed to. I know enough about edible wildflowers.”
“That ain’t gonna feed us.”
You nudge him gently. “Good thing we’ve got the ‘great’ Daryl with us then.”
He flicks a finger on your forehead, and you wince a little. “C’mon.” He jerks his chin towards the forest. “You follow the tracks.”
You nod and walk off, Daryl behind you. Your eyes are stuck on the ground. There are a few other paw prints, but you manage to find the right ones.
As you silently move deeper into the forest, voice low, Daryl whispers for you to stop. He moves his finger; a grey rabbit, peacefully nibbling on some food, unaware of your presence.
Without any hesitation, he hands you his crossbow.
You’re staggered, and your forehead distorts. “I shoot?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t even know how to use it, Daryl.” You shake your head. “You do it.”
“You’ll figure it out. Ain’t hard.”
He moves the crossbow closer to your hands.
You give up. “Okay… You better not get pissed if I miss.”
“I won’t. A’right. Safety off.” You carefully listen and pull it off. “Press the trigger softly, don’t need to yank it.” He observes the way your index slowly moves to the trigger. You’re meticulous in every move. “An’ just aim.”
“Where? Its body? Head?”
“Head.”
You nod and bring the scope to your eyes. You breathe in and out. Then still.
The bolt makes a clean swift sound. It lands. Right through the rabbit’s body.
You stand up and glance at Daryl who rests his arms on his knees. “Well. Technically I didn’t miss it…” Your voice dips, slightly disappointed with yourself.
He notices the way you mindlessly lower the crossbow. “Coulda been worse.” He says, standing up. He’s seen people shoot right through a tree, even after many tries.
You hand him the crossbow back. “Is that a compliment?” You tease him, a smile tugging at your lips.
“Don’t push it.” He walks towards the dead animal and retrieves the bolt.
You know it’s a compliment. A Daryl type of compliment. That’s enough to improve your mood.
He picks up the body and turns to you. “You take it.”
Your teasing stops there. “Absolutely not.”
“You shoot. You take.”
“That’s not a rule, is it?”
“It is now.”
You sigh and reluctantly take it, holding it far enough so the blood doesn’t drip on your clothes.
“Mate, you’ve got to be the worst teacher ever.”
He scoffs at you. “And you’re the worst student.”
You shake the meat in front of him. “I’d say I am not half bad. I am the one feeding you tonight.”
“Hm. Barely.” He faintly smiles to himself, slightly relieved to hear you joke again.
You’ve been on the road for about nine days now. And he’s picked up the way you talk and move. The way your tone turns harsh when you’re frustrated because you need to change plans, the way your eyes water when Jesus rips out the loudest laughs out of you, or the way you massage your temples and eyes when you feel tired.
And he’s noticed that when you believe no one is watching, you take what seems like medicine. Every single night. He hasn’t dared to ask you about it. He understands that he isn’t meant to see this ritual. So, he isn’t meant to ask questions either.
You walk ahead of him, the rabbit dangling in your hand. Finally, the camp and Jesus are ahead, and you up your pace.
“How’d you do?” He asks you.
“I’ve been told it ‘coulda been worse’.” You drop your hunt on the ground, looking for something to wipe your hands with.
“So pretty well then.” Jesus smiles.
“It’s not much. I shot right through the body.” You sigh a little bit.
Jesus shrugs. “It’s alright, we still have plenty of cans left.”
You take out a cigarette and hand one to Daryl. As usual, he lights yours first.
You sit on the ground, legs stretched. “There’s a small town not far from here. We could check it tomorrow.”
“It’s on the way?” Asks Jesus.
You exhale the smoke. “I didn’t stop there. But yeah, it’s basically on the way.”
“Could be worth it then,” Jesus comments.
You put away the cigarette butt in a small pouch and stand up. You lift the meat off the ground and look at Daryl and Jesus. “Well, let’s move.”
The next morning, the three of you reach the town.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was small.” Jesus huffs.
You might have used the wrong words to describe the place. It’s barely a town. The gravel road is ridiculously small. Within thirty minutes, you will reach the end of it. The main, and only, street has five different shops. The houses are spread around the town; most of the inhabitants must have been farmers of some sort.
“It looked bigger on the map…” You frown a bit, not expecting much from the place anymore.
“We might be lucky.” Says Jesus. “Let’s have a look around.”
The one place you’re interested in is the pharmacy. The three of you walk down the street. Other than the sound of your shoes ruffling against the dirt, it’s quiet.
There’s a grocery shop, what appears to be a hardware store, a small diner, a pharmacy, and a bookstore.
You jerk your head towards the pharmacy. “I am going to check out that one.”
“A’right, might be anything left in the grocery shop, I’ll be there,” Jesus adds.
You check your watch. “We meet in about thirty minutes, as usual, okay?”
They nod at you. The three of you have done that a few times now. You separate, meet a few minutes later, then say if you want to check the place a bit more or not. If so, you go back together so the search goes quicker.
Daryl moves his crossbow from his shoulders to his hands. “Gonna check the hardware.” He stares at you for a second. “Be cautious.” He knows you will be, but for some reason, he wants to remind you of it.
“Will be.” You nod at him and walk off.
After making sure there are no walkers inside, you move into the pharmacy. Shelves are empty, thrown over the floor, broken glass crushing underneath your steps. The dispensary door is open.
Some drawers are ripped open, others hang loosely. Your eyes look straight at the shelf with the letter L. A sigh of relief escapes your lips when you see your medicine. Jesus and Daryl don’t know about it. And you don’t want them to.
Three. Three boxes. “Thank fuck…” You say aloud to yourself. Taking the blisters out, you put them in the metal box. Jesus was right: today, you’re the luckiest person alive.
You hear the door creak right behind you. Startled, you jolt and hit your head against an open drawer.
You squint your eyes and rub the shock. “You scared the shit out of me…”
You notice you don’t know whose boots these are. Before you can react, a sharp thud rings in the back of your head. Your body slumps forward, and darkness comes.
The hardware store has been stripped down. Daryl rummages through the few items left. He doesn’t find anything particularly interesting. He pulls a box towards him and peeks at its contents. A couple of carabiners. He puts them in his bag. You might find it useful.
He hears his name being called out and sees Jesus frantically jogging to him.
His brows furrow. He pushes the door and meets him halfway.
“Been thirty minutes, Daryl.” Jesus’ eyes are filled with urgency.
“What?”
“y/n she isn’t here yet.”
“Shit…” Daryl jogs towards the building. It’s not just odd, it’s worrying. When it comes to those checks, you’re always the first one out, always a bit earlier than thirty minutes. Never have you ever been late.
Daryl pushes the pharmacy’s door. Crossbow raised, he moves around the store.
“y/n? You here?” He asks, voice steady and cautious.
No answers back.
“No walkers inside.” Jesus comes up beside him. “Someone took her.”
Daryl moves his crossbow over his shoulder. If there’s one thing he surpasses everyone in, it’s tracking. His eyes scan the floor. Amongst the broken glass and empty boxes, he notices a piece of paper. The tip of a shoe print is on it. Recent. The mud isn’t dry.
The tracks lead to the dispensary. That’s when he notices your metal box; the one you take out every night, when you think that no eyes pry on you. He clicks his tongue. You wouldn’t leave it behind.
“That’s hers.” He mumbles to Jesus.
Jesus pushes the back door, which has been left ajar. He crouches. “Two types of tracks. Big ones. But not hers.”
Daryl puts your box in his bag. “They carried her.”
Jesus scans the horizon. “It’s barely been half an hour since we arrived. They move fast.”
They run into the forest, looking for any signs of you. They come to a halt when they see a truck track.
“Fuck,” mumbles Daryl, “we need to hurry.”
Jesus crouches down and dips his fingers in a small black puddle. “Fuel tank’s leaking. They won’t be able to drive for long.” He stands up and moves ahead. “Let’s go.” Not a suggestion, a command.
The sharp sting on the back of your head wakes you up. You blink a few seconds before slowly opening your eyes.
The room you’re in is cold and dark. The smell of the humid wooden boards grounds you. You’re not dead. Yet.
“Ah, awake.” A low voice croaks.
You turn your attention to the noise. A man is sitting in a worn leather chair.
You swallow hard, your heart rate rises. You feel the rope binding your wrists. Flexing your fingers, you bring their circulation back.
The man moves away from the chair, his heavy steps coming closer to you; the floor creaks and shakes beneath him.
He kneels in front of you. “Out here by yourself?”
You nod with no hesitation. “Yeah.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You sure ‘bout that?”
“Yes.”
He moves his face closer to you. “Bullshit.” He takes your face between his hands.
You shake your head to free yourself from his grip. Whatever you say, he won’t listen. So, you remain silent
“What’s your name.”
You make no sound, barely letting him hear your breathing.
“Hm. You don’t talk much.” He stands up. “Well, better than a smart mouth I guess...” he murmurs to himself.
You keep your eyes on him as he moves back to the chair. He notices your chest relaxing.
“Not my job to make you talk.” He furrows in the chair and closes his eyes. “Don’t think we’re done yet.”
You close your eyes and rest your head against the pillar. You’re damn stupid. Should’ve seen it coming. Cautious. You weren’t cautious enough.
The door opens and another man makes his way into the room. He briefly looks at you before nudging his partner awake.
“Nothin’.” He simply says.
The man in the chair opens one eye. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” He tips his head towards you. “Said anythin’?”
“Nope.” He stands up from the chair and stretches his arms. “I’ll leave you to it.” And he closes the door behind him.
The new man clicks his tongue. “Would make things easier if you talked.”
“I did.”
“Not enough.” He moves a rusty bar stool in front of you. “Gonna ask again. Are you alone.”
“Yes.”
“Then why the two mugs in your bag?”
Your breathing halts. They’ve looked through your bag. No one travelling alone would carry two mugs. Unnecessary weight.
“I…” he cuts you off.
“No. The truth.” With a finger, he pushes the back of your head against the pillar, pressing on the wound. You wince and clench your teeth.
“Where are your friends.”
You dig your fingernails deep into your palm. Though you’ve tried to remain calm and reasonable, he’s starting to get on your nerves.
“I already told you. I am alone for fuck’s sake.”
He laughs, cold and sharp, at you for a minute. “Shit. She talks.”
This time, he grabs your hair and drags the back of your head against the pillar. You choke a cry over the burning pain. The wood is grating on your open wound.
“Tell me where they are.”
Your mouth urges you to spit on him. But you refrain from doing so, trying to avoid getting in even more trouble.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter. Seeing you stay quiet, he stands up and brings his knee straight into your face. You cry out in pain. Your face falls, and you see the blood dripping. Your nose might be broken. You can’t tell.
“That map of yours. Says too much already. But I’ll give you some time to think.”
Finally, he leaves you alone in the room. The metallic taste of the blood in your throat builds up. You spit it on the floor. Flexing your wrists, you feel a splinter. You might be able to cut the rope enough for you to free your hands.
You hear the two men talking, but not loud enough to make out what they’re saying. Their footsteps spread; one of them heads outside.
You bring your shoulder to your face, rubbing away some blood. You breathe in through your mouth. Time to think.
Tracing over the pillar with a finger, you feel the splinter. It’s strong. Won’t break. You drag your hands up and down. It’s slow, very slow. You frantically saw the rope. After a few minutes, the fibre loosens. Just enough for you to free one hand. You pull your hand out. The rope tears your skin. At this point, everything hurt.
One hand freed, you hastily undo the other. Your hand is red; bits of skin burned. It bleeds a bit.
You look around the room. Other than the stool and the chair, it’s completely empty. Your bag and machete aren’t here. You’ll have to improvise. You move through the room, your eyes searching for anything that could be used as a makeshift weapon.
You feel something beneath your feet. A nail is on the floor. A bit rusted, but sharp enough.
You pause for a minute, trying to keep your heart rate steady, before you move to the door. Unlocked. You are lucky again.
You press your ear against the door. No noises. The floor is still. Perfect. Carefully, you open it. To your right is the front door, and the living area is on the left. You need to get your stuff back. There’s no way you’re leaving behind your map and that picture. You would lead them straight to Alexandria or Hilltop. You can’t let that happen.
The man who hit you is sitting at a table. His back is fully exposed to you. A knife is loosely attached to his belt. You briefly glance behind you. No one yet. The time is now.
You spread your weight on your toes, moving quietly. You anchor the nail between your middle and ring finger.
In an abrupt move, you stand up and stab the space between his head and neck with the nail. You cover his mouth to mute his cries. He bites your hands. You pinch your lips together, refraining from screaming. You reach for his knife and, in a swift cut, slice his throat. His teeth still deep in your hand, you muffle the sound of his final tears. His bite finally loosens, and you feel the blood flooding from his mouth. You lower his still body on the floor, which makes a muted thud.
You peek around and see your belongings. The front door creaks. Heavy footsteps are echoing in the cabin. Quickly, you reach for your machete and move aside, standing still.
The final man walks into the room where they have restrained you. He grunts when he sees it empty, and you hear the click of his gun. He’s ready to shoot.
He calls out to his friend. No answers. Gun raised, he moves carefully towards the living area.
Machete in one hand, you blindly fiddle with the other, trying to find something to throw at him. You need to stagger him first. Then you hit. The only thing you can use is a hardcover book. It should do the job.
His steps slow down, and the tip of his gun comes into view. Then a first foot. When his hands are fully uncovered, you quickly throw the book at his face from your hiding spot. He closes his eyes for a millisecond; enough time for you to slash his leg with your machete.
He shouts in pain and raises his gun to your face. But you push him to the ground. His legs aren’t strong enough anymore. He tries to reach back for his gun, but your machete goes right through his arm.
He cries out and mumbles between uneven breaths. “You fucking bitch.”
You grab his gun and briefly inspect it before aiming it at him.
Breathless, you softly speak up. “Shouldn’t have looked at that map.”
You shoot before he can talk back. The sound stings your head and tenses your muscles. Barely breathing, you don’t move for a minute, the gun still aimed at him.
They’ve been walking for a couple of hours. Their muscles are sore from all the running and the weight of their worry.
“It’s here,” whispers Jesus. “The truck.”
Daryl stops and assesses his surroundings. Amongst the trees, he sees a cabin; the pathway to it has recently been used.
It’s quiet around them. No signs of life. Daryl settles his crossbow in his hands and walks ahead, halfway crouched. Jesus follows him, knife ready.
They move slowly. Bursting in could mean getting you hurt.
Jesus moves beside Daryl and murmurs, “We do this quietly.”
As they’re about to head to the door, they hear a gunshot.
Jesus’ eyes widen and reach out for Daryl, whose face distorts.
This time, Daryl stands up and makes a run for the front door. Crossbow raised, he kicks it open.
You turn around when you hear the door and aim at the sound. You let out a sigh of relief and lower the weapon when you see them.
“Took you long enough, guys.” You huff, wiping some dried blood off your face.
Jesus’ grip loosens on his knife, his fingers finally relaxing.
“Thank God…” he jogs towards you, his eyes briefly glancing at the two bodies on the floor. He gently takes you in his arms.
Daryl’s eyes haven’t landed on you yet. They’re staring at the two dead men near you. When he comes close, he finally stares at your face.
“You okay?” He simply asks.
“Yeah, all good.” You faintly smile.
Jesus takes your face between his fingers and inspects the damage. He carefully touches the bridge of your nose.
“Ouch ouch,” you cry out.
“Sorry,” His hand leaves your face. “Your nose isn’t broken, though.”
“Good. That’s good…” you mutter.
“Anywhere else they hurt you?” He asks.
You nod. “Yeah, back of my head.”
He moves behind you and gently pushes your hair away. “Hm. I’ll need to suture that one. And… splinters? I’ll get those out.”
You sigh, exhausted. “Yeah… Fucking cunt rubbed the wound against some wood.”
Daryl kneels down over the body of the man who beat you. He lifts an eyebrow when he sees a nail furrowed in the neck.
“Ya know who they are?” He asks you.
“No idea.” You shrug, “I didn’t really bother to ask.”
“Saviors?” He turns his gaze to Jesus, who shakes his head.
“No. They’re looking too rough.”
You move to your bag and check its contents. The map is here. Picture too. But your metal box is missing.
Daryl sees you take your face into your hands. You frantically look again. Nothing. Daryl pinches his lips together: your face is now dreadful; the miserable state of your nose is highlighted. Tiredly, you slide the bag over your shoulder.
Jesus motions to you to give him your bag. “Here, I’ll carry it.”
Your eyes soften at him. “What would I do without you.” You say, your voice sincere and steady. You’re not alone in this. And God knows it feels amazing to have Jesus with you.
He huffs a bit before jerking his head towards the outside. He takes charge of the group tonight. “Let’s move. I’ll take care of those wounds once we’re settled.”
Today has been eventful, to put it lightly. You’re camping outside for the night, as you couldn’t get to the next safe place before nightfall.
You didn’t have the strength to set up your hammock, so for the first time in a while, you sleep on the ground. Daryl has offered you his sleeping bag, saying you need it more than he does.
You’re curled up on your side. The pain at the back of your head is throbbing. It hurts too much for you to sleep.
Daryl is sitting against a tree. He’s the first one on watch. Through the last embers of the fire, he notices you sitting up and massaging your head.
You furrow your eyes, trying to ease the pain that comes in waves.
“Can’t sleep?”
You can barely see his figure. “No. Head’s killing me.”
“Can imagine.”
Slowly, he moves away from the tree. You observe him search for something in his bag. He crouches next to you and hands you your metal box.
You open your mouth, trying to make up a sentence. You fail to do so. Instinctively, you wrap an arm around him.
“Oh my God.” You move away from him and open the box. Every blister is accounted for. “Thank you.” Your breath is cut for a second. “So, fucking, much.”
“‘S nothin’” he casually says, still not grasping entirely why those medicines are so important.
For a minute, you simply look at the box in disbelief. “Wait.” Something clicks. “How did you know it was mine?”
Daryl looks away. Shit. How can he explain it without sounding like a creep? Can’t just throw in, been staring at you take it out every night for the past nine days.
He thinks for a minute. “Just saw you take it out of your bag one day.”
“Well, thank fuck you notice things.” You faintly smile. “You are a great hunter.”
He quietly grunts.
“And...” He finally hands you the carabiners he found in the hardware store earlier. “Don’t know if they’re the ones you need but…”
You huff softly, which halts him from saying more.
You smile at him, “They’re not. But I am sure I’ll find a great use for those.”
You set the items aside and stretch your legs. “Feel like I am being spoiled there.”
He sighs; you never quit joking. “Shut up and get some sleep…” There’s a hint of raw care in his voice. And he swallows hard when he hears himself.
But you don’t seem to notice and simply nod at him. “Hm.” You slowly lie down in the sleeping bag. Hands tucked under your head, he sees you let a deep yawn out. Sleep is finally starting to settle in you.
As he stands up and walks away, his eyes soften for a second when he hears you murmur, “Thank you, Daryl…”
A couple of minutes later, he sees you’ve stopped moving and hears your shallow mouth-breathing settle into a smooth rhythm.
Back against the tree, he lights a cigarette and looks up at the glittery sky. He doesn’t notice; his breathing settles as well. And he finally allows himself to pause for the first time today.
Notes: I hope you've enjoyed this week's chapter! I am working on action scenes, which is quite new to me still... Finding a balance between making you 'strong' but not overly overpowering is a bit tricky!
Anyhow, I wish you all a good night and hope you're taking care of yourselves ♡
You sloppily stop the clock alarm with your hand, almost knocking it off the nightstand. You take your legs out of the duvet. Your feet shiver when they touch the cold floor.
The bed’s covers move, and you hear a low grunt. An arm wraps around your waist.
“Goin’ now?” Asks Joel, voice still croaking.
You try to resist the urge to slip into bed again. But you know his warmth will put you to sleep straight away. So you simply turn around and kiss his forehead.
“Leaving in about an hour,” you softly say.
He grunts again and this time pulls you closer to him.
“Ya sure you don’t want to stay here?” He mumbles, face tucked into your stomach.
You gently pet his back up and down, your fingers tracing the strokes left by survival.
“shush it…” you whisper.
“I know you want to.” You can feel his lips move upward.
“I do.” You move his face away from your belly and cup it with your hands. “But Ellie really needs a bit of trainin’.”
Joel sighs. “Goddamn kid… She loves to torture me…”
You flick a finger on his forehead. “I am pretty sure she asked me because I am the most competent out of us two.”
Joel huffs. “Might be a bit of that too…”
He brings one of your hands to his lips and kisses it.
“I’ll see you tonight, try to rest properly for once.” You gently say.
You push yourself out of bed and walk towards the bathroom.
You set aside the outfit you chose for today and turn on the water. Once warm enough, you slip into the shower. The water cascading down your body grounds you.
You don’t hear the bathroom door open. You run your head under the water when you feel two arms wrap around you and a face tucked into your neck.
You roll your eyes gently. “Thought I told you to rest.”
Joel breathes in on your bare skin.
“Bed’s cold already.” He reaches for some soap and begins to wash your back. “I could come with you two.”
“Hm hm. No. Today’s for me an' Ellie.” You turn to him and put your arms around his neck. “And she’s all moody with you anyway.”
“She’s with you too.”
“Joel, we both know it’s not the same.” You motion to him to turn around so you can wash his back. “We’ll be fine.”
“I know, I know. Just ain’t fair she gets you all day.”
You laugh softly. “Stop actin’ like a stupid teenager.”
“Ain’t my fault you makin’ me feel like one.”
You shake your head, amused. His strong calloused hands cup your face. His brown eyes don’t leave doubts about the love he has for you. Tenderly, he kisses you. Maybe in another universe, you two would be doing that underneath a waterfall in Costa Rica or something. But it doesn’t matter. Whichever universe you’re in is the one he wants to be in.
“I love you”. He whispers to you between kisses.
You look at him. You caress his cheeks, heated by the water’s steam. “I love you too.”
She nods and brings the lenses to her eyes. Usually, she’d make a joke, or at least a snarky comment. But she’s been weirdly quiet, which worries you.
“Hm” she begins to assess the place. Small town nothing particular about it. “I don’t see anything.”
“You sure ‘bout that? Nothing unusual?”
“Nope.” She simply says.
“Okay…” you mutter. You stand up and adjust your bag over your shoulders. “Alright, let’s head there then.”
You mount your horses and move down the hill. You’re ahead, Ellie is behind you. You notice how she mindlessly looks around her.
“There’s a small bookstore. We could go check it out? Might be some comics in there.” You softly smile at her.
“Yeah sure.”
You slow your mount to ride beside her.
“Ellie, what’s going on?”
“Nothin’…”
“No, no. We don’t do things that way. C’mon, tell me.”
“I…” she pauses. She lets go of the reins and throws her hands in the air. “I don’t get him, man. Why is he all pissy ‘bout me not wantin’ to watch stupid movies with him?”
You huff a little. “Ah, so it’s about Joel.” You look at her, the rhythm of the hooves echoing on the dirt. “He ain’t all pissy.”
“The fuck he is.” She mumbles. “D’ya see how he looked at me last night? He’s too old to be actin’ like that.”
You can’t help but laugh at her comment. She frowns at you. “Whateva I don’t know why I am tellin’ you ‘bout it.” She mumbles.
“No no. I mean, you’re right. You’re the only one allowed to be actin’ like a stupid kid.”
“You bein’ stupid too.”
“Ellie, listen, he ain’t pissy. He’s… hurt. That’s all.”
“Looks pretty angry to me.”
“Well, sadness comes in very different ways. You do the same. D’ya remember that time that girl told you she didn’t like you back?”
“Don’t remind me…” she pouts a bit.
“Ya were all up in your damn mind. Gave Joel a hell of a night. But ya weren’t angry, just sad.”
“Guess so…”
“Sweetpea,” your eyes are softly looking at her. “he ain’t angry. It’s just sad when he sees you slipping away from him.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know, I know. He’ll deal with it. ‘S just the way things go.” You huff a little. “He’ll be fine, don’t min’ him. Just go on with your lil’ adventure.”
“You sure he’s gonna be okay?”
You nod at her. “Certain. Just needs to be distracted. I’ll try to burst a pipe or somethin’ so he ain’t got the time to mind you if ya’d like.” You wink.
“Shit, yeah, that would be great!"
“A’right deal then. Now c’mon, let’s get to that bookstore.”
You explain the specs of the log books to Ellie. It is straightforward, but she needs to know.
“Go on, write it down.”
She does so and lifts an eyebrow when she reads through the previous logs.
“There ain’t been anything in weeks here.” She turns to you. “Is that why we patrolling here?”
“Might be…”
“Aw c’mon man! Ya know I can handle a gun!”
“It ain’t about the gun, Ellie, it’s more of a recon training. So that you learn how to assess places.” You move away from the desk. “Patrolling doesn’t mean fighting: it’s about keeping an eye out.”
“Whateva…”
You pinch her cheek, and she winces.
“Let’s go check those comics out, sweetpea.”
“Ya know I hate that name.”
You huff a little. “And I love it.”
The bookstore is quiet. Dust building up on the shelves and broken glass underneath your feet. Ellie runs towards the comics area and rummages through the old shelves.
You stand behind, glancing around you, always checking for any movements or noises.
“That looks cool!” Ellie smiles, shaking dust off a book.
“What is it?”
“Ghost cage, you know it?”
“Hm no. I am not much of a comic fan.”
“You’re missing out.” She puts three volumes in her bag. “You can borrow it once I am done.”
“Might do yeah.” You smile.
When Ellie turns to you, she sees a little rainbow light landing on a broken piece of glass.
“Yo, look!” She points at it. “Where’s that comin’ from!”
You follow her gaze. “Ah, just some light reflecting on it.”
She moves beside you and look at the shop on the other side of the street.
“Jewel… Jelewry…” she tries to say the word.
You turn and smile “Jewellery store.”
“That ain’t an easy word…” she mutters. “Can we check it out? Please?”
Looking at you with pleading puppy eyes, you can’t help but agree.
“Sure. C’mon.”
The front door is broken, the shop has been almost completely ransacked.
Your gaze linger on the few jewellery left.
“Oh, I like that one…” murmurs Ellie.
You peek over her shoulder. She’s looking at a silver bracelet with a little horseshoe charm attached to it.
Carefully, you pick it up. “Gimme your wrist.”
She brings her wrist to you and you clip it, tight enough so it stays on and doesn’t cut her circulation.
“So cool…” she says while tracing over it.
You see a pair of golden earrings, big hoops. You pick them up.
“That’s an ugly bracelet.” Comments Ellie.
You laugh quietly. “Ain’t a bracelet. It’s earrings.”
“Earrings? You tellin’ people used to wear those big ass things?” She lifts an eyebrow, confused at why someone would want such things.
You nod. “Yeah, used to have loads of those, in all different sizes.”
“Well, that’s a questionable fashion choice.” She huffs.
“Oh, because you know all ‘bout fashion.” You gently roll your eyes.
“I do now.” She sticks her tongue out and shows off her new bracelet.
You shake your head and look around. Your eyes fall on a pair of small golden hoops. You pick them up and fiddle with them.
You huff a little and find a mirror. Might as well try them. Gently, you insert them in your earlobes. Been decades since you put some earrings on.
“Ya got your ears pierced?” Ellie asks.
“Hm. Just don’t wear those anymore.”
“Looks good. You should take them.” She snorts.
“Eh, I’ll forget about them as soon as we’ll get back to Jackson.”
In the mirror, you move your head a bit, looking at the way the earrings look on you.
When you reach to take them out, you notice your hands. Your eyes lose a bit of light when you see the shadows of the wrinkles drawn on the top of your hands. You stop moving for a minute, which Ellie notices.
“Ya okay?” She gently asks.
You nod once. “Yeah. Just strugglin’ to get them out.”
You’re laying on the couch, book in hands, when Joel pushes the front door open. He mindlessly takes his boots off and lifts your legs to sit down next to you.
He leans over you to drop a deep and meaningful kiss.
“Don’t know what you two talked ‘bout but she didn’t shout at me today.”
“Well that’s a win then.” You huff.
His fingers trace over your bare thighs. And he sighs.
“I don’t mean to act like that ya know?”
You peek at him over your book and set it aside. Your attention is all on him.
“I know you don’t. She does too.”
“I ain’t ever got to this part of… parentin’ I guess.” His voice is low, almost fragile. Reminiscing on what could have been.
“You’re doin’ good Joel.” You curl up on him. “Teenagers bickering an’ all, it’s a good sign ya know?”
He huffs. “You say?”
You nod, your fingers tangled in his brown and white locks. “Hm. She’ll come back to ya. They always do.”
“Did ya?”
You grunt softly. “God, shoulda seen me as a teen… Gave my parents quite the challenge.”
“I can’t imagine you being trouble.” He huffs.
“Didn’t last long, but t’was a long three years for them. Said to me they never felt that exhausted. Even the toddler years were easier.”
He laughs a little. “You’re right… she’ll come back.”
“Yeah. So stop worryin’, you’ll grow yourself more white hair.” You tease him.
He takes your face in his hands and kisses you slowly. A long one, those that you almost choke on.
“Thank you for bearin’ with me.” He murmurs against your lips.
He’s caressing your face when he notices the golden earrings.
“What’s that?” He softly asks.
“We found a jewellery store. Got ourselves a few things.”
“Looks good on you.”
Your gaze lowers for a second, and he peeks at the tint of melancholy in them.
“Honey, you okay?”
Your eyes lift back to his face, before quickly moving away again.
“Yeah, it’s just that…” you stop talking for a second. Joel doesn’t speak, he knows you’re looking for your words. “Joel, I am gettin’ old.” You gently move his hand away. “I didn’t realise.” You say, voice dipping.
“Gettin’ old is good.”
He notices that you’re hiding your hands away from him.
“I am gettin’ all wrinkly… my hands, my eyes… I know it’s stupid but… It’s scary…”
Joel’s eyes soften. He brings your hands to his face and kisses them.
“I like ‘em like that.”
You don’t say anything, your eyes still away from him.
“y/n, look at me.”
Weakly, you move your gaze to him. His hand goes up to your face, and he caresses the wrinkles forming around your eyes.
“God I love those wrinkles.” He says, delicately kissing your forehead.
You huff a little. “Oh shut it…”
“No, I am bein’ serious. One of ‘em first thing I noticed.”
Your brows furrow. “Not sure how I am supposed to feel ‘bout that…”
He softly shakes his head.
“Your eyes honey. They say a lot.” He pauses. “Say a lot ‘bout you. ‘Bout the fact that… well, that despite it all, you never stopped smilin’.”
He kisses you again. “Tells the story of someone who’s not just survived, but lived.”
Seeing your eyes brought back to life, he continues.
“When I saw ‘em I thought ‘first time I see someone alive’. In decades.”
He moves your hands around. “An’ those hands? Told me that you weren’t just full of life, but also full of fight.”
You keep quiet, his words embracing your fragile heart and mind.
“I wanna see more of ‘em wrinkles. The ones between your brows might be some ‘Joel’s wrinkles’.” He teases.
Finally, he sees you faintly smile. “They definitely are, ain’t no one annoyin’ me as much as you.”
“Never stop smilin’. Please, honey.” He whispers to you. “I wanna experience a... A wrinkled love with ya.”
“Wrinkled love…” You murmur.
“Grow older together. Hell, who knows, maybe even retire.”
You huff. “Doesn’t sound too bad…”
“Sounds like a dream if you ask me.”
You wrap your arms around him and tuck your head into his neck.
“Thank you Joel… I love you.” You mumble against his skin.
“And I love you, and all your wrinkles, honey.” He gently adds.
