the archer & his bird - soft!daryl dixon x clingyf!reader
part 2 - good - wrd 1.5k(ish) previous | next series master
With him, things were easy, and not just because of the help he provided.
It was a connection that felt ancient, like the forest had provided for him yet again, this time in a way he never knew he needed.
You walked along fallen logs like the forest put them there just for you. Your fingers ghosted along the brush like it was something precious. You booped mushrooms like noses, whistled softly to the birds that kept you company.
And he loved getting to be there.
He showed you how to set a snare, you showed him the field of wild growing chamomile.
He told you about Judith, you told him about the nearby berry bushes.
He killed a walker, you killed three just to prove that you could.
He admitted to liking things this way, and you nodded in agreement.
You weren’t happy the world ended, he wasn't happy the dead walked, but you both had found so much peace within it.
It was hard, neither of you claimed otherwise, but the stillness…it was as beautiful as it was heartbreaking.
There were things you missed. Air conditioning, snacks that hadn’t gone stale, running water and toilets that flush. You missed your friends, family. Things as silly as brunch and book club, shopping malls and farmers markets.
Daryl missed less. Most things he did now, he did then. He hunted for his food and spent hours in the georgia woods while he was at it. He always slept with one eye open and knew hardship long before it was a byproduct of existence.
As much as he hated what it felt like to lose somebody, he didn’t have something worth fighting for before the world decided it was kill or be killed.
He wouldn’t have met Carol, and no way in hell he would have befriended Rick. Yet he couldn’t imagine his life without his found family. The people he’d walk through a herd to get back to. Friends he would take a bite for if it meant they made it out alive instead.
You were quickly becoming a part of that, and it made him nervous.
Getting close to someone came with risk. Getting close to a woman who refused to come inside was even worse.
It wasn't to say you didn’t trust him, or that you thought the promise of sanctuary was a lie. He had more than proven himself to you, but one good man in a world that was inherently evil wasn’t very convincing.
Winter was approaching. Each day you felt the change. The breeze had bite, the nights were long, and the foliage you call home was becoming no more than scattered branches and leaf litter.
He liked his time with you. He didn’t want it to change, but he couldn’t help wanting you inside. Safe and warm.
The day was shaping up to be exactly like the rest of them.
He walked the tracks like he made them himself and you made an excellent shadow.
You were quiet, observant. Curious but never asked the questions that sat at the tip of your tongue.
He decided to show you how to shoot the crossbow after seeing you eye it a handful of times. He explained what to do, supported your weight when the kickback threatened to put you on your ass, and always took care of reloading it for you. A few practice shots later, you were standing on your own, bracing for impact, squinting down the sight at a particularly fat looking squirrel.
You squealed when you shot it, only to immediately hush yourself when you heard a dead man groaning nearby.
You skipped to where it dropped and apologized to the dead creature just before thanking it for its life too.
Daryl couldn’t help the grin from spreading wide when you held up your meal like a prize.
He taught you how to properly dress the kill for cooking, how to skin the meat so the hide could become something new later. In return, you and your foraged herbs decided you owed him lunch.
“You thought about it any? Comin’ back with me?”
You glanced up from the small fire. No emotion clear enough for him to pick out on your face, and worse you said nothing.
He pushes, you pull back, and that's new for him.
Usually, the awkward conversation ends after he asks the questions and mentions the prison, but you enjoy making things hard, and for some reason he likes that.
You.
Feral you, living in the trees. Soft and kind and careful.
“You ain’t left yet, gotta mean yer thinking about it.”
You glanced back up, jaw at work. “How many people again?”
“Pushing thirty if m’countin you.”
“Men?”
“Some, got more women now, a few kids.”
You nodded, rotating the squirrel over the small fire.
“I haven’t thought about it,” you admitted, eyes on the meat stuffed with blue violets and dried leaves meant for tea, “but I will.”
You were running low on things that made living outside tolerable. Things you could probably find if you just left. Some things you wouldn’t even need if you left, bug spray for one.
You were running out of reasons to why you couldn’t just go with him. You like him around, and you miss him when he’s gone.
It was dangerous, the longing in your chest. The need to be close, the anticipation of his arrival.
The only thing holding you back was yourself.
The next morning you paced below the low hanging branches, bag packed and hung off your shoulders, dressed head to toe in gifts from the approaching Dixon.
He saw you and everything inside him lit up, though it didn’t show. He kept that same vague expression and nodded his head towards the path he stomped out that takes him straight to you.
“C’mon.”
It was like any other day, a different direction, but the same walk. Quiet, careful, peaceful, until you reached the edge of the forest.
“No,” you whispered, stepping back into the tree line, “no, I'm sorry I can’t.”
“Alright,” he sighed, taking that small step back with you, “you ain’t gotta.”
You glanced his way, then down at the boots with good laces he gifted you like it was nothing at all. “But you think I should?"
He shrugged, shoulder brushing yours in the shift, “Ain’t no one gonna hurt you in there.”
“You can guarantee me that?”
He nodded, “If they do, they’re answering to me anyhow.”
You sighed softly, taking it all in for what it was. The build up of walkers was thick but manageable, and explained why less and less passed underneath you in the night. Guard towers, concrete walls, fence after fence. There was soft laughter coming down the hill, chatter carrying on the wind like living in this world came easier inside. Your hand found his, a grasp at comfort that made him jolt in place. You looked up wide eyed and holding half a smile, threading your fingers before he had any chance of pulling away.
“Okay.”
He glanced down at your hand loosely fitted into his, curious and overly aware of the closeness.
“Alright,” he muttered rolling his shoulders back, soften up the stiffness your sudden touch sent through him.
He led you past the walker traps, whistled sharp, and the first gate pulled open. His hand in yours, holding on like you might fly away. One closed, another opened, and you had made it farther than he thought you would.
“Is this your little bird?” A woman asked and that alone made your face flush before you could stop it.
Daryl grumbled something foul that you couldn’t make out but it made her laugh. He kept his head down, shaggy bangs hiding his own blush from view. “You wanna get ‘er set up? Show ‘er round?”
“What?” You squeaked, holding his hand tighter, “where are you going?”
“Gotta go find Rick,” he grumbled, so offhandedly like you should know who that is and why it mattered more than this, “I’ll be back around.”
You wanted to run, rush back into the safety of solitary and silence. Fight or flight, and with you it’s always flight. Something warm touched your elbow and you flinched before you could make sense of it.
He followed through, hand cradling where the joint bends.
“This is Carol, she’ll show y’the place.”
“Carol,” you echoed, glancing at the short grey-haired woman he spoke on vaguely. Best friend, badass, great shot.
“That’s me,” she chimed, too cheery, too bright.
You glanced down at the thumb brushing against your arm, then back up searching steel blue, “Who’s Rick again?”
“He’s the guy I was out there with, head of the council here.”
“I have to meet him?”
He nodded, failing to mention that you’ll have to meet the whole council while you were at it, but one baby bird step at a time.
“And you’ll be right back?”
Carol made a sound. Half sniffle half snort, choking down a laugh the absolute best she could.
“Ain’t going far, I’ll find ya.”
You nodded hesitantly, searching for the half of you that had kept yourself alive all this time.
“Alright,” he grumbled, sliding his hand across the small of your back as he maneuvered around you. One foot in front of the other towards the tower.
“You two seem to get along well,” Carol grinned. You didn’t know her well enough yet. You didn’t pick up that hint of teasing, or the glimmer of joy that came from watching you turn their hardened redneck into mush with something as simple as touch.
You turned and gave her a small, hopeful smile, “I trust him.”
“You’re smart to,” she nodded, watching him watching you over his shoulder as he walked away, “he’s a good one.”
hand holding? scandalous! thanks for reading, love you bye.
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