Darkest Before the Dawn
Chapter 3 : Hand Me Downs
Pairing : Daryl Dixon x f!reader (endgame), (unrequited) Glenn Rhee x f!reader
Series summary : When Glenn Rhee comes into your life, you become convinced he's a guardian angel sent by your late best friend. You think he's your soulmate. But then he falls for the farmer's daughter, and you find that your own angel may be a little more blatant than expected; wings and all.
Chapter summary : Glenn returns from Atlanta, Daryl returns from hunting, and all of you leave on a rescue mission for Merle.
Chapter warnings : language, violence, gore, general twd themes
Word count : 3.8k
A/N : This one wasn't proof-read so if anyone noticed any mistakes please lmk! next update may be a little slower because closing in on the process of adopting a puppy!
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Emerging from your tent, you head for Dale immediately. The noise is only growing closer and louder, and everyone is grouped around Dale. The old man looks through his binoculars, eyebrows furrowed. "Well, I'll be damned." Dale mutters.
"What is it?" Amy pushes impatiently.
"A stolen car is my guess."
The bright red sports car pulls into the quarry, and your heart leaps in your chest when you spy the driver. While everyone around panics about the noise, or their still-missing friends, your relief outweighs anything else. You leap onto Glenn, hugging him tight while he attempts to calm Amy. Paying it no mind, you only focus on the way his arms circle around your back to return the hug. It only lasts a couple seconds before he's stepping back to pop the hood for Shane. It's enough, though.
"Why isn't she with you? Where is she? She's okay?" Amy sputters, wide eyed and frantic.
"Yes! Yeah, fine. Everybody is. Well, Merle not so much." Typically you wouldn't care that anything had happened to Merle. You'd even go as far to say, you'd be downright relieved. You wouldn't wish death on anyone, but maybe you'd wish that Merle would somehow be teleported a good 200 miles away from you. But, that relief was only there for a split second. Instead, you felt a deep sense of worry for Daryl.
You didn't know him much at all, hell, he's spoken no more than five sentences to you the entire time you'd known him. None of those sentences were ever delivered in a particularly friendly manner, but just this morning he had helped you. You knew he felt like an outsider, and it seemed the only person in the group he liked was his brother.
Not only were you worried he'd fall into some form of depression if Merle was dead, but you were also worried he'd leave. Daryl provided so much to your group, and whether they realized it or not, everyone owed a lot to him.
You break free of your thoughts just in time to hear Dale scolding Glenn. "It wouldn't hurt you to think things through a little more carefully next time, would it?"
You know Glenn looks up to Dale, can see his worry of disappointing him. "Sorry," Glenn says, staring at his feet. Then, he looks up with a grin. "Got a cool car." That makes you let out a huff of laughter. It is a pretty cool car.
Your attention is stolen away by the sound of tires crunching over gravel, the van pulling in behind the red dodge charger. Andrea is the first to hop out, running to Amy. Morales, T-dog, and Jacqui all spill out after her. Morales greets his wife and children before coming over to give Dale a hug. "I thought we'd lost you folks for sure." Dale laughs.
"How'd y'all get out of there, anyway?" Shane asks, hands on his hips. The classic authoritarian stance he always seems to don.
From beside you, Glenn speaks up. "New guy." He glances to the van. "He got us out." New guy? It's been a while since your group has welcomed a new addition.
Nothing could prepare you for the reaction to the man who steps out of the van. Lori and Shane frozen, absolutely shellshocked. Carl, running and screaming for his father.
Lori recovers after a moment, falling into her husband's awaiting arms. Shane stays where he is, no hint of a smile on his face. You catch him fake one when Rick looks his way. It's not hard to guess what's happening. "Trouble in apocalyptic paradise for Shane and Lori." You whisper to Glenn, who only looks down at his shoes and shakes his head in sardonic amusement.
You get along well enough with Lori, if nothing else but for the simple fact that you adore her son. She's never done anything to make you think less of her, and you really don't blame her for her obvious affair with Shane. She'd told the story to you once or twice. Husband gets shot on the job, comatose, shit hits the fan, husband's best friend takes care of her and her son. And of course, she'd told you the part where Shane had listened for a heartbeat. There was none. Or so it was said.
Who can blame a grieving widow, lost in this shit-storm of a world for seeking comfort in a fling with the man she believes is her savior?
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You sit down by the unlit firepit with T-dog and Glenn. T-dog gnaws on a piece of jerky, eyes downcast. "Daryl's not gonna be happy," You start. No one has filled you in exactly on what happened, just that Merle was left chained on the roof. Alive but trapped. "But I'm sure he'll understand to some degree. He's gotta be more tired of his brother than any of us." You joke. T-dog just shakes his head, obviously guilty.
"He was out of control. Rick did the right thing." Glenn tells you. You hum in response, gaze wandering to where Rick wanders around camp, acquainting himself with all it's residents. The deputy must feel your eyes on him, because when he's done shaking Ed's hand, he heads for you. He's all confident strides, a sureness you haven't seen in anyone since the end of the world. You guess it's the effect of finding your wife and child in such unlikely circumstances.
He stops in front of you, hand extended and a smile more full of happiness than you've seen in two months. "Rick Grimes." He introduces.
You return his smile, clasping his hand. "Trust me, I already knew your name. Carl's told me all about how cool his daddy is." He laughs, looking down in a sort of bashful manner. You tell him your name, and he repeats it, nodding to himself.
"Yeah," He drawls. "Turns out I already knew yours, too. Glenn told me you know the city like the back of your hand." You nod. You'd lived in Atlanta before the turn, and you'd only become even more informed on it given the various runs you'd been on.
"Oh yeah. Normally I would've been there, being the one to save Glenn's ass. Glad you were there to fill my shoes." You tease, nudging Glenn with your shoulder. He pushes you back gently, sputtering out defenses.
When you glance back to Rick, he's laughing too.
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After the sun had gone to sleep, and the stars brought a bitter chill to the air, everyone gathered around the firepit. Rick has Lori and Carl tucked into his side as he recalls the chain of events leading him back to them. "Disoriented. I guess that comes closest. Disoriented. Fear, confusion; all of those things but, disoriented comes closest."
It must be strange to just wake up in a world like this. At least you had seen things progress. Heard the stories of cannibals on the radio, seen the news clips of deathly beings attacking civilians, watched the hospitals become overrun and the system fall apart. You'd seen the bombs drop, too.
"Words can be meager things, sometimes they fall short." Dale pipes up beside you. You look at Glenn, his face illuminated in a warm glow from the fire. Looking at him lights a sense of comfort and safety within you. He may be young, awkward and clunky, but he saved you.
The conversation goes on, focus almost entirely on Rick. When he turns to Shane, a sincerity to his eyes, you feel almost guilty. As if you are the one harboring the secret of Lori and Shane's affair. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to you, Shane." You have to suppress a sigh at his words. "I can't begin to express it."
"There goes those words falling short again." Dale quips. You can't help but agree. It's not your business, but you feel that words can't begin to express how convoluted the relationship between those three will end up being. How long can you keep secrets from a cop?
Shane leaves shortly after to argue with Ed. Not the first time the drunken man had insisted he needed a larger fire. You keep an eye from your spot, watching Carol and Sophia closely. You don't like Shane, but you know he'd use any excuse to beat on Ed. There's no complaints to be had from you if an altercation between the two started; as long as Carol and Sophia are safe and away from the action.
Somewhat unfortunately, the situation seems to resolve, Shane coming back to the main firepit. "Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon? He won't be happy to hear his brother was left behind." Dale says once Shane's situated. This time, your sigh does spill out. You weren't a part of the Atlanta group, and yet, all you've been thinking about since they got back was Daryl Dixon.
"I'll tell him," T-dog offers. "I dropped the key, it's on me."
Rick shakes his head. "I cuffed him." You see Glenn shaking his leg from beside you, glancing between T-dog and Rick beyond the fire.
"Guys, it's not a competition. I don't mean to bring race into this, but it might sound better coming from a white guy." Ah, so that's why he was so nervous.
"I really don't think Daryl is like Merle," You say, unsure why you feel the need to defend him. Just because he brought Carol to you? "At least not like that." There were definitely other ways Daryl was like Merle. Their brash language, their unkempt demeanor, and perhaps their general strength and hunting skill. Still, Daryl didn't strike you as a racist.
The conversation goes on, discussing what to tell Daryl. Who to take blame, whether to lie or be honest.
"I stopped long enough to chain that door. Staircase is narrow. Maybe half a dozen geeks can squeeze against it at any one time. It's not enough to break through that. Not that chain, not that padlock." T-dog rambles, the fire crackling loudly as a backtrack to his words. "My point– Dixon's alive and he's still up there, handcuffed on that roof. That's on us."
His confirmation that Merle is alive ends the discussion for the night, the group trickles off into their respective tents, and the fire flickers out. Glenn stands from beside you, announcing his departure. You watch him as he leaves, a coldness taking over in his absence.
You stay behind for a moment, no one left at the fire. A few feet away, Shane sits atop the RV. Paying him no mind, you lean back and stare at the sky. It's moments like these that you allow yourself to remember your best friend; allow yourself to picture her face among the stars. You take a deep breath, feeling it stretch your lungs, before breathing it out into the chilly night air. You imagine it takes the weight in your heart with it. But when you're done, standing up and heading to your tent, your chest feels just as heavy.
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Daryl finishes stringing up cans around the small clearing. It's not much, but it's some form of protection. He lies in the makeshift bed–his bag as a pillow and a t-shirt as a mattress. The trip hadn't been as productive thus far as he'd hoped, only a string of squirrels lay beside him. He'll get up before the sun, and keep going until he finds something of value he decides.
He takes comfort in staring at the night sky. It's where he feels he belongs. Even before the end of the world, he'd spent most nights sleeping outside in nature. It was always safer. In some way, he does find himself feeling more exposed without the knowledge that there are people around him. At the quarry, there's always someone keeping watch. He couldn't trust Merle to keep sober to watch his back.
But soon enough, it'll be back to just him and Merle. He'll have to deal with it.
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You, Carol, and Lori are on laundry duty this morning. Carol scrubs Rick's sherrif uniform and something about it almost makes you giggle. Wearing a police uniform in the apocalypse is nothing short of something from a comic book.
You have Glenn's hat, trying to spot clean little dried blood stains. "I wish peroxide wasn't as valuable," You comment, scrubbing with all your might on a particularly stubborn stain. "Used to wash out blood like magic." Carol hums, agreeing. Lori stays silent, working on her own laundry with a faraway look.
"Everything okay with you and Rick?" Carol asks, touching Lori's arm gently with a soapy hand. Lori nearly jumps out of her skin, water splashing from her basin. Suds fly through the air, and to your great displeasure, a splotch of soap lands right in your eye.
"Ow, shit!" You cry, dropping Glenn's hat and covering your eye. Lori frantically apologizes.
Due to your momentary loss of vision, you don't notice Glenn approaching you until he's calling out. "Hey, you okay? Let me see," He says. You tilt your head up, trying your best to open your eye. He takes the corner of his shirt and lifts it, using it to gently brush soap away from your eye.
His care for you makes you warm. It feels good to know someone cares. You rapidly blink to clear the remnants of soap, before flashing him a radiant smile. "Thanks." You breathe.
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Later, you stand next to Glenn, sharing in his grief. Dale and Jim are under the hood of the Dodge Charger, yanking out parts and pieces. Glenn's hands are on his head, brows furrowed in sadness. You pat him on the back. "We'll find another."
"Generators need every drop of fuel they can get. Got no power without it. Sorry, Glenn." Dale calls. Glenn looks down at his feet and you giggle, much to his chagrin.
Before you know it, Rick has approached you, a similar look of amusement on his face. "I thought I'd get to drive it at least a few more days." Glenn mumbles.
"Maybe we'll steal another one someday." Rick echoes your earlier sentiment. He wanders off, likely to find Lori.
"You replacing me with officer friendly?" You joke, nudging Glenn. He exhales through his nose, a small grin on his face.
"I don't know who makes fun of me more." He whines. You roll your eyes, reaching up to steal his hat off his head. Placing it on top your own, you turn and run, laughing while he chases you.
The chase gets cut short by a chorus of screams. You and Glenn freeze in unison, wide eyes meeting each other before you both dash. You hear Carl and Sophia's distinct voices calling out for their mothers.
You run as fast as your feet can carry you, Glenn's hat discarded still on your head. The children are at the edge of the forest, and as the adults arrive, they all run right into their parents arms. Running into the forest behind them, you all find the culprit. A deer, now dead, with a walker feasting on its innards. Your eyes are drawn to the various arrows sticking out of it.
The men jump into action, beating the walker with various objects. It reminds you of prison beatings in movies; ugly, uncoordinated, and inefficient. When they finish, the grunts and huffs silenced, you point to the arrows. "Daryl." You simply offer.
Shane nods, but otherwise they seem to ignore you. "It's the first one we've had up here. They never come this far up the mountain." Dale says, eyes wide.
Suddenly, the tree branches start to move and dried leaves crunch under the weight of something. You all gear up to fight another walker, when Daryl Dixon comes stumbling out of the woods. There's a level of relief to seeing him, knowing that your group didn't lose both their prize hunters in one fell swoop. But there's also a level of dread, a sinking weight in your stomach when you think of the news that needs delivering.
You don't get to think on it long, for Daryl interrupts your thoughts with an outburst. "Son of a bitch. That's my deer! Look at it. All gnawed on by this–" He starts kicking the walker. "–filthy, disease-bearin', motherless, poxy bastard!" You can't help but laugh. You really don't mean to, don't want him to think you're mocking him. The giggles just tumble out one-by-one, unstoppable in their path.
Everyone pauses to look at you, varying degrees of concern and confusion, but you just can't stop laughing. Daryl narrows his eyes at you, "This funny to ya?" You can't answer through your huffs, so Daryl just scoffs, turning his attention back to the walker. It receives one more swift kick to the side.
Dale extends his arm in a notion to stop. "Calm down, son. That's not helping." You know it from the moment it leaves his lips that he'll receive an earful for this. It simply doesn't work to tell a man like Daryl to 'calm down'.
Just as expected, Dale receives the opposite of the intended reaction. "What do you know about it, old man? Why don't ya take that stupid hat and go back to 'on golden pond'?" You, for one, think Dale's bucket hat is very stylish, and you'd let him know that on multiple occasions.
"I've been tracking this deer for miles. Gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison. What do ya think? Do ya think we can cut around this chewed up part right here?" He seems genuine, chewing on his thumb and contemplating with a furrowed brow.
"I would not risk that." Shane says. Daryl sighs, disappointment evident.
"That's a damn shame. I got some squirrel, about a dozen or so. That'll have to do." Daryl moves to leave, and you start to follow behind him.
Suddenly, the decapitated walkers head breathes life once more, snapping it's teeth and groaning. Daryl stops in his tracks, almost making you face-plant right into his back. "Come on, people. What the hell?" He readies his crossbow, shooting the decaying head right between the eyes.
"It's gotta be the brain. Don't y'all know nothing?"
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Daryl makes it back to the camp first, tossing his string of squirrels by the firepit. "Merle! Get yer ugly ass out here, got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up!" He does find it strange that Merle doesn't immediately respond, knowing how loose Merle's jaw is.
Shane's voice, his tone, sends a spiral of uncertainty through him. "Daryl, just slow up a bit, need to talk to you."
Daryl whips around to face Shane. "About what?" Shane places his hands over his belt buckle, eyes darting away from Daryl.
"About Merle. There was a–There was a problem in Atlanta." Daryl let's the words sink in, nodding slowly. He feels that all too familiar lump in his throat, panic digging her claws into his esophagus.
"He dead?" He thinks he must be. What else could Shane be referring to?
"We're not sure." Shane says. That lights a fire in Daryl. Uncertainty has never been his friend. Things didn't feel real without confirmation.
"He either is or he ain't!"
Rick approaches, hand out as if Daryl was some rabid animal. "No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it."
"Who are you?" Daryl snaps, looking this new guy up and down. He looks past him, to everyone at camp, who seems to not bat an eye at the newcomer. The hell did he miss?
"Rick Grimes." The confidence that Rick delivers his name in only makes Daryl more angry.
Daryl huffs, stepping closer to Rick, chest puffed. "Rick grimes, you got something you want to tell me?"
"Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal." Rick tilts his head, locking eyes with Daryl. "He's still there."
Daryl almost laughs, a bitter, angry laugh at the absurdity. "Hold on. Let me process this." He gestures to his head. "You're saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?" He yells.
"Yeah." Next thing Daryl knows, he's pulled his knife and Shane has him in a chokehold.
"You'd best let me go!" He screeches, thrashing wildly.
Shane only seems to tighten his grip. "Nah, I think it's better if I don't."
"Choke hold's illegal."
Shane has an air of amusement in his tone when he responds, but nothings funny to Daryl right now. "You can file a complaint. Come on, man. We'll keep this up all day."
Rick crouches down to look Daryl in his eye. "I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that? Do you think we can manage that?"
Its not Rick's request, or his condescending tone that causes Daryl to agree. It's not Shane's grip either. It's when he looks behind them, to you.
You, with your eyes full of not fear or worry, but of sympathy. It makes shame burn in him, enveloping his body in an overwhelming and uncomfortable warmth. He feels your eyes on him and he feels your pity and it makes him sick. He needs out. If he has to have a peaceful conversation with Rick to get away from your piercing eyes, then so be it.
Imagine Daryl's thrill when Rick proposes you and Glenn to join in the rescue mission for Merle. He'd said something about you and Glenn knowing the city, needing you to retrieve a bag of guns. Daryl narrows his eyes at you and Glenn when you pack into the back of the van. You've still got the kid's hat on, and something about that makes him uncomfortable. Who has time for love in this world?
The ride is mostly silent, some jokes exchanged between you, Glenn, and T-dog. Nothing Daryl pays much attention to. He'd rather go get his brother himself. Eventually Glenn stops the van. "We walk from here."
On the walk, Daryl's heart speeds up the closer he gets to the department store. He's antsy, just wants to see his brother, dead or alive. You seem to notice, speeding your steps a bit to walk in pace with him. "I'm sure he's okay. You Dixons are tough." Daryl just scoffs, refusing to meet your eye.
Each step up to the roof sends a new wave of nerves through his stomach, so he takes them two at a time. T-dog cuts through the padlock and Daryl brushes past him onto the roof. "Merle!" And then he sees it. Grey and decaying, bloody and lifeless. It reminds Daryl of everything else Merle has left for him.
All the ripped old flannels, the half drank beers, hell, even the aged porno mags with the ink smeared and half the pages falling out. Merle never left anything pleasant for Daryl.
Though, while sobbing over Merle's dismembered hand, he has to say that this is the worst hand me down of all.
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