Glad to know other people are enjoying my little drabbles. Here’s a second part that I wrote at work. If y’all want more let me know… or don’t either way you’ll probably get more.
TW: none, no use of YN, no use of pronouns. No proof reading just vibes.
At first everyone gives the pair of you space. It was obvious something was wrong. Daryl was never one for much small talk, but you… no you had changed. Gone were the friendly smiles, simple gestures, kind words just for the sake of being good in a world gone to shit. Instead they had been replaced by a wounded dog like mentality. Down casted eyes, whimpers instead of words, and shoulders hunched in a desperate attempt to make yourself as small as possible.
Then people started to notice that for the first two weeks of you both making it back to Alexandria that you both only spoken to each other. Bodies huddled close together, speaking in frantic whispers, or hushed murmurs. When others spoke to you Daryl’s jaw tightened. Subconsciously stepping slightly in front of you. “We ain’t talking’ to ya.” It was clear from his tone that it was time to get lost. After the third week you slowly started talking to Rick or Michonne but only in broken fragments and when absolutely necessary.
The few times you had been out in public, forced to make an appearance by Rick, you acted like a hunted animal. Pressing yourself into a corner, Daryl’s body acting as a shield. Keeping you tucked away from prying eyes and curious voices. Daryl would press against you, firm, solid, real. One arm snaking around, fingers digging into your waist as he tugs you closer. His breath warm on your neck sending an eruption of goosebumps to rise on your skin. “‘S okay Darlin’. Just a few more minutes then I’ll take ya home.” Voice low, raspy, the rumble in his chest a grounding presence as you hid your face against his chest.
The others noticed the way you suddenly shied away from everyone except Daryl. How you clung to him like he was a life line. How your body would start to tremble when he wasn’t around. A small whimper escaping your throat as you frantically looked for a mop of greasy hair. It takes less than ten seconds for Daryl to appear. Slinking out of the shadows eyes immediately locking on your shaking form. A simple tilt of his head or curl of his fingers had you scrambling towards him. Your head down, hiding the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Knuckles turning white from how tightly your curled fingers dug into the soft leather of his vest.
While it was concerning the change they saw in you nothing was more worrying than the sudden change in how Daryl acted towards you. The way he hovered like a guard dog. Growling at anybody that got close. Sharp blue eyes scanning for anything potentially dangerous. So tuned into your body language that he seemed to know when something was off before you did. It was eerie, unsettling, damn near unnatural. A growing tension settled upon Alexandria, the underlying realization that when it came to you Daryl was unwilling to compromise. That sooner rather than later there would be a misunderstanding, an accidental touch, a voice too loud that would send you into a panic. And when that happened someone was going to get hurt.
Summary: You took a risk on a supply run. Daryl is furious, but his anger is just a cover for how terrified he was of losing you.
The woods were quiet, save for the crunch of dead leaves under your boots and the heavy, agitated breathing of the man walking three paces ahead of you.
Daryl hadn’t said a word since you left the prison gates. His shoulders were hunched tight, the crossbow gripped so hard his knuckles were white. You knew that posture. You knew exactly what was coming, but you weren’t going to be the one to break the silence.
He stopped abruptly near a cluster of oaks, spinning around so fast you almost bumped into him.
"You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?" he growled, his voice low and scraping like gravel.
You crossed your arms, feigning innocence though your heart was hammering. "We needed formula. I saw the run. I took it. We got out, didn’t we?"
"You dove through a window into a nest of 'em without checkin' the back exit!" Daryl took a step closer, invading your space. "You didn't clear it. You just went in blind."
"I could hear them, Daryl! I knew where they were. I didn't have time to file a report with you while that supply bag was sitting right there."
"You coulda died!" He shouted it this time, the sound echoing off the trees. Birds scattered from the branches above. "You think this is a joke? You think 'cause you got a knife you're invincible?"
"I think I’m alive!" you shouted back, the frustration boiling over. "I’m still standing here! Stop treating me like I’m some liability you have to babysit. I survived before I met you, and I’m surviving now."
"Barely," he spat, shaking his head, hair falling into his eyes. "You take risks you don't gotta take. Every damn time we go out, you gotta prove somethin'."
"I’m not trying to prove anything!" You stepped forward, closing the gap, fueled by the adrenaline still lingering in your system. "I’m trying to pull my weight. I’m trying to make sure we eat. But you? You act like if you let me out of your sight for two seconds, I’m going to trip and fall into a walker's mouth."
"Because you act like a damn fool!"
"Don't call me a fool!" You shoved him.
It wasn't a playful push. You shoved hard against his chest. He stumbled back half a step, looking stunned for a split second before his eyes narrowed.
"I am capable, Daryl!" You shoved him again, harder this time. "I am strong! Stop acting like you own my safety!"
He dropped the crossbow to the ground with a thud.
"I ain't sayin' you ain't strong," he yelled, catching your wrists before you could shove him a third time. His grip was iron-tight, not hurting, but unyielding. "I’m sayin' I can't do this if you ain't here!"
The confession hung in the air between you, heavy and raw.
You froze, looking up at him. His chest was heaving, his blue eyes wild and terrified and furious all at once. "I can't... I can't watch you get torn apart because you wouldn't wait for me," he whispered harshly.
"Daryl..."
"Shut up," he breathed.
He yanked you forward, eliminating the space between you, and crashed his mouth onto yours.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was desperate. It was the taste of fear and adrenaline and dirt. His hands released your wrists and tangled into your hair, holding you still as he devoured you, pouring every ounce of his terrifying worry into the contact.
You melted instantly. The anger that had been blazing in your chest hissed and evaporated, replaced by a searing heat that curled low in your stomach. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down, meeting his intensity with your own.
His stubble grazed your chin, rough and familiar. He groaned against your lips, a sound that vibrated through your entire body, and walked you backward until your back hit the rough bark of an oak tree. He pressed his body flush against yours, heavy and grounding.
For a moment, the apocalypse didn't exist. The walkers, the hunger, the fear—it was all gone. There was just the pressure of his mouth, the heat of his hands, and the frantic beat of his heart against yours.
He pulled back just an inch, resting his forehead against yours, both of you gasping for air. His eyes were closed, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
"Don't do that again," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "Don't you dare scare me like that."
You looked at him—the dirt smudge on his cheek, the worry lines etched deep around his eyes, the way his hands were still trembling slightly where they held your waist.
I forgive him, you thought, the realization washing over you like cool water. He’s not trying to control me. He’s just terrified.
You ran a thumb over his cheekbone, watching him lean into your touch.
God, I love him.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dixon," you whispered.
He opened his eyes, the blue intense and searching. He let out a long, shaky breath, then leaned in and pecked your lips—softly this time, an apology and a promise all in one.
"Good," he grunted, stepping back and reaching down to grab his crossbow. He slung it over his shoulder, but he didn't walk away. He held out a hand for you. "Come on. Let's go home."
Summary: In the aftermath of the funeral, the survivors leave the quarry behind and head for the CDC. On the road, bonds begin to shift — Shane grows closer to the reader, sparks flickering between them, while Daryl’s quiet protectiveness plants the seeds of an unexpected friendship. At the CDC, the group experiences a brief moment of safety, but Dr. Jenner’s secrets and the looming lockdown threaten to shatter their fragile hope. As the building explodes, the group escapes into an uncertain future, grief and tension still heavy on their shoulders.
Warnings: Death, Grief, Violence (guns, walkers), Gore (zombies, blood, explosions), Mentions of suicide/hopelessness, Romantic tension, Threat of entrapment
This is a work of fanfiction based on The Walking Dead. I do not own The Walking Dead or any related characters or settings; all original material belongs to their respective creators.
You stand amidst the somber aftermath of the attack, the acrid scent of smoke and death still hanging in the air. The survivors have just finished saying their goodbyes to the fallen; simple graves mark the resting place of loved ones like Amy, whose loss weighs heavily on Andrea’s slumped shoulders. Everyone is drained and silent, grief etched on each face. Rick finally breaks the quiet, voice hoarse but determined. The camp isn’t safe anymore, he insists. He proposes that the group head to the CDC facility in Atlanta, hoping they might find answers or even a cure there. Shane immediately voices doubts – the CDC could be a dead end or a trap, for all we know – and he doesn’t like the idea of venturing deeper into the city. A brief, tense debate ensues among the group. Shane mentions an alternative: Fort Benning, a military base he believes could offer shelter and supplies. But Rick counters that Fort Benning might be overrun like everywhere else, and the CDC is Jim’s best chance since he’s been bitten. Lori sides firmly with Rick, trusting his gut. Ultimately, the others exchange uncertain glances but relent – the CDC it is. The decision is made. The plan: leave immediately and make it by nightfall.
Not everyone will come along. Morales and his family announce they won’t be joining the trip – they have relatives in Birmingham and choose to take their chances heading there instead. It’s a bittersweet parting as you hug them goodbye. “Stay safe,” you whisper, blinking back tears as the Morales family’s taillights fade down the road. With that farewell, the remaining survivors gather what little gear they have and prepare the caravan. Dale’s old RV coughs to life, set to lead the way. Glenn double-checks the map that will guide you. Jim, feverish and pale, is carefully helped into the RV; his walker bite has worsened, and a sheen of sweat covers his brow. Space is made for him to lie down on the bed in the back. Given the crowded RV and other full cars, you find yourself in need of a different ride.
Shane catches your eye and gives a small nod toward his vehicle – a beat-up Jeep Wrangler he’s commandeered. “Ride with me,” he offers, attempting a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes. You agree with a grateful nod, climbing into the passenger side as the convoy starts rolling out. The remnants of the camp shrink in the side mirror. You can’t help a lingering glance back at the graves, silently vowing to remember those you lost.
As the caravan snakes onto the highway, an uneasy quiet falls. You sit beside Shane, the hum of the Jeep engine and crunch of debris under the tires the only sounds for a while. The world beyond the windows is a blur of abandoned cars and overgrown roads. Eventually, Shane breaks the silence. “You holding up OK?” he asks gruffly. In profile, his face is hardened by days of stress – stubble, dark circles under his eyes – but there’s concern in his voice. You shrug faintly. “I guess… as well as anyone.” You pause, picking at a loose thread on your shirt. “It’s just a lot. Amy, the others…,” you trail off, images of the funeral flashing in your mind. Shane’s jaw flexes. “Yeah.” A heavy silence follows that one word. Amy’s death, the other empty places in your group now – none of it is easy to accept.
Shane clears his throat. “Rick’s hell-bent on the CDC,” he says, changing the subject. His tone makes it clear he’s sceptical. “I get why – he wants to help Jim – but I’m not so sure walking into a government lab is the smart move.” He taps a finger anxiously on the steering wheel. “If it were up to me, we’d head for Fort Benning. Could be troops there, structure… safety.” He glances at you to gauge your reaction. You remember the brief argument back at camp – Shane warning about the CDC, Rick insisting on it. “Fort Benning’s a hundred miles in the opposite direction,” you recall aloud, offering a slight, rueful smile. “Besides, we’d never make it that far with the fuel we’ve got.” It’s the same point Andrea had raised earlier when Shane brought it up. Shane snorts, conceding the point with a nod. “True. We’re running on fumes and prayers as is.” His grip on the wheel tightens. “I just… I don’t like unknowns. Walking into that city again, it’s risky.” The memory of Atlanta’s streets – how overrun they were – hangs unspoken between you. You bite your lip. “I hear you. But what choice do we have? Maybe the CDC will have something. Medicine, information… maybe even a cure for Jim.” Your voice is quiet, hopeful. Shane doesn’t reply immediately. His brow furrows as he focuses on the road.
After a moment, he sighs. “For what it’s worth, I hope Rick’s right,” he mutters, almost reluctantly. “Man could use a win.” There’s a hint of bitterness beneath his words. You remember that Shane led the group while Rick was gone – and that Rick’s return changed everything. Shane hasn’t quite been the same since. He catches you studying him and gives a crooked smirk. “Sorry. Don’t mean to dump my doubts on you.” You shake your head. “It’s okay. I’d rather know what we’re driving into, even if it’s not great.” You hesitate, then add softly, “We’ll get through this. All of us, together.” The conviction in your own voice surprises you. Shane glances at you, and for a fleeting second, the hardness in his expression softens. “Together,” he echoes, as if tasting the word. His eyes meet yours – dark, searching – and you feel a spark of understanding pass between you. In that moment, you’re not just two people thrown together by circumstance; you’re two survivors sharing the same fears, the same fragile hope.
He manages a real smile this time, however small. The sight of it sends a warm flutter through your chest. When did I start noticing his smile? You wonder. Outside, the afternoon sun beats down on the broken highway, but inside the cab of Shane’s truck, you almost feel… comfortable. Safe, even. It’s startling, realising that the tension that once always radiated off Shane now seems to ease when he talks to you. Your friendship with him has deepened through the struggles of the past days. Now, something else subtle and unspoken flickers under the surface. You’re not sure either of you is ready to name it, but it hums in the air between you with each shared glance. You turn your face to the open window, letting the wind cool your warmed cheeks, and can’t help a tiny smile.
A sudden blare of a horn from the RV ahead snaps both of you back to the present. Smoke is billowing from the RV’s hood, and it lurches to a halt on the side of the highway. “What now?” Shane mutters, pulling over. Up ahead, Dale climbs out of the driver’s seat, waving for help. The radiator hose of the old RV has burst, steam hissing out. The caravan grinds to a halt as everyone disembarks to assess the situation. Shane kills the engine and is out in a flash, cursing under his breath about lousy timing. You follow, and the heat hits you in waves – from the sun above and the overheating engine in front of you.
Rick and Dale pry open the RV’s hood. T-Dog and Glenn rummage for tools and spare parts, but it’s clear you’ll need a replacement hose or some creative patch job to get moving again. “I saw an auto shop a couple of miles back,” T-Dog says. Shane nods decisively, already jogging to his truck. “Let’s go. We’ll scavenge what we need.” As T-Dog hops in the jeep with him, Shane turns to you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Stay here. Keep an eye on things.” His tone is protective, and the gesture – his warm, steady hand – lingers a second longer than expected. You find yourself wanting to cover his hand with yours, to ask him to be careful, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you just nod. “Alright.” Shane squeezes your shoulder gently, then he and T-Dog roar off down the road in search of parts, leaving you and the others to wait.
The pause in travel brings Jim’s condition back into sharp focus. You climb into the stifling RV where Jim is sprawled on the mattress in back. He’s shivering despite a blanket covering him. His skin is ashen, and his shirt is soaked through with sweat. Jacqui sits beside him, dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. “Hey Jim,” you say softly. He blinks up at you, eyes glassy with fever. For a moment, it’s like he doesn’t recognise you. Then he breathes your name and manages a weak smile. “How you doin’, kid?” he rasps. The forced lightness in his tone breaks your heart. “I’m… fine,” you answer, failing to muster any cheer. “Don’t worry about me.” You kneel beside him. “We’re fixing the RV. We’ll get you to the CDC soon, okay? They might… they might have doctors there.” The words spill out in a rush of forced optimism. Jim just closes his eyes, pain creasing his face. “Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t make false promises.” His hand gropes out from under the blanket, and you take it, your thumb brushing over his clammy skin.
Outside, through the RV’s open door, you hear Dale and Rick speaking in low tones about the radiator. Inside, Jim musters his strength and looks at you with startling clarity. “Listen,” he croaks, squeezing your hand. “I want you to do something for me.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Anything.” Jim’s dry, cracked lips twitch in a sad half-smile. “When I… when I’m gone, don’t you guys risk yourselves for me. Promise me.” A spike of fear goes through you. “Don’t talk like that,” you protest softly. “We’re not leaving you behind.” But even as you say it, tears blur your vision because you both know the truth. Jim’s fever is sky-high; he’s been bitten. Unless the CDC truly holds a miracle cure, it’s only a matter of time.
A scrape of boots on metal makes you turn. Rick has climbed into the RV, face grim. Jacqui stands as Rick kneels opposite you by Jim’s side. “How is he?” Rick asks, though Jim’s deteriorating state speaks for itself. Jim’s eyes flutter open again. Gathering whatever lucidity he has left, Jim gently pulls his hand from yours and reaches for Rick’s sleeve. “Rick… you gotta listen,” Jim says slowly. Rick leans closer. “I’m listening.” Jim swallows, then speaks with a steadiness that sends chills through you: “I want to be left behind.” For a second, the only sound is the rattling wheeze of the RV’s generator. You feel as if you imagined it. Rick’s brow furrows. “Don’t say that. Once we get moving—” Jim shakes his head feebly. “No. I know what’s coming. I can feel it… inside.” His voice quavers, but there is conviction there. “I’m not getting any better. I’ll turn, we all know it. I – I don’t want to hurt any of you.” A tear escapes down the side of his face. “And I don’t want one of you to have to… to stop me after.” His meaning is clear: he doesn’t want to become a walker, and he doesn’t want any of his friends to be the one to put him down when he does.
Rick’s eyes shine with tears now. He grips Jim’s shoulder. “Jim, you’re delirious. We’re not just leaving you to die out here,” Rick insists, voice thick. You bite your lip hard, trying to steady your breathing. Jacqui has a trembling hand over her mouth. Jim musters a weak chuckle that turns into a cough. “Delirious? No, man… my head’s clearer than it’s been all day.” He pauses to catch his breath. Each word is an effort now. “This is what I want. Please. Just leave me… by the road. I’ll be fine. I’ll be with my family.” A sob catches in your chest. Jim’s wife and children died in the early days of the outbreak – he told you that story once around a campfire. The fever must be giving him visions; maybe he believes he’ll be reunited with them if he dies here. Rick looks anguished, torn between his principles and the man begging him for release. Outside the RV, voices are gathering – others have noticed something’s happening.
Rick presses a hand over his face, struggling. After a long beat, he nods, barely perceptible. He won’t outright say yes, but he won’t fight Jim’s wish either. The decision settles like lead in your stomach. By the time Shane and T-Dog return with a salvaged hose and the RV is patched up, a quiet consensus has spread: Jim will be left here, as he asked. The group moves as if in a funeral march. Together, Rick and Shane carry Jim from the RV, one arm over each of their shoulders. You follow alongside with the others, feet like stone. A short distance from the road, beneath the shade of a broad pine tree, they ease Jim down to sit against the trunk. The afternoon light is dappled on his face. Jim’s breathing is shallow, but he’s still conscious, eyes roaming over each of you in silent gratitude. One by one, the group says goodbye. The moment is almost unbearable. When you step forward, your throat locks up. What can you possibly say? In the end, you simply take Jim’s hand one last time. It’s cooling rapidly. “Thank you… for everything,” you choke out. Jim had been a quiet pillar of your camp – digging graves for strangers, sharing his meagre rations. A better man than most. He blinks slowly, and you’re not sure he even heard. But his fingers twitch in a semblance of a squeeze. That’s more than enough.
Daryl stands apart, his crossbow slung over his shoulder and a conflicted look on his face. You notice him gripping the handle of an arrow. Daryl was the first to insist on “ending it quick” for Jim back at camp; now, confronted with Jim’s composed resolve, even Daryl seems subdued. For a heartbeat, it seems like Daryl might step forward and offer a swift mercy-kill. But Rick catches Daryl’s eye and subtly shakes his head – no. They will honor Jim’s last request to be left alive. Daryl exhales and turns away, jamming the arrow back into its quiver. It’s a show of respect as much as restraint.
It’s time. One by one, people turn back toward the road. Glenn wipes at his eyes, lingering a moment before following the others. You are one of the last to leave. As the group shuffles away, Jim’s voice calls out weakly, stopping you in your tracks: “Hey… don’t… don’t you all be gone when I turn around.” It’s an echo of what he joked earlier in camp, before the bite – a feeble attempt at humour. It breaks what’s left of your heart. “We’re still here,” Rick assures him gently, though he’s now a dozen paces off. Jim’s head tilts back against the bark of the tree. His eyes slide closed, whether from peace or exhaustion, you can’t tell. The rest of you retreat, leaving Jim under that tree by the road, as requested. He appears to fall asleep, a slight smile on his lips as though dreaming of a reunion with the family he lost. The sight blurs through your tears as you climb back into Shane’s truck. The engine starts, and the caravan pulls away, moving forward while leaving a piece of itself behind.
The next few miles are travelled in heavy silence. Shane hasn’t said a word since the goodbye. He drives with a white-knuckled grip, jaw clenched tight. You sit close to the door, face turned toward the window so he won’t see the tears slipping down your cheeks. When you finally glance at him, his eyes are hard, focused on the road, but there’s a telltale shine in them. Shane Walsh, the man who prides himself on being tough as nails, is fighting back tears. Without thinking, you reach over and lay your hand atop his, where it rests on the gearshift. His hand turns under yours, fingers interlacing tightly. Nothing is said – nothing needs to be said. In the silence, grief binds you together. You squeeze his hand; he squeezes back. A silent promise passes between you: We keep going. We live, for those who can’t anymore. The sun sinks lower on the horizon as you drive on.
By the time you reach the outskirts of the CDC facility, dusk is settling in. The sky over Atlanta is painted in hues of orange and purple, shadows growing long. Rick’s caravan slows as you approach. The sight before you sends a chill through your exhausted bones: hundreds of decomposing corpses litter the grounds outside a large, bunker-like CDC building. Most look long-dead (perhaps military or civilian victims from the early days of the outbreak), but it’s a grim welcome. “Stay sharp,” Shane warns, peering out the windshield. He’s been on high alert since you neared the city, and your own hand has been resting on your weapon nervously. The group parks and dismounts cautiously, weapons drawn. No walkers in sight yet, just the eerie stillness of death all around. The CDC’s windows are shuttered with steel blast shields, and no lights are visible inside.
As you all approach the main entrance, a motion-sensor alarm inside the building begins to flash. Dr. Edwin Jenner, concealed within, jolts awake at his monitors – though you don’t know that yet. From your perspective, the CDC appears as lifeless as everything else. Rick tries the main doors; they’re sealed tight. He knocks and yells, but there’s no response. Glenn pans a flashlight over the carnage around you uneasily. “This… this is a bad idea,” someone mutters. The faint moan of a walker carries on the air from somewhere behind the wreckage of parked cars. Your heart kicks in your chest. If a horde corners you here…
Shane’s eyes dart anxiously. “We can’t stay out here. Maybe we should turn back, find someplace else,” he whispers harshly. Fear edges his voice; he’s considering retreat already. “Fort Benning’s still an option,” Shane adds under his breath, half to himself. You bite down panic. “We’re almost out of gas. Where would we even go?” Andrea interjects sharply, echoing your thoughts. Indeed, the vehicles are running on fumes, and everyone is low on food and water. Lori steps forward, voice high with urgency: “Rick, do something! We need a plan!” The sun is nearly gone now, and long shadows twist through the sea of bodies. Walkers are beginning to notice the group – here and there you spot silhouettes shuffling in your direction, drawn by the sound of your voices. They are slow, but there are many. A distant snarl sends adrenaline surging through your veins.
Rick looks up at the dark building, desperation etched on his face. “Hello? Is there anybody in there?!” he hollers at the fortress-like structure. No answer. His eyes suddenly catch on something – a surveillance camera, perched above the door, panning to observe the lot. Rick’s expression changes; he steps forward, hope and fury blurring together. He waves his arms frantically at the camera. “You! I know you’re watching! Please, we’re human – living people! Let us in!” he shouts. Behind you, a chorus of guttural groans grows louder as more walkers lurch into view between wrecked cars. They’re closing in. You instinctively back up closer to Shane, and he moves in front of you without a word, shotgun raised. Daryl and Glenn pivot to cover the flanks, weapons ready. Everyone’s breathing quickens. Rick slams his fists on the heavy metal shutters covering the door. “If you’re in there, you’re killing us!” Rick bellows, pounding until his fists are surely bruised. “Let us in, damn it!” In the rising panic, Shane mutters a curse – the idea of fleeing is fading; there’s nowhere to go. Beside him, you see Andrea trembling as she clutches her pistol, eyes darting at the advancing dead. This is it – either that door opens, or this may be your last stand.
Suddenly, a loud clunk echoes from the steel door. With a hydraulic hiss, the fortified shutters begin to roll up. A blinding flood of bright white light pours out from inside, momentarily stunning both you and the encroaching walkers. “Get inside, go!” Rick yells, waving everyone in as soon as there’s an opening. You don’t need to be told twice. As the door yawns open fully, Rick leads the charge into the light, and the rest of you dash after him, practically diving through the threshold. Shane’s hand finds yours in the chaos, gripping tightly as he half-pulls you in. You stumble into blessed cool air. Glenn hauls the door shut from the inside, and with another mechanical thud, it seals you in. You’re safe. For a moment, none of you move – a dozen survivors stand in a high-tech entry bay, panting, wide-eyed and disoriented by the sudden change of fortune.
Inside stands a single man, his posture wary and a bit disbelieving. He’s clad in rumpled civilian clothes – notably pyjamas and a lab coat – and is holding a shotgun levelled nervously in your direction. “Close the door, damn it!” he snaps, and Glenn hastily finishes sealing the entrance. The man’s voice is strained, like he hasn’t used it in a long time. Rick steps forward, hands spread placatingly. “We’re not infected,” Rick says, chest heaving. The man’s eyes land on the two children (Carl and Sophia), and the state of you all: dirty, exhausted, tear-streaked. Something in his expression softens slightly. “Anybody bitten?” Jenner asks curtly. Rick quickly shakes his head. “No. One of ours was, but… he didn’t make it here.” Your throat tightens thinking of Jim out under his tree. Jenner nods once, lowering the barrel of his gun. “Then you can come inside. But you all have to submit to a blood test first,” he warns. He indicates a scanner by the inner door. It seems the CDC has protocols – he won’t risk contamination. Desperate for safety, everyone readily agrees. One by one, you pass through an ID gate; Jenner pricks each of your thumbs to scan your blood for infection. Only when the computer voice (“Test subject clean”) chimes for the final person does Jenner breathe out and sling his shotgun over his shoulder. “Welcome… I guess,” he says, almost incredulous that there are living visitors. He presses a button, and an inner security door slides open, granting access to the facility beyond.
Jenner leads your group down pristine, brightly lit corridors. It feels surreal to be in a place with electricity, humming air conditioning, even running computers – a stark contrast to the grim, primitive life you’ve been living. “This is the CDC?” Glenn whispers, eyes wide at the high-tech surroundings. Jenner nods. “What’s left of it,” he replies, his tone flat. As you descend deeper via an elevator, he explains he’s the only person left here; all the other scientists and staff evacuated or… worse. It’s a sobering revelation – this massive complex, meant to combat the plague, reduced to one weary man. Still, he’s offering refuge, and right now that’s everything.
When the elevator opens into the main living area, Jenner flicks on the lights to a cafeteria/mess hall. The sudden illumination reveals something glorious: a stocked dining area and gleaming kitchen. He gestures vaguely. “You all look like you could use a meal… and a shower,” he notes. It’s true – days of grime and blood cover each of you. A few people actually laugh at that, a much-needed bubble of levity. Relief sweeps through you like a wave. Carol touches her matted hair self-consciously; Glenn rubs at his sticky, sweat-stained shirt and grins. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see fluorescent lighting and bad cafeteria food,” he jokes.
Jenner cracks the barest smile at Glenn’s comment, then grows serious. “Fuel is low, so we have to conserve power. Hot water’s a luxury – short showers,” he instructs, wagging a finger. “I’m shutting down non-essential electricity after we get you settled.” None of you are inclined to argue after nearly starving on the road. “Yes, sir, whatever you say,” Dale responds gratefully. Jenner adds, “I have some wine left too. I think we all deserve a drink.” At that, even Shane exhales a small chuckle of surprise.
Soon enough, hot water is running, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you get to wash off the dirt and blood. The survivors cycle through the showers, shedding tattered clothes and days of hardship under streams of blessedly warm water. Soap, shampoo – even the institutional stuff feels like pure heaven. You close your eyes under the spray, letting weeks of stress and gore swirl down the drain. It’s almost possible to imagine you’re a normal person in a normal world again, if only for a few minutes. Others are laughing in disbelief, reacting to the simple joy of cleanliness. Glenn whoops as he sticks his head under a faucet, and even reserved people like T-Dog break into smiles. Modesty is an afterthought; you’re all just human beings rejoicing in being clean and alive in that moment.
After the showers, Jenner provides fresh clothes – plain t-shirts and scrub pants from the facility’s supplies – and everyone gathers in the mess hall. True to his word, Jenner sets out food and several bottles of wine. The dinner that follows feels almost festive, a stark contrast to the despair of a few hours ago. Plates of steaming pasta, canned vegetables, even some canned fruit cocktail for dessert – it’s a feast by your recent standards. You savour each bite, stomach finally full and warm. Around the long table, people start to look like their old selves. Laughter, genuine and healing, bubbles up as the group partakes in the wine a little too eagerly. After so long on edge, the alcohol goes straight to your heads. Glenn ends up hiccupping and giggling over a dumb joke T-Dog makes. Carol blushes as Dale gallantly pours her a second glass. Carl, wrinkling his nose after a sip of diluted wine Rick allowed him, declares it “gross,” causing the adults to burst into laughter. A sense of camaraderie rekindles, the family you’ve chosen finding light in the darkest of times.
Seated between Shane and Daryl, you finally feel the knots in your chest loosening. Shane, having shed his body armour and donned a clean shirt, appears far more relaxed than you’ve seen him in days – cheeks flushed slightly from the wine. He keeps your glass filled and shoots you soft smiles. You find yourself leaning into him occasionally as you both laugh at one of Glenn’s hungover predictions that he’ll “never drink again after tomorrow morning.” Each casual brush of Shane’s arm against yours sends a little jolt through your stomach. More and more, you’re acutely aware of his presence, of the warmth radiating off him in the cool air-conditioned room.
On your other side, Daryl is characteristically quiet but notably more at ease. With the immediate dangers at bay, his hard edges have smoothed a touch. At one point, you catch him casting furtive glances your way. Finally, over the remains of dinner, Daryl murmurs something to you, low enough that only you hear. “Ya look a hell of a lot better clean,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours before darting away. It’s almost shy – a Daryl Dixon version of a compliment. You’re so startled (Daryl rarely makes small talk, let alone a kind observation) that it takes you a second to respond. “I… well, I could say the same to you,” you reply softly. A hint of colour touches Daryl’s face, and he huffs a short laugh. Was that a smile? It was, albeit a tiny one at the corner of his mouth. You realise this is the first real conversation you’ve had with Daryl beyond curt survival exchanges. A warm friendship tentatively begins to form in that simple, genuine moment. You ask if he’s had enough to eat, and he nods, mentioning how squirrel isn’t as filling as this canned spaghetti. The remark is so wry and unexpected that you laugh, and Daryl’s eyes crinkle in subtle amusement. Across the table, Rick watches this exchange with quiet intrigue; it hasn’t escaped him that the gruff hunter is actually talking (almost comfortably) with you – something he does with virtually no one else.
As the evening wears on, Rick rises, wine glass in hand, to thank Dr. Jenner for his hospitality. “You don’t know what it’s like out there,” Rick says to Jenner with emotion. “We were… we were at the end of our rope. I’m grateful.” Jenner gives a stiff nod, replying simply that he “did what he could.” There’s a haunted look in Jenner’s eyes that you notice – something he’s holding back. But for now, nobody pries. The mood is too celebratory, too relieved. Rick’s gaze then drifts over the group and lingers on you, Shane, and Daryl specifically. He takes in how Shane has positioned himself protectively close at your side, and how Daryl, of all people, seems drawn into your orbit, engaging you with a quiet remark here or there. Rick’s eyebrows lift just a fraction, a knowing look passing over his face. It’s as if he’s piecing together a puzzle: his best friend and the reserved tracker, both showing unexpected attentiveness toward you. Rick says nothing about it, merely hiding a small smile behind a sip of wine. It’s a dynamic he notes – perhaps with a bit of surprise – but he wisely keeps that observation to himself.
Eventually, Jenner informs everyone that he’s turning off lights in non-essential areas to conserve fuel. He shows the children and families to a couple of private rooms (one for Rick, Lori, and Carl; another for Carol and Sophia). The rest of you are given cots and couches in an open common lounge to bunk down for the night. Bedrolls and pillows are distributed. The weariness of constant travel is catching up, especially with full bellies and wine making many pleasantly drowsy. One by one, people drift off to claim a sleeping spot. Glenn sprawls on a couch and is snoring within minutes, an arm flung over his eyes. Dale tucks Andrea under a blanket on a cot, hovering protectively before finally lying down himself. Andrea lies stiffly, eyes open – you suspect sleep won’t come easily for her tonight, not with the fresh grief of Amy’s death still raw despite the safety here. Shane seems restless too; you notice him pacing the length of the room as others settle, the faint scratches on his neck (did he get those in the woods?) stark against his skin. He’s wound up, as if he can’t quite let his guard down even in this fortress.
Your mind is a whirl. Safe behind secure walls for the first time in forever, your body ought to crave sleep. But after washing off the dirt and fear, and with the wine still warming your veins, you find yourself too wired to rest. You volunteer to collect the empty plates and cups from dinner, anything to occupy your hands. Stacking dishes, you carry them to the small kitchen alcove. The others have dimmed the lights in the common area, and soft snores or coughs punctuate the silence. In the kitchenette, the light is still bright. You run a bit of water to start rinsing dishes, not wanting to leave a mess for your gracious host. It’s here, in the quiet clink of plates, that Shane finds you.
He steps into the doorway, his broad frame outlined by the dim hall light. “Playing housekeeper now?” he teases gently. The corners of your mouth tug upward. “Figured I’d earn my keep,” you reply. “Old habits die hard.” Shane wanders in and takes a towel, joining you in drying without being asked. For a few minutes, the two of you stand shoulder to shoulder at the sink, working in companionable silence. The only sounds are the running water and the distant hum of the facility’s generators. It feels… normal. Comforting. You hand Shane a wet plate; he wipes it dry and sets it aside. With each pass, your hands occasionally brush. Every time it happens, a little spark zings up your arm. You wonder if he feels it too; judging by the way his drying slows each time and he sneaks a glance at you, he does.
“All this,” Shane finally says, gesturing vaguely around the pristine kitchen, “it’s almost like the world’s not gone to hell.” He laughs under his breath, but there’s a hollowness to it. You shut off the faucet, wiping your hands. “It’s a nice illusion,” you agree softly. Plates done, you both lean against the counter, neither quite ready to leave the quiet cocoon of the kitchen. In the gentle light, you study Shane’s face. He looks younger when he’s not scowling in worry – but there’s an unmistakable sadness in his eyes tonight. “What is it?” you ask, keeping your voice low. Shane rubs a hand over his close-cropped hair and exhales. “I’m just thinking… how long can this last? A hot meal, a roof… feeling safe.” He shakes his head. “Part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop.” His candid admission lays his vulnerability bare. You realize that you’re one of the only people he’d share this with – a fear he’d never confess to Rick or the others, lest he show weakness.
Your heart twists. On impulse, you reach out and touch his forearm lightly. “I know,” you murmur. “Me too. It’s like if we get too comfortable, it’ll all be snatched away.” Shane meets your eyes. “Exactly.” The word is almost a breath. The kitchen’s soft light casts shadows on his strong features. You notice faint stubble now neatly trimmed, the fresh shirt that brings out the hazel of his eyes. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels charged again, humming with that unspoken thing between you. “Still,” you continue gently, “maybe we should take the good moments while we have them. This,” you gesture around at the clean dishes, the full stomach you now have, “this was a good moment. We deserve that much, right?” Shane’s lips curve in a small smile. “Yeah. We do.” His hand moves to rest over yours, where it still lies on his forearm. He doesn’t squeeze or pull away; he just covers your hand, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin.
Your heart beats a little faster. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how alone you are with him – the others out of earshot, presumably asleep or close to it. The distant mechanical thrum of the CDC is the only backdrop to the silence between you. Shane’s thumb absently strokes the back of your hand, a tender gesture that sends your pulse racing. You search his eyes and find them already fixed on you, filled with a softness and uncertainty you haven’t seen before. “I meant to say,” Shane begins quietly, “back at the road… with Jim…” He pauses, brow furrowing as he gathers his thoughts. “I’m glad you were there… with me. I don’t think I could’ve handled all that alone.” The admission seems to cost him; Shane, the strong one, admitting he needed someone. Your throat feels thick. “You don’t have to handle things alone,” you whisper. “Not while I’m around.” Your attempt at lightness comes out more earnest than you intended. But it’s true – you want to be there for him.
His eyes flicker over your face, searching. When he speaks again, his voice has dipped into a lower, husky register. “I appreciate that. More than you know.” A charged pause. “You… you mean a lot to this group.” There’s a faint quiver in his tone, as if that wasn’t what he initially meant to say. Maybe he lost the nerve to say something more personal. Still, the intensity in his gaze betrays deeper feelings. The air between you feels thick with possibilities. You could cut the tension with a knife – or perhaps with a bold move. The two of you are standing so close now that you can see the flutter of his pulse at his neck. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly the space between you shrinks. Shane’s free hand rises hesitantly toward your face. His fingertips ghost along a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. It’s such a gentle, unexpected gesture that you freeze, breath catching. Shane’s eyes drop to your lips, just for a second, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.
Is this really happening? The pragmatic part of your brain shrieks that this is dangerous – attachments complicate survival. But that voice is drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears as Shane inches closer. You can feel the warmth of his breath. Time seems to slow. Your hand, still beneath his on his arm, travels up to rest against his chest. His heart is thudding as wildly as yours. The realisation sends a thrill through you. Slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, Shane leans in. Your eyes flutter closed as you tilt your face up toward him. The moment his lips just barely graze yours, a spark ignites in your veins –
“Ahem.” A sudden throat-clearing shatters the moment like glass. You and Shane jolt apart, hearts hammering in tandem. Your eyes fly open to see Daryl standing in the kitchen doorway, one hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He looks between you and Shane, clearly realising he’s interrupted something intimate. Daryl’s cheeks tint a shade redder (whether from the residual wine or embarrassment, it’s hard to tell in the fluorescent light). He averts his gaze, focusing intently on a point on the floor. “Sorry,” Daryl mumbles, voice gruff. “Just… gettin’ some water.” Indeed, he holds an empty canteen loosely in one hand. It appears he couldn’t sleep either and wandered here for a drink, only to stumble onto… this.
Shane takes a step back, clearing his throat and trying to mask frustration. He runs a hand down his face, the earlier tenderness now cloaked under a guarded expression. “It’s fine,” he says shortly, though his voice has a slight edge. You swallow, heat flooding your face. “We were just—” you start, then clamp your mouth shut, because honestly what were you just doing? Almost kissing? Pouring your hearts out? Your mind reels. Daryl gives a quick, dismissive nod, keen to defuse the tension. “Ain’t my business,” he mutters. He moves to the sink, keeping a respectful distance, and starts filling his canteen from the tap. An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. You step further from Shane, instinctively crossing your arms as if to hide the vulnerable position Daryl caught you in.
Shane’s jaw is clenched; he looks like he’s biting back the urge to say something biting. Perhaps to Daryl for the interruption, or to you, you’re not sure. Ultimately, he just exhales sharply. “We should all try to get some sleep,” Shane says, the soft warmth from a minute ago now replaced by his familiar authoritative tone. He avoids looking directly at you, likely to keep Daryl from reading anything on his face. You feel a pang of regret as the moment slips away. “Yeah,” you whisper, not trusting your voice beyond that. With a curt nod to both of you, Shane turns on his heel and exits the kitchen, his footsteps echoing down the hall back toward the sleeping quarters.
In the aftermath, you’re left fiddling nervously with the dish towel, heart still pounding. Daryl finishes filling his canteen and caps it. He hasn’t said another word, but he doesn’t leave either. He lingers there, glancing up at you under the brim of his hair. There’s an awkwardness, yes, but also a flicker of concern in Daryl’s blue eyes as they meet yours. You wonder if he’ll tease you or scold you – you can’t read him. But this is Daryl, and gentle tact is more his style in personal matters. He simply nods toward the hallway. “You alright?” he asks quietly. The question carries weight. Are you alright? With nearly being kissed? With the complicated feelings that stirred up? You give a small, forced laugh and manage a half-smile. “Yeah. Fine. Just… a lot on my mind.” Daryl studies you for a moment, then grunts softly. “Ain’t no surprise there.” He pauses, then adds, “Try’n get some rest. Big day and all… what with not runnin’ for our lives for once.” It’s the closest thing to a joke you’ve heard from him, and you appreciate the attempt. You nod. “You should get some sleep too.” Daryl shrugs one shoulder, looking off toward the dark corridor. “I will. Jus’ gonna keep an ear open for a bit. Can’t turn it off.” By “it,” you know he means his instinct to stand watch. Even in a secure building, Daryl is compelled to be on guard, if only out of habit.
He turns to go, but not before giving you one more of those lingering looks. Daryl’s gaze, steady and unreadable, passes over you as though reassuring himself you’re truly okay. It lasts only a second, but you feel it – a quiet protectiveness in the way he nods goodnight. When he slips out, silence falls again. You press trembling fingers to your lips, your mind replaying that almost-kiss with Shane on a loop. So close… and yet. With a sigh, you finish tidying up and head back to the lounge to sleep. Shane is already stretched out on a cot, turned away from the room. You’re not sure if he’s awake. As you settle onto your own cot, your emotions churn. The sparks with Shane, the deepening camaraderie with Daryl – even in this safe haven, your heart seems to be finding new ways to complicate your life. You catch Rick watching from across the room; he must be checking in. He doesn’t say a word, but in the low light you see a hint of knowing concern on his face. You give him a faint, reassuring smile. Rick simply nods once, as if to say we’ll talk later, then leaves. Hugging the thin pillow, you will yourself to rest. Your last thought before sleep claims you is a mix of gratitude and dread: gratitude for a peaceful night under a secure roof, and dread at how long this sanctuary can possibly last.
Morning comes sooner than anyone would like. You awaken to the sound of someone retching in a nearby restroom – apparently Glenn’s prediction about a hangover was spot on, and it sounds like Andrea is similarly sick after drowning her sorrows last night. You rub your bleary eyes. For a precious second, waking up in an actual bed (well, cot) with sheets and knowing you’re safe, you had forgotten the nightmare outside. The illusion shatters as soon as you sit up and see the drawn, solemn faces around you. Reality rushes back: you’re still in the apocalypse, even if you got one night of reprieve.
You gather with the others in the main control room at Jenner’s request; he mentioned he had something important to show and discuss. The mood over breakfast is subdued, a few dry remarks about headaches and Glenn groaning that he’ll never drink again as he pokes at a bowl of oatmeal. Shane is quiet, throwing back black coffee like it’s water. He meets your eyes briefly across the table, offering a tight, unreadable smile – clearly still thinking about last night’s almost-kiss, though with everyone around, neither of you addresses it. Daryl stands off to the side with arms crossed, head down but eyes observant. Andrea sits rigidly with Dale hovering near; she hasn’t spoken all morning, face puffy from crying. The reason becomes clear as Jenner begins to speak.
At a large monitor, Dr. Jenner plays back recorded footage of what he calls “Test Subject 19.” Onscreen, a high-resolution brain scan flickers to life. Jenner narrates in a weary monotone: TS-19 was the last subject Jenner had from the early outbreak – his own wife, as he later reveals in a hushed confession. On the video, you watch with a mix of horror and fascination as the infection’s process is visualized. “The lights you see here, that’s the brain,” Jenner explains as glowing points on the scan begin to dim one by one. “This is death.” The room is deathly silent as everyone watches the representation of a person’s life wink out. Your stomach knots; it’s like watching Jim’s fate, Amy’s fate, all over again in cold scientific terms. The scan flatlines, all lights gone. Jenner fast-forwards slightly – then points as a faint light ignites in the brain’s centre. “Here, the second event. The resurrection.” Lori leans forward. “It restarts… the brain?” she asks, voice trembling with both hope and revulsion. Jenner shakes his head. “Not all of it. Just the brain stem.” He taps the screen where only the brain stem shows activity. “The ‘you’ – the person – is gone. All that remains are motor functions. Essentially, it reanimates a body with no soul,” he says gravely. A chill creeps over you. The enormity of it hits like a truck: there truly is no cure, no coming back from becoming one of them. Andrea’s face crumples; she whispers Amy’s name and turns away. For her, and for all of you who have lost loved ones, this confirmation is like losing them all over again. You feel tears in your eyes, remembering how hopeful some of you had been for answers here. The ugly truth is laid bare: the CDC has no solution, only a stark explanation that the person you were dies, and only a mindless shell continues.
Jenner, almost apologetically, ends the playback as it shows a bright flash – the point at which TS-19 (his wife) was permanently killed by a bullet to prevent reanimation. He admits quietly that he doesn’t even know what the plague is – could be viral, microbial, hell, maybe “the wrath of God,” as some have suggested. The world went down too fast. He’s lost contact with every other facility; the last he heard was the French holding out until they ran out of power. “There is no cure,” Jenner reiterates hollowly. The weight of his words presses down on your chest like a vise. Around you, despair settles on every face. It’s worse than if Jenner had been gone and the building empty; hearing the scientist confirm humanity’s defeat makes hope feel truly dead.
Dale, ever observant, notices something else: on the far wall, a digital clock is steadily counting down, now well under an hour. “What happens at zero?” Dale asks, dread in his voice. Jenner’s gaze flicks to the clock and then away. He mumbles something about how that’s “when the fuel runs out.” Rick steps forward, tense. “Then what?” he urges. Jenner hesitates, then answers with a single ominous word: “Decontamination.” Your blood runs cold. The group exchanges alarmed looks. “Define decontamination,” Shane demands, stepping closer to Jenner. The doctor sighs and finally spells it out: the CDC lab is filled with extremely dangerous pathogens – weaponised smallpox, Ebola, stuff that could wipe out half the country if let loose. If the power dies, the building’s safety protocol will trigger self-destruct measures to incinerate everything inside. The clock is a countdown to high-impulse thermobaric explosives – fuel-air bombs – igniting and blowing the entire CDC sky high, destroying all traces of the diseases (and anyone present) to prevent outbreak. Jenner delivers this information with disturbing calm, as if it were a mundane weather report.
There’s a beat of stunned silence as his words sink in. Then pandemonium. “You knew this and you let us stay?!” Lori screams, grabbing Carl and pulling him close. Carol gasps, covering Sophia’s ears as if it could protect the girl from this horror. Shane’s face contorts in fury; he marches up to Jenner and jabs a finger into the man’s chest. “You son of a—! You locked us in here?!” Indeed, Jenner had sealed the outer doors last night, a fact he casually confirms. “Once that front door closed, it wasn’t going to open again,” he says emotionlessly. The realisation hits: Jenner never intended for any of you to leave alive. To him, a quick, painless death in a fireball is a mercy compared to the fate outside.
Shane loses it. He grabs Jenner by the collar, yelling in his face. T-Dog and Rick pull at Shane, trying to separate them. In a flash, Daryl comes up with his axe (you hadn’t even noticed him snatch it up in the chaos) and he slams the blade against one of the thick plexiglass windows that separates the control room from the hallway. Crash! He hacks with all his might, snarl of determination on his lips. Beside him, Shane, having thrown Jenner roughly to the ground, turns his shotgun on the same glass. BOOM! The gunshot reverberates painfully in the enclosed space as he fires at the window. But the reinforced pane barely spiderwebs with cracks. You flinch at the deafening noise, ears ringing, and grab Carl to pull him back from the men’s frenzy. Panic has seized everyone – yelling, crying, desperate moves. Glenn repeatedly slams the butt of his rifle against the door seam to no effect. Jacqui sinks into a chair, stunned into silence. Andrea stands stock-still, almost eerily calm now, as if resigned. The whole room feels like a cage of terrified animals, scrambling uselessly for an escape.
“It’s bulletproof glass!” Jenner shouts over the chaos, still slumped on the floor where Shane left him. “You can’t get through. I’m sorry.” His apology ignites Shane’s rage anew. Shane whirls, chambering another round. He points the barrel directly at Jenner’s head where the man sits. “You’re sorry?!” Shane’s voice cracks. “Open that door now, or so help me God—” Rick intervenes, stepping in front of Jenner with hands up. “Shane, enough!” he says sharply. Shane’s eyes are wild, chest heaving, finger tight on the trigger. For a heart-stopping second, you think Shane might actually shoot Dr. Jenner in his fury. Carefully, Rick places a hand on Shane’s rifle and gently pushes the barrel aside. “This isn’t the way,” Rick says, more calmly than he likely feels. Shane’s nostrils flare, but he allows Rick to lower his weapon. With a ragged breath, Shane backs off, leaving Jenner trembling but unharmed.
Rick crouches to Jenner’s level, speaking with the deadly calm of a man with nothing left to lose. “You don’t get to decide how we die,” Rick says quietly to Jenner. “Maybe you’ve given up, but we haven’t. We’re still breathing. We deserve a chance – no matter how slim – to keep trying.” Lori steps forward, voice pleading now instead of angry. “Our kids deserve that chance,” she says, hugging Carl and motioning to Sophia in Carol’s lap. Jenner’s resolve falters as he looks at the terrified children. He glances at a framed photograph on his desk – his wife, you realise. Jaw tightening, Jenner stands and approaches the computer. With a few keystrokes and a swipe of his keycard, he disengages the door locks for the control room. “I’ll open the main doors upstairs,” he announces, voice flat. “You won’t have much time once they’re open.” The digital clock on the wall ticks down past 5 minutes.
The control room door clicks and swings open. There’s a collective gasp of relief, but it’s short-lived. Five minutes until detonation – and they still have to break through the lobby doors above. Everyone rushes out into the hallway, propelling toward the exit route Jenner indicated. Rick lingers just long enough to grab Jenner’s arm. “Come with us,” Rick urges. Jenner only shakes his head. “No. My work is done. I’m staying.” Before Rick can protest, Jenner pulls him into a brief hug and whispers something in Rick’s ear – too low for you to catch. Rick’s eyes widen in surprise at whatever secret was shared. Then Jenner gently pushes him away. “Go,” the scientist says firmly. Rick hesitates, sorrow and respect passing over his face. He gives Jenner a final nod, then spins and sprints to catch up with the group.
Up in the ground-floor lobby, another obstacle greets you: the exterior shutters are still down. The main glass doors are locked tight as well, red lights blinking. Carol desperately pulls on them to no avail. “It’s still locked!” she cries. Behind you, a computerised voice drones a countdown: “Five minutes to detonation…” Everyone spreads out, searching for any way out. Shane doesn’t hesitate – he raises his rifle and fires repeatedly at the thick glass. Bullet holes pit the window but do not penetrate. Daryl joins, using the butt of his axe as a battering ram. The glass groans but holds. Carol suddenly freezes, a thought striking her. “Wait! I have something.” She fumbles in her canvas bag and astonishingly pulls out a hand grenade. Your eyes widen in shock. Carol turns apologetic eyes to Rick. “I found it in your pocket the other day when I was doing laundry,” she explains hurriedly – it’s the very grenade Rick had found in the tank back in Atlanta.
Rick doesn’t waste a second. “Everyone, get back!” he orders. You all scramble behind pillars and upturn a heavy table for cover. Rick pulls the grenade’s pin and plants it at the base of the door. “Fire in the hole!” he shouts, diving behind a desk. The explosion is earsplitting in the confined space. The pressure makes your ears ring. Shattered glass sprays everywhere as the lobby windows blow outward. A rush of fresh air pours in, along with blinding morning sunlight. The exit is open.
“Go, go, go!” Daryl hollers. There’s no time to even cheer – the countdown voice droning “four minutes…” motivates you more than enough. Holding hands and ushering those with shorter legs, the group sprints outside into the parking lot. Immediately, the sight of walkers shuffling nearby greets you – drawn by the alarms and noise, a few dozen are wandering dangerously close. Gunshots ring out as Daryl and Shane instinctively move to the front, taking down the nearest walkers in your path. Daryl plants a crossbow bolt through a walker in a lab coat (likely once a CDC staff member) that lunges from behind a vehicle, clearing your way. Shane unloads a round into another walker's chest, then his head, clearing a second path. “Keep moving!” he barks, glancing back to make sure you’re following. You stick close behind Shane, one hand gripping the back of his shirt so you don’t lose him amid parked cars.
As your group races for your respective rides, you risk a glance over your shoulder. In the distance, near the CDC entrance, Dale is still inside the building, standing with Andrea. Your heart lurches – they haven’t come out yet. Dale had refused to leave Andrea’s side when she initially gave up. You can see them now emerging through the smashed window, Andrea practically dragging Dale, who looks relieved and emotionally drained. They must have resolved it at the last second – Andrea choosing to live after all, likely thanks to Dale’s pressure. “There they are!” Lori shouts from the RV’s passenger seat, tears of relief in her eyes. Andrea and Dale sprint across the pavement, heading for the RV as Glenn frantically waves them over.
The clock is nearly at zero. “Come on!” you scream, though they can’t hear you from where you’re already climbing into Shane’s truck. Daryl has just hopped into the back of the truck bed, slamming his fist on the roof. “Drive!” he yells. But Shane is waiting, eyes glued on Andrea and Dale until they dive behind an abandoned military Humvee for cover just a stone’s throw from the RV. Only then does Shane throw the truck into gear. You barely have the passenger door shut when a monstrous boom and bright flash of light erupts behind you. The ground shakes violently as the air itself ignites. The CDC building explodes, blossoming into a massive fireball that reaches into the sky. The blast wave hits the convoy like a physical force.
Shane’s truck is rocked by the shock; he slams the brakes as a searing hot wind whooshes over you both. You throw your arms up in reflex. Before you can blink, Shane is halfway over the console, pushing you down in the seat. “Get down!” he roars, wrapping an arm around your head and shoulders to shield you. You duck, and Shane’s body covers yours as the truck’s windows buffet from the force. Outside, debris rains – chunks of flaming material, ash, and dust. The roar is deafening. The heat is intense even inside the cab. Through the ringing in your ears, you hear a thud as something lands in the truck bed near Daryl. You peek up to see Daryl hunkered low in the bed, arms over his head as he’s peppered with bits of concrete and embers. Instinctively, you reach back and push open the little rear cab window. “Daryl! You okay?!” you shout. He coughs and waves a hand, looking dazed but uninjured. “I’m fine!” he hollers back, though his eyes are wide with shock as he stares at the inferno that was the CDC.
A second later, the pressure wave passes and the world returns in a rush of sound and motion. Shane releases you, his hand lingering on your shoulder a moment. “You alright?” he asks urgently, eyes scanning you for injury. You nod, voice shaky. “I’m okay.” He had taken the brunt of any debris on his back – a few smudges of soot mark his shirt. Without thinking, you reach and brush a piece of charred ash from his hair. Shane’s eyes lock onto yours; in them is a mixture of relief and fierce protectiveness that sends warmth flooding through you despite the chaos. He gives your shoulder a final squeeze, then shifts back into the driver’s seat, mission not over yet.
Through the dusty haze, you see figures emerging from behind the concrete road barriers – Andrea and Dale, miraculously alive, scramble toward the RV. Glenn yanks the RV door open for them and they tumble in, soot-covered and shaken but safe. One by one, the others signal they’re intact. Carol has Sophia clutched to her in their car, both crying tears of fright and relief. T-Dog’s vehicle is pelted with debris, but he waves from cracked windows that he’s fine. Rick, Lori, and Carl are already in the car with Carol and Sophia; Rick leans out the window, making eye contact with Shane and you in the truck. Soot streaks Rick’s face, and his expression is a blend of sorrow and gratitude that everyone made it out alive. Jacqui’s loss hits you then – she chose to die in the blast with Jenner. A pang goes through you, but you have scant time to process it now.
Rick gives a curt nod – time to move. Shane nods back. He slams the truck into drive, and the convoy starts rolling out, fleeing the billowing mushroom cloud of smoke rising where the CDC once stood. You stick your head out the window for one last glance. Flames lick hungrily at the remains of the structure. The heat distorts the air, making the city skyline waver in a hellish mirage. Black smoke coils upward, a dark promise that no safe haven remains. Your heart aches with the loss of what little hope the CDC had embodied. But you also feel a swell of grim resolve – you’re still alive, all of you, and that has to count for something.
As the caravan speeds away, you notice movement in the truck’s side mirror. A few surviving walkers, now behind you, stumble aimlessly through the wreckage, soon disappearing from view. The living have escaped; the dead are left to wander amid the ashes. You lean back in your seat and exhale a long, unsteady breath. It’s over. In a span of minutes, you gained sanctuary and lost it, like sand slipping through your fingers.
Shane drives on, eyes on the road, but one hand reaching over to find yours. Silently, you interlace your fingers with his, both of you staring ahead at the unknown road. In the rear bed, Daryl pounds twice on the cab roof – the signal that everyone’s accounted for and they’re following close. You twist around to see Daryl through the back window. He catches your eye and offers the slightest nod, his expression unreadable, but his gaze lingering on you a moment before he turns to watch behind for threats. Despite everything, a tiny flicker of something like hope lights inside you. You made it out. And not alone – you have people who care, who will fight for you, as you will for them. Shane’s strong hand in yours, Daryl’s vigilant presence guarding your back, Rick and the others forging ahead – this ragtag family will carry on.
The highway unfolds ahead, leading you all away from the ruins of Atlanta and into uncertainty. The morning sun breaks through the lingering smoke, shining on the convoy as it leaves the city limits. You don’t know what comes next – perhaps Fort Benning as originally debated, or some new plan Rick cooks up on the fly. But as you gently squeeze Shane’s hand and glance back to exchange a faint, understanding smile with Daryl, you feel a cautious optimism.
Alright so bear with me lovies, I really wish I have the skill to write anything perfect. Like Daryl Dixon x reader for instance, I'm a die hard fan of him! So hopefully one of these days I can be motivated and write steamy stories about it.
Anyway, let's take a vote! Which ideas do you think is good?
Married reader cheating on husband with Daryl
Daryl protects reader from a drunken asshat in a bar
Daryl gets jealous when a guy hits on reader
In Alexandria, a reader accidentally sees Daryl comes out of a shower naked
My current Bethyl fanfiction obsession is this story! It's a WIP and my gawwwd. You get bethyl BFF's. Bethyl angst. Bethyl romance. Stalkers. Protective Daryl. (That's always my favorite.) I get so excited everytime I get the notification that a new chapter has been posted! All of my bethylers need to run ASAP to A03 and read it now. 🖤🖤🖤🖤
You slammed the door open, sprinting through the rows of empty shelves that made up the abandoned department store.
You heard the echoing creak of the very door you burst through as it was forced shut, the dull thud of bodies pushing into the flimsy barrier following not long after.
You didn’t bother looking back, trusting Daryl to follow as soon as he could as you ran through the aisles, looking for another way out.
You’d been on your way back from a routine supply run in the suburbs of the city when the two of you had pretty much rode straight into the right flank of a massive herd that looked to have been traveling north.
Daryl hit the brakes on his bike, but by then the loud rumble of the beast had gained the attention of several of the creatures, an alarming amount of walkers changing their trajectory in favor of shuffling toward the two of you.
You let out a startled curse when several walkers latched onto the jacket that you were wearing, using their grip to drag you off the back of the bike and into the frenzy.
You distantly heard Daryl shout for you over the deafening noise, but you didn't have a chance to respond before you were swallowed up by the herd.
You silently patted yourself on the back for choosing to wear a long sleeve shirt as you shrugged off your jacket and ripped your hatchet off the clip that was keeping it attached to your homemade utility belt
You then unceremoniously began hacking your way out of the herd, angling toward where you’d last seen the motorcycle.
You swung at one of the walkers as they wandered in too close for comfort, the hatchet getting lodged directly into its face. Though, when you stepped back to give yourself room to pull the blade out of its skull, your foot came down wrong.
The hatchet came free, but you let go of it in favor of catching yourself on whatever tripped you up, the weapon skittering across the asphalt before being swallowed up by the swarming walkers.
Under your scraped up hands was a familiar motorcycle and you immediately began whipping your head around as you scrambled to your feet, darting away from the reaching hands of hungry walkers as you searched for Daryl, who was nowhere in sight.
“Daryl!” You screamed, eyes desperately roving over the mass of walkers around you, hoping to find some indication that he was still alive.
You began to fear the worst when someone suddenly grabbed your wrist from behind.
Your free hand immediately darted down to your hip, snatching a hold of the dagger from your belt, before you whirled around, aiming to drive the blade straight into the eye socket of whatever had a hold of you.
Your eyes widened as your gaze locked onto a pair of familiar blue eyes that were shaded by dark, rugged bangs.
You smoothly flipped the blade around and laid it flat against your wrist, quickly pulling the hit before you did something dumb like accidentally killing the guy that you’d been looking for because he startled you.
Without a word, he grabbed onto one of your wrists and towed you further away from the herd that was now following the two of you.
You hauled through the dense woodland until you hit asphalt, the both of you crashing out into what looked to be the commercial district of the town that you had been searching earlier.
You weren’t given any time to get a thorough look at the layout before you were spotted by even more walkers, the creatures being drawn in by your violent emergence.
Daryl happened to be the one who found the department store, the redneck tipping his chin at the looming building while laying a hand on your lower back, prompting you to take point with a light push.
You were drawn back to the shitfest that you’d found yourselves in when the lock on the door you entered audibly broke, the sound echoing through the vast warehouse.
You caught sight of an emergency exit door on the back wall and pushed yourself harder, throwing your entire weight against the rusted bar. The door came open with a groan of protest, your momentum sending it slamming into the brick wall next to it with a loud bang.
You stumbled out past the threshold and blinked rapidly against the change in brightness, trying to get rid of the black spots impeding your vision, only to dig your heels into the blacktop, your eyes widening in a mix of shock and horror as the first shambling corpse noticed your presence.
“Oh, fuck!” You snarled as you swiveled your hips in preparation to turn back around, but the sudden change in direction caused your shoes to slip, making you lose your balance.
Fortunately, your fast reflexes allowed you to get a hand underneath yourself before you could face-plant, allowing you to recover quickly as you frantically backpedaled toward the open door behind you.
You had known that the tread on your abused sneakers had been worn down to practically nothing over the course of many months of supply runs.
Hell, you had suspected that you needed a new pair since you and Rick hit up the hospital downtown last week and you ended up having to slingshot yourself around corners in order to outpace the walkers chasing the two of you since the linoleum was slippery and the grip on your shoes was nonexistent.
Now your procrastination was coming back to bite you in the ass, literally.
One of the walkers stumbled into range and you yanked the hammer off of your belt, simultaneously bracing yourself on the door frame behind you as you swung, the blunt end caving in the creature’s skull at the temple.
You heard the familiar whistle of air behind you just before one of Daryl’s brightly colored bolts flew past you, burying itself between the eyes of the walker that had been steadily closing in.
“Com’ on!” Daryl shouted to be heard over the growling mass of walkers, getting one of his hands wrapped around your belt in order to haul you back into the dimly lit interior of the department store.
You turned when he released you, following his lead as he dodged a small crowd of walkers and darted into a nearby aisle, pulling his knives out as he went.
You adjusted your grip on the hammer, rotating it so that the sharp end was pressed up against your thigh as you dashed into the main area.
You let out a sharp curse at the sheer amount of walkers that were flooding into the store, their numbers rapidly climbing to lethal levels.
A few of the closest creatures got a hunting knife to the skull, Daryl moving from one to the next in quick succession as he painstakingly tried to make a path to the exit.
From your position further back, you scanned the area and spotted a staircase on the opposite side of the vast room.
If you remembered correctly from you previous stints working in customer service before the world went to hell in a hand basket, the staircase should lead to an employee break room or maybe even an office of some sort.
The narrow hall would also act as a funnel so that the walkers numbers would never get to the point of being overwhelming enough to break down a door. But, with that said, it would still essentially be the equivalent of backing yourselves into a corner.
But you weren't seeing any other options.
“Daryl!” You called out, nodding toward the entrance to the stairway once the redneck had a chance to look over his shoulder.
You pointed at the dark opening and watched his gaze move from you, to the base of the stairs on the other side of the room, and back to you again before he gave a single, sharp nod of agreement.
While Daryl briefly focused his attention back onto the herd slowly approaching in the hopes of reducing their numbers some, you had already pivoted around to begin picking your way through the stragglers that were standing between the two of you and potential safety.
You had covered about half the distance when you heard Daryl's light footsteps coming toward you and took that as your cue to pick up the pace, opting to dodge the last few obstacles to reach the stairway faster, Daryl hot on your heels.
You thundered up the narrow passageway, not even bothering with stealth anymore as you took the stairs two at a time.
You didn’t slow down as you made it to the top, merely redirecting your momentum in order to throw yourself down the hallway and at the nearest door.
You reached out to grip the cool handle, letting out a low growl of frustration when the lock didn't budge.
There was no way that you could force your way in since that would compromise the lock and -even if you did- you didn’t know if there were any materials on the other side that you could use to effectively barricade the broken door, but you also didn’t have the time to try picking the lock.
So you could do nothing but move on and hope that the next one was open.
You tried door after door with each one garnering no results. You had just reached the one at the end of the hall when Daryl slammed into you, his back pressed tightly against yours as he loaded another bolt and shot it into one of the walkers coming down the crowded hallway.
You could hear the herd closing in on you, their angry hisses and hungry groans akin to the tick of a doomsday clock counting down as they shambled closer.
This time when you tried the knob, the door gave way and opened inward, the two of you practically falling into the small room in your haste to get away from certain death.
You barely regained your balance before you were spinning on your heel and barreling into the door that Daryl was already braced against, your shaking hand fumbling with the locking mechanism before it finally latched with a resounding click.
You rested your forehead against the door as Daryl slumped like a puppet with his strings cut, his back sliding down the solid barrier until he was seated on the ground, his head dropped between his knees as he panted.
You swallowed hard, trying to wet your dry throat as you also caught your breath, your labored gasping deafening now that the sound of the herd had been muffled.
Your own legs buckled and you had a less controlled descent to the cold floor as you realized that you both somehow managed to stay in one piece.
You let out a hysterical giggle, causing Daryl to tilt his head just enough to watch you over the curve of his bicep, his expression pinched and eyes worried.
“Looks like we’ll be here for a while.” You sighed, the door at your back trembling under the onslaught of the dead on the other side.
“Come here.” You said softly as you patted the ground next to you invitingly and Daryl let out a huff, uncurling from his defensive hunch in order to lean into your side, his forehead coming to rest against the side of your neck.
“You a’ight?” He murmured, his hot breaths fanning out over your clavicle in a way that you always found reassuring.
“I’m good, just tired.” You sighed and you didn’t realize how true the statement was until the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving only bone deep exhaustion in its wake.
In an effort to stay awake, you decided to see where exactly you and Daryl ended up, glancing around at your surroundings as your eyes adjusted to the dim room.
The shelves filled with empty bottles of cleaner and ripped packaging as well as the broom and mop hanging from a rack mounted to your right indicated that you’d found yourselves in a utility closet.
“Get some shut-eye, I'll keep watch. Ain’t much else we can do.” Daryl offered and you lazily nodded before settling in for the long haul since it would probably be quite a few hours before enough of the herd lost interest that you could make your daring escape.
You closed your eyes and began to silently count, something you’d learned to do when you were little and couldn’t manage to fall asleep.
You only made it to eleven before you slipped into a dreamless slumber.
Words: 8,805
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader, Reader is Rick's younger sister
Reader pronouns: she/her
Era: the quarry & CDC
Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff
Requested by: anonymous
Summary: Rick doesn't approve when he realizes that Daryl and his sister have feelings for each other, but perhaps he'll change his mind... I changed reader to be Rick’s sister instead of daughter because I just think the ages make more sense. But hope you still like it!
A/N: This got lonnnngggg. Thanks for the request! I hope you like it! Also, I didn't do nearly as much proofing and editing as usual so there are probably typos lol
Your name: submit What is this?
You thought you heard Carl yell so you came bolting around the side of the RV, a rifle still slung over your shoulder. “Carl?!” You rushed toward the group. “What’s going on?” you asked urgently as you got to Dale. That’s when you saw him. Dale didn’t even have time to answer before your jaw dropped open and all the air left your lungs in a rush.
Your brother. It was Rick.
He was alive.
You were paralyzed for a moment as you watched him desperately hugging Lori and Carl to him, your eyes going round in disbelief. You thought maybe you were hallucinating for a moment, but then his eyes lifted and he caught sight of you and he smiled, tears streaming down his face. You shoved the rifle at Dale and ran. You ran as fast as you could. You ran like you had when you were a kid and you chased him through the pasture, trying to keep up because you so desperately wanted to be a part of everything he did. You ran with abandon, with urgency, and you collided into them in a pile, almost knocking all of you to the ground. Lori gave Rick one more urgent kiss and took Carl from him, not taking her eyes off the husband she had believed to be gone. Rick turned to you and threw his arms around you tightly as tears streamed down your face. He lifted you off your feet the way he always did and you hugged him tighter than you ever had. He set you back down and pulled Lori and Carl in again. You all just clung to each other in disbelief until finally you had too many questions bubbling up to wait any longer and you pulled back.
Next your eyes went straight to Shane’s and you felt a wave of anger and confusion rise in your chest. He couldn’t hold your eyes for more than a second.
Soon you sat beside your brother at the campfire, thunder rolling in the distance and threatening rain, listening to him recounting the nightmare he had lived since he woke up in a hospital full of corpses.
You were barely containing an outburst and you finally stood abruptly and walked over to and around the RV. Rick stared after you with concern, but with Carl on his lap and Lori uttering a small reassurance he didn’t come after you.
“She’ll be alright. It’s just a lot,” Lori said softly, smoothing her hand over his back. Her eyes flitted over to Shane who shifted uncomfortably before climbing to his feet.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “I’ll just go check on her.”
Rick nodded and gave him an appreciative smile.
You were leaning up against the RV on the far side, staring out at the distant flashes of lightning but you looked up at the sound of approaching bootsteps. Shane watched your jaw clench as you saw him and then you tore your eyes away.
He sighed and adjusted the shotgun in his hands. “Y/N, I swear to you—”
“Yeah, I’m not interested in any more of your stories, Shane,” you interrupted. “You’re a cop. Setting aside the irony of the current climate, aren’t you supposed to be able to tell the difference between a dead body and a live one?”
“Hey, I checked him!” he said emphatically, striding over to you. “You have no idea what it was like there! They were executing people in the goddamn hallway. There were gunshots—I—” he broke off and chewed his bottom lip. “I listened for a pulse and I didn’t hear one, alright? He was all hooked up to machines and I—What was I supposed to do?”
You shook your head and refused to look over at him. “You lied. Was this all just so you could move in on Lori? Huh?”
He growled at you in frustration and pointed a finger in your face. “I didn’t—I didn’t lie! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. He’s my goddamn best friend. I thought he was dead! And I had to get you, and Carl, and Lori to safety. And that’s what I did!”
You glared at him. “You left him behind.”
“I didn’t know!” Shane wanted to scream at you, but he forced himself to use a harsh whisper. “I didn’t—” he sighed and stared down at his boots before shooting one last look at you and heading back to the campfire. Rick looked up as his old partner returned.
“She’s fine,” Shane said. “Just watching the storm come in. Needs a minute.”
Rick chuckled and stroked a hand through Carl’s hair. “Her and her storms. You’d think her brother showin’ up would be enough to hold her attention.” Everyone had a good chuckle.
Lori leaned her head on Rick’s shoulder and shut her eyes. Soon there were only coals left in the fire pit and raindrops started to make dimples in the dirt. Everyone headed for their tents and you finally emerged from your vigil and headed back toward yours. Rick was handing a sleeping Carl to Lori and looking your way. “I’ll be right in,” he murmured, kissing Carl on the cheek and running a hand up and down Lori’s arm.
You gave him a small smile as he wandered over, that same familiar cadence of his cowboy boots. He draped an arm over your shoulders and jostled you into him playfully a couple times. “Are you alright? You left us there a little abruptly.”
Your mind was whirring. “Yeah, it’s just—a lot to take in,” you said. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you said.
He nodded. “I can’t believe it either. Seems like more than just dumb luck.”
You looked up at your big brother. “I tried to get to you,” you said softly. “I tried to get to the hospital, but they had roadblocks up everywhere and then they tried to tell me that I had to go to some big triage area because I was essential medical personnel and—that was all a bust. I barely made it to your house.”
“Hey,” he said, unlooping his arm from over your shoulders and taking in your expression. “It’s not your fault,” he said, his brow furrowing.
“I never would have left you behind but—”
“Hey, I know. I know that. It isn’t your fault. I just—thank God you’re alive and we all found each other. That’s the only thing that matters now, right?”
You nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Goodnight.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
The next morning was chaotic. One of the dead ones had walked right into camp. You and some of the others were standing over it and the dead deer it had been feeding on when there was more rustling in the brush behind you. Daryl emerged with a string of squirrels over one shoulder and his crossbow in the other. You shot a pointed glance at your brother. You’d told him there was likely to be trouble when Daryl heard what had happened in the city with his brother Merle.
And you were right. Shane and Rick immediately tried to break the news.
“Who the hell are you?” Daryl spat at your older brother.
“Rick Grimes,” he said.
Daryl immediately looked over at you and tried to read your expression. “Rick Grimes of Lori, Carl, and Y/N Grimes?” Daryl asked.
Rick nodded. “Yeah.”
Daryl’s blue eyes were narrowed as he stared down your brother and Shane. And then chaos broke out again as they explained why Merle was stunningly absent.
“Daryl! Daryl, stop!” you yelled, ignoring Shane and Rick yelling at you to stay back and barreling right into the fray. The archer was still trying to get his hands on your brother when you inserted yourself between them. “STOP!” You pushed your hands flat on his chest and it was like someone had flipped a switch.
As soon as he felt your hands on him, he backed off, shooting you an unreadable look, his chest heaving with anger, his blue eyes narrowed in the Georgia sun. “Fine! Just tell me where ya left him and I’ll go get him myself. Ya’ll are damn worthless!”
Rick’s conscience got the better of him immediately and he broke the news to you, Lori, and Carl that he was going back into the city for Merle. Daryl wouldn’t have to go alone. T-dog and Glenn were in too.
“Then I’m coming,” you said.
Rick let out a long exhale and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Don’t you think Merle is going to need some medical attention after being on that roof this whole time?” you argued. “Last I checked, I’m the only one here with a medical degree.” Rick just gave you an uneasy look.
Shane stepped forward. “Rick, if you’re taking T, Glenn, and Daryl, there’s hardly anyone left to keep camp safe,” he said. “Y/N, you’re one of the best shots we’ve got. I think you should stay here and help stand guard until all our manpower comes back.”
“I’m going with my brother,” you said.
“No,” Rick said, shaking his head at you. “Shane’s right. You should stay here in case anything goes wrong. Watch out for Carl and Lori.”
The muscle in your jaw clenched. “We just got you back,” you said.
“And I’ll be back again. I promise,” Rick said.
You gritted your teeth and glanced over at Carl and Lori. Both of them looked troubled. You sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay. But you damn well better come back in one piece,” you said pointedly.
Soon you were watching the truck disappear in a cloud of dust, taillights fading toward Atlanta.
It all went bad so fast. Suddenly there were just walkers everywhere. You fired shot after shot into them, aiming for the head with your rifle, but each time another one emerged. It seemed like you would soon all be overwhelmed.
Just when you were about to tell Lori and Carl to start running, Rick and the others burst through and started shooting. They were back and they had the guns.
Those few split seconds of surprise and distraction were long enough for one of the dead to suddenly be almost on you. You turned to see it bearing down and you fell over backwards as it lurched at you, snarling and growling, hands grappling for your neck. You were holding it up off you with your rifle across its chest, but your arms were shaking and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold it. Right when you thought you couldn’t fight anymore, a boot pushed it off you and you watched as Daryl fired a shot right into its head.
He turned and helped you to your feet as you gasped trying to catch your breath. “Are ya alright?” he asked frantically. His eyes were searching you for any sign that you’d been scratched or bitten.
“Uhh…” you glanced down at your own arms. “I think so.” Your eyes shot up to meet his. “Thanks.”
He nodded, his eyes not leaving yours. Jesus, that had been too close.
The shooting was dying down and Rick rushed over to you and grabbed you into a hug. As soon as he did, Daryl ducked away and when you looked for him the next second, he was gone. “Thank God you’re alright,” Rick said, squeezing your shoulder. “And thank you for keeping Carl and Lori safe,” he said, glancing around at the many walkers with rifle holes in their skulls. You nodded, feeling as though you were in a daze. Rick rushed off to check on Lori and Carl, leaving you standing there with your rifle, struggling with what had just happened.
The losses had been heavy and you sat outside your tent in the darkness that night, not feeling the least bit tired. You heard a shuffle behind you and when you turned you saw Daryl. He didn’t say anything, just came and sat down in the empty chair beside you.
You sighed and shut your eyes for a moment, passing a hand over them briefly. The archer noted the heaviness weighing on you. You glanced over at him again and he tore his eyes away, feeling suddenly nervous.
“I’m really sorry about your brother,” you said softly. “Rick told me…” you trailed off.
Daryl sniffled and shifted in his chair. “Yeah… Thanks,” he said with a nod. “I—I know he’s a dick,” he said. “But he’s the only family I got.”
You nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Daryl glanced over at the pile of the dead ones near the RV. “Pretty fucking bad day,” he drawled.
“Yeah,” you said, tossing a small log onto the fire. “One of our worst, I’d say.”
“But you got your brother back,” Daryl said.
You nodded. “Yeah. I still can’t believe it.” You paused, hesitating to speak what you were thinking. “Shane had said—"
Daryl scoffed. “Yeah, Shane says a lot of things,” he said, punctuating his words as he thrust a stick into the coals. You watched the embers swirl upwards.”
“They’re like brothers. He was his partner. I was pretty hard on him yesterday. Maybe too hard,” you reflected, thinking about your harsh words to Shane when he approached you at the RV. “Knowing Shane he’s probably beating himself up worse than anything I could say anyway.”
Daryl was watching the thoughtful expression on your face. He was amazed how you always looked for the good in people. He usually found himself doing the opposite. “Maybe. But how the hell are things gonna shake out once Rick finds out his best friend has been fucking his wife?”
You looked over at the archer in surprise. He always seemed to avoid everyone and you were surprised that he had even noticed the dynamic between Shane and Lori. You sighed heavily, nodding. “Yeah… It’s a mess.”
“Mhm,” he hummed. “But better than him bein’ dead for real.”
You rubbed your hands over your face and nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Definitely.” The two of you passed the night side by side, mostly in silence. Neither one of you expected to find sleep that night anyway, and you watched the sun crest over the hill in the morning, wondering what today would bring.
_ _ _ _ _ _
There were a lot of heated discussions the next day and plenty of uncomfortable moments. It was obvious to you that Lori was furious with Shane and you suspected they had had some kind of words the night before. She wasn’t even letting Carl go anywhere near him.
You found her hanging clothes on the line and greeted her with a small smile. She looked at you and sighed and you gently gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “It’s okay,” you said softly.
She shook her head. “Shane. I don’t—”
“I know,” you said. “Are you going to tell Rick?”
She nodded. “I think I have to. I can’t keep that from him.”
“He’ll understand. We all thought he was gone.” You paused. “Try to go easy on Shane. I don’t think he lied on purpose. You remember what it was like on outbreak day. It was chaos.”
She sighed. “I’ll try…”
That night you were awake late again, sitting alone by a small fire in front of your tent, thinking over all the discussions of the day—where to go next, what to do. Anxiety had been turning your stomach since the morning, and sitting alone by the fire wasn’t improving the situation as you obsessed and worried about what was to come.
You heard bootsteps and your heart surprised you by skipping a beat as you thought it might be Daryl, but when you looked up you saw Shane approaching with one hand on his hip. He looked hesitant as he walked up, but when you didn’t glare at him, he came and sat down beside you.
You looked over at him and found that his eyes were already on your face. You sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you the other night,” you said.
Shane nodded. “Thanks… I swear to you, I really thought he was gone.”
You nodded. “Let’s just focus on the fact that he’s not.” A silence stretched for a moment before you spoke again. “So, you think the CDC is a bad idea?”
Shane shrugged and sunk back into the chair. “I don’t really think it’s a good one.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s in a populated area. Most of those places were overrun, and overrun fast.”
“But for some reason you think the army wasn’t?” you challenged him.
He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. “Forts are specifically designed not to be overrun. It’s the military. They’d have stores of supplies, ammo. Fences.”
“The CDC would have heavy protection, too. They’ve got smallpox that could be weaponized, biological weapons, all kinds of stuff. Those buildings are also designed to go into lockdown.”
Shane shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Either way I think our chances of finding what we’re hoping for are pretty slim,” he said.
“Slim. But not zero,” you replied.
He gave you a long look and let out a small laugh. “Always looking for that silver lining, aren’t you? Just like your brother.”
You smiled. “Can’t help it. It’s a Grimes family trait.”
Shane shook his head. “Yeah. It is.”
You heard quiet footsteps again and this time when you turned it was Daryl. You gave him a small smile, but you watched as his eyes landed on Shane beside you and he simply turned and disappeared into the blackness in the direction of his tent.
Eventually you were so tired you thought you finally would be able to sleep, and you needed it. The group was heading out in the morning. You needed rest. You mumbled a goodnight to Shane and he headed for his tent and you headed for yours. You managed to catch a few hours before the sun crested and the ambient light woke you.
_ _ _ _ _ _
You’d made it to the CDC and you’d actually made it inside. You were in an uneasy standoff now with this Dr. Jenner who had let you in. You were exhausted, starving, and dehydrated, riding a wave of adrenaline down and feeling pretty sure you were about to crash hard. You felt someone move beside you and looked over to see Daryl. His eyes met yours and you could see concern in them.
“Are ya okay?” he asked you, his tone hushed. “Ya look like you’re about ta pass out.”
“I’m okay,” you said weakly.
He didn’t look convinced and he stayed close to you as the group followed Jenner farther inside, ready to submit to the blood test he requested.
Daryl watched your face, hoping to see the color return to your cheeks and your lips. You sat down across from Jenner as he prepared to take a tube of your blood. You placed a hand over the veins on the inside of your elbow and caught his eyes.
“You have a butterfly needle?” you asked.
He nodded.
“You probably should use it. We all pretty dehydrated and my veins tend to roll in the best of times,” you said quietly.
His brow furrowed. “You in the medical field?” he asked.
You nodded. “I was a resident when it hit,” you said softly.
Jenner nodded and pulled out the suggested supply. You moved your hand to allow him access to the vein in your arm. “Specialty?” he asked.
You shook your head. “Hadn’t picked one yet. I was on rotation in neuroscience.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Then I have something to show you all later that you’ll definitely be interested in.”
You gave him a questioning look but he didn’t say anymore. You switched chairs so Jenner could draw the next person’s blood. Getting up, Andrea had almost just passed out and Dr. Jenner looked shocked to hear how long you all had gone with food. All of you made sure Carl and Sophia ate, but there hadn’t been much to go around for anyone else. There had hardly been enough for them.
Soon you were sharing a meal and there were more smiles and more laughter than you could remember in a long, long time. And there was wine. You were surprised when Daryl seemed to specifically sit down beside you. You gave him a small smile and watched as the corner of his mouth flicked upwards briefly. He gave you a nod. “Ya look better,” he said. “Ya got some color back in your face.”
You laughed and the sound made his heart jump. “It’s a toss-up whether it’s from the food, water, or the wine.”
“Yeah,” he said, nervously rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip and was surprised to find your eyes still on him, studying him. He felt electricity, even though the two of you were surrounded by boisterous noise and people. The color in your eyes was striking and he felt his ears growing warm and had to look away before his cheeks gave away his nerves.
Suddenly the gaiety was cut short when Shane started questioning Jenner and making a whole lot of not-so-subtle passive aggressive comments directed straight at your brother.
Daryl watched your expression darken as you listened to Shane. “Shane, don’t do this now,” you said. “We can have one night where we—”
“No, because you see, we were supposed to get answers here, right? That’s what we came for.” Shane argued.
Daryl watched the muscle in your jaw clench as you ground your teeth together.
“It can wait,” you argued again, anger plain in your tone. “Knock it off.”
The tension in the room was palpable and Dr. Jenner seemed to be avoiding everyone’s eyes. He gave you some explanation for why he was there alone, but the mood was significantly dampened.
However, after dinner and clean-up, your group followed Jenner to a wing where you could all stay. Daryl walked beside you, purposefully slowing his stride to keep pace. His shoulder accidentally bumped into you as you turned a corner and you glanced up at him after the contact.
He looked somewhat abashed. “Sorry,” mumbled, avoiding your eyes momentarily.
But you just smiled widely at him. “It’s okay.” You felt a fluttering flit to life in your stomach. You’d always been attracted to the archer, curious about him, interested in him. You’d noticed easily that the tough guy exterior was a mask and that underneath was care and concern and a softness that made your heart ache. But he had always seemed so purposefully distant. However, over the last couple weeks you felt like that had changed. He seemed to be placing himself near you, around you. Not to mention how he had saved you from that walker when they stormed into camp.
Everyone split off to claim a room and enjoy the hot water Jenner had just mentioned. You paused in the doorway of an empty room and peered inside. Daryl hovered nearby, leaning up against the wall beside you, chewing on the side of his thumb. You glanced over at him. Your expression was always so open when you looked at him. It drove him crazy, went straight to his heart. “I can’t believe he just said hot water,” you said with a laugh.
Daryl nodded. “Mhm.” He seemed somewhat reserved, guarded.
Your smile faded. “Are you thinking about your brother?” you asked him softly. That sent his light blue eyes rocketing up straight to yours. “I know it must have been hell to leave without him.”
Nobody else had said a thing about Merle since the day they came back from Atlanta without him. But you did. He nudged his nose up once in a nod. “Ya. But it ain’t just that. It’s all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the space around them. “If somethin’ seems too good to be true, it usually is.”
Your brow furrowed at his concern. You trusted Daryl. You trusted his instincts, and his words made your stomach clench again. You nodded. “Maybe. But we can enjoy it for a night, right?”
“Mm,” he hummed noncommittally.
You reached out and rested your hand on his arm, wanting his eyes to meet yours again. They did, and this time they looked shocked at your touch. “We’ll be okay. I know we will,” you said.
Daryl gulped at the tightness in his throat and looked down at your hand on his arm again. He anxiously chewed his bottom lip again and nudged his nose up.
You gave him another small smile which sent his heart leaping over a beat and then you straightened up. “Well, I’m gonna go enjoy that hot water,” you said. “I’ll see you later.”
Daryl went to the room he had claimed, right next to yours, and tried not to think too hard about you enjoying that hot water as he heard you turn on the shower next door. He wasn’t very successful… He let out a frustrated growl at himself, annoyed that for all his trying, he couldn’t ignore the feelings you brought up in him. He draped an arm over his eyes and tried to think of something else.
_ _ _ _ _ _
The hot shower was bliss. You couldn’t stop smiling as you wrapped yourself in a big towel and stepped out. You went to your pack and pulled out some clean clothes to sleep in, running your comb through your hair. It felt incredible to be clean, to be safe.
And you couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl, how he seemed to be ending up beside you so frequently now. The thought made you bite your bottom lip, a warmth blooming in your chest as you thought about his quiet concern, his strikingly blue eyes. You sighed and rolled your eyes at yourself.
You wanted to say goodnight to the others, so you wandered down to the rec room, hoping to find your nephew and maybe Lori and Rick, but it was empty. You went in anyway, drawn immediately to the shelves full of books lining the walls. You grabbed one that caught your attention and then sank down onto the sofa, cracking it open.
You’d only been reading for a few minutes when you felt someone watching you and you looked up to see Shane in the doorway. He was wavering a little on his feet, obviously drunk. Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him. He wandered farther into the room, rubbing a hand over his face.
You sighed as he came and sat near you on the couch, his legs angled toward you, his somewhat bleary eyes fixed on your face.
As you looked at him you could easily see that he was hurting. He’d fallen for Lori hard and fast, and now he couldn’t have her. You felt a swell of pity rise in your chest and you shut the book in your hands and waited to see if he would say anything.
He didn’t, so you broke the silence. “You know, you were kind of a dick at dinner,” you said.
Shane nodded and looked down at his hands. “Yeah. I know.”
“Are you wishing my brother hadn’t come back?” you asked quietly, carefully watching his reaction.
He scoffed. “No. Of course not...”
You weren’t entirely convinced.
He looked at you and for a long moment his eyes were flitting over your face. You began to feel a creeping uneasiness the longer he looked at you. “You know, I—I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” Shane said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingertips stroking you skin lightly.
You stood up abruptly and recoiled. “”What the hell are you doing?”
Shane let out an awkward laugh and licked his bottom lip. He shrugged. “I thought that was pretty obvious…”
You took another step back, angry at the advance. “So, what? Turns out my brother is alive and you can’t have his wife anymore, so I’m Option #2?”
He scoffed again and shook his head, standing up and planting his hands on his hips. “No. No. You know it isn’t like that,” he said.
“Sure seems like that,” you said flatly. “Ya know, I think we need to write a questionnaire for you so you don’t keep making these mistakes. Question #1, Did I lie about her dead husband or brother? Question #2, has she made her anger at me perfectly plain? Question #3, is it possible I’m just an arrogant dick who thinks all women must secretly be in love with me? If the answer to any of these questions is yes, FUCK OFF.” You turned on your heel and left Shane behind, striding out into the hall and heading toward your room.
Daryl was still up. The door to his room was standing open and you headed straight for it, trying to banish the sick feeling in your stomach. He sat up from prone position lying on the couch at the sound of your soft steps.
You could feel his eyes on your face. “Hey,” you said. “Mind if I sit for a while?” you asked.
He shook his head. He could tell you were upset by something.
“Thanks,” you said, crossing the room to sit beside him on the couch.
Daryl could sense that you were tense, and you hadn’t smiled at him—something he noticed and tried to commit to memory every time—which wasn’t like you. “Ya alright?” he drawled.
You chewed your bottom lip and looked anxious. “Eh,” you said.
His face darkened. “What happened?”
You considered him for a moment, trying to decide if you should tell him or not. He already was no fan of Shane… But you felt like you needed to tell someone. “Shane just made a pass at me,” you said quietly.
Daryl’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. His right hand balled into a fist and unclenched a few times. “Did he put his hands on ya?”
You were taken aback by the anger in his voice, your eyes going a bit wide. You shook your head. “No, not really.”
“Not really? What’s that mean? He either touched ya or he didn’t,” he growled.
“He didn’t. Not like—no. It’s fine. Just—what the fuck is he doing?”
Daryl stood up abruptly, clearly still pissed, and he paced the length of the room restlessly a couple times. “I don’t think he even knows what the hell he’s doin’,” Daryl said.
Your eyes followed his pacing and you sighed heavily. “Daryl.”
He froze and looked over at you. You nudged your head in the direction of the empty spot on the couch and he chewed his bottom lip for a moment before he came and sat down beside you.
He felt excruciatingly nervous all of a sudden. It was from the way your eyes were fixed on him. “If anybody ever puts their hands on ya, you come tell me, alright?”
You nodded a little, feeling a swell of warmth from his protectiveness. And then Daryl watched in confusion as your lips curved into a small smile.
“What?” he asked nervously.
“What if it’s someone I want to put their hands on me?” you asked, immediately feeling a hot rush of blood to your cheeks.
The archer stared at you in confusion, one eyebrow quirked down, trying to process what you were saying, but he felt like his brain was malfunctioning from the way you were looking at him. He couldn’t hold your eyes any longer and he looked down at his hands as he picked at his thumbnail anxiously. “That ain’t—” his voice stalled out and he had to clear his throat. “That ain’t none of my business.”
You let out a small laugh at his response and his eyes flashed up to meet yours again. You gazed at him steadily and the air between the two of you was suddenly thick. “It is your business actually,” you said. “It’s pretty much only your business.” Your voice was quiet, and you watched with some amusement at the puzzled expression on the archer’s face. You gently brushed your fingertips into his hair, your heart pounding, and then rested your hand on the side of his neck. That puzzled look on his face was still there and you smiled more widely at him and his hesitancy to believe what you thought you were making so clear. “You’re just going to sit there and not kiss me?”
Daryl gulped nervously at the tightness in his throat. His heart was pounding so fast he was sure you would hear it. He was still hesitating but now his eyes were flickering between yours and your lips.
Perhaps this was all too fast for the shy archer. You dropped your hand from him. “It’s alright if you’re not—” but you never were able to finish the sentence because suddenly he was kissing you.
You hummed a noise of pleasure and clasped his face as you sank into it. His arms were around your lower back, pulling you in, holding you closer. You loved the feeling of his hands on you.
He pulled back a little suddenly and took in your expression, watching as it changed from pleasant surprise to a wide smile he found irresistible. His hands stayed around you as you grinned at him.
Your hearts were both pounding and you pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth. “Umm… wow,” was all you could manage.
Daryl was suddenly bashful and ducked his head a bit. He cleared his throat nervously. “Uhh, ya should go on and get some rest,” he said softly.
You laughed. “After that? I’m wide awake.”
He smiled at you briefly. “Ya…” his hands slipped from around you. You sensed that he needed time to try to process what had just happened, so you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and gave him another small smile that made his heart skip a beat.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” you murmured.
He nodded, feeling almost a little lightheaded. “Yeah. G’night.”
_ _ _ _ _ _
The next morning you were heading out to grab some breakfast and your brother saw you pass by his open room door. He rushed to catch you. “Y/N.” You turned at the sound of his voice and gave him an amused look.
“You look like shit,” you said with a laugh. “Little hungover this morning?”
He exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, a bit.” You chuckled at him again. “Can I just talk to you for a minute?” Rick asked. His tone was serious and you nodded, the amused smile on your face disappearing.
“What? What is it?” you asked.
You watched your older brother clench his jaw, hands on his hips. He took that same stance he always did and gave you a long look.
You crossed your arms and stared back at him. “Well, spit it out. There’s obviously something you want to say to me.”
“I saw you and Daryl talking in the hallway last night,” he said.
You avoided his eyes. “Okay…”
“And I’ve noticed he seems to be—” Rick broke off, not even really sure to word what he was trying to say. “…What’s going on between you two?” he asked. You rolled your eyes at him. “Rick…”
“You like him though, don’t you?” He stared at you pointedly. “Him? Really? I mean—”
“Rick,” you said again, annoyance plain in your tone.
Rick sighed and shook his head. “I don’t—I don’t think it’s a good idea… Did you forget that he tried to kill me the first time we met?” he asked you, incredulous.
“If someone handcuffed me to a roof and left me there, what would you want to do to them?” you countered, holding his eyes.
“That’s not—it isn’t the same. You’d never be in that situation because you aren’t an asshole like Merle Dixon,” Rick spat back.
“He’s still his brother. Even if he is an asshole.”
Rick shook his head again and let out an exhale that was more a growl. “Do you not trust me anymore? I’m your big brother. I’m tryin’ to watch out for you. You used to trust me unquestioningly,” he said, one corner of his mouth twitching up.
You laughed dryly. “Yeah, when I was six! Then you told me sharks could swim up the bathtub drain and get into the tub. I wonder why the unquestioning trust stopped,” you joked.
“What about that guy you dated in high school, hmm? I didn’t turn out to be wrong then, did I? That guy was bad news,” he argued.
You rolled your eyes. “I was fifteen. I would hope that you realize my judgement has improved since then. I was only dating that guy because I liked his car!”
He sighed heavily and ran a hand over the stubble on his face. “Daryl is hot headed. Impulsive. Volatile.”
You shook your head. “You don’t even know him.” You sighed and held Rick’s eyes for a long moment. “I don’t need your permission on this and I’m not asking for it.” You grasped his arm and gave it a light squeeze before turning to leave.
“Now, hold up just a second,” he said, but you could hear something playful in his voice this time. “I come back from the dead and I don’t even get a good morning hug from my baby sister anymore?”
You laughed and shook your head, allowing Rick to grab you in a hug. You hugged back tight. “I mean it though, Rick. Just—give him a chance. There’s a lot more to him. Trust me on this.”
Rick watched your figure fade down the hall and disappear around the corner, hoping you were right.
You joined everyone in the kitchen and you caught Daryl’s eyes immediately when you came in. He watched your face brighten with a smile at him and felt that nervous flutter in his chest. There was an empty chair beside him and you sank down into it, laughing lightly at Glenn’s pitiful groans from the end of the table. You looked over at the archer next to you. “Hey,” you said softly.
“Hey,” he returned with a nod. There was that softness in his eyes that went straight to your heart. It was a good thing you were sitting down because you felt like your knees might have given out if you were standing.
You subconsciously bit your bottom lip as you held his eyes. “How’d you sleep?” you asked.
He nodded again. “Mm. Alright.”
“Just alright,” you prodded him, one of your eyebrows quirking up.
He looked down at his hands as he fiddled with a spoon in front of him on the table. “Ya, ya know… it’s weird but I, uhh, kinda had somethin’ on my mind. Kept me awake.”
“Mm,” you hummed, nodding. “Good thing or bad thing?” you asked gently.
His blue eyes met yours again and there was no hesitation before his response. “Good thing,” he drawled. His heart jumped as he watched your face break into a smile again at him. You watched appreciatively as one corner of his mouth quirked up.
But the blissful bubble you were in was about to pop. It started with Dale asking for answers. Jenner brought you all into the big room with a large screen on one wall and started the playback of Test Subject 19. Daryl watched as your eyes were riveted to the screen.
“What is that?” Shane asked, staring at the blinking and flashing lights inside the human brain on the screen.
Jenner turned and looked at you. “Let’s ask our neurology resident,” he said.
You gulped, already feeling apprehensive about where this video and conversation were going. “It’s, umm, electrical impulses in the synapses, the neurons. It’s what controls everything about us—what we do, what we say, how we think.”
Dr. Jenner nodded. “It’s what makes each of us who we are.” He scanned ahead to the first event and you watched, your mouth dropping slightly open as something foreign appeared to crawl up into the brain from the brain stem. “Oh my God,” you muttered.
Daryl shifted uncomfortably and moved closer to stand beside you. “That’s it,” you said, your eyes still glued to the screen. “This person is dying. That’s the infection invading the brain.” Suddenly, the brain just went dark and the person on the screen stilled.
“Yes,” Jenner said, glancing around and reading the faces of everyone in the room. “Test Subject 19 died from the infection after a bite.” He asked the computer to scan ahead and began to talk about the difference in times it could take before what he called “resurrection.”
Your eyes snapped over to him. “Don’t call it that. It’s not resurrection,” you argued. “The rest of the brain is dark, dead. It’s—it’s reanimation of the body. That person, whoever Test Subject 19 was is gone.”
Jenner paused and gulped. “Whatever you want to call it, it happens in eight hours or less for anyone who is bitten or scratched. And the body becomes a shell that moves only to meet the most basic functions, to feed, which for whatever this is also passes on the infection. It’s evolutionarily brilliant for the pathogen and devastating for the would-be vectors.”
“Vectors?” Daryl repeated, glancing at you.
“The carriers of the infection,” you said. You glanced around uncomfortably and saw that most of the group’s eyes were on you. “Us,” you said simply.
But Dale just had to ask one more burning question, and that started the chaos over the next hour. Soon that gut feeling Daryl had the night before was justified when you found out that the generators were almost out of fuel and that meant that the entire building would be incinerated to protect against release of any of the biological hazards housed inside.
When the doors sealed shut the only thing on Daryl’s mind was that kiss you had shared the night before and how there was no way in hell that was going to be the only one he ever had with you. This was the fucking start of something, not the goddamn end.
His blue eyes found your face as you stood paralyzed in the center of the room, staring at Dr. Jenner with a wide-eyed and terrified look on your face.
Shane and Rick were furious, yelling and arguing with Jenner. Daryl wanted nothing more than the beat the shit out of the guy, but for your sake, for once, he kept his head as best he could. There was no way to break out of there by sheer force, so the doctor had to be reasoned with.
Daryl’s eyes found yours again and he strode over to you, not caring that you were standing in the middle of everyone and he clasped your face gently in his hands. “I am gonna get us outta here,” he said forcefully, his eyes locked with yours. Your hands floated to him and landed gently on his sides. You didn’t mean to but your fingers clenched onto his shirt desperately. “We ain’t dyin’ in here. I ain’t lettin’ ya die,” he said. “Okay?” You gulped and nodded. His words were so forceful, you believed him. He nodded back and released his gentle hold on your face.
Daryl walked over to Jenner and leaned in close to him. “I think you’re a lyin’ son of a bitch. Ya can’t control those doors? Then how come ya had to type in a numeric code before they sealed? Huh?” He paced angrily in front of the doctor. “You’re a scared, spineless coward. Just because ya can’t face tomorrow, doesn’t mean ya have the right to choose for everybody in this goddamn room,” he roared. “Some of us still got shit worth fightin’ for!”
You watched a change come over Jenner’s face. He seemed to shrink and he shut his eyes for a moment. But when he opened them he got up and went over to the keypad. “I can only open these ones. You’re on your own getting outside.”
You gasped in a breath as the doors opened. Daryl tore toward you and grabbed your hand tightly in his, picking up one of the fire axes in the other. “C’mon. I told ya I’m gettin’ ya out of here,” he drawled. He tugged you through the halls.
Futile efforts to break through the glass with anything they could find. You stood with Lori and Carl, rubbing your nephew’s back gently and watching the frantic efforts. He was shaking he was so scared. You knelt down in front of him. “Look at me, Carl. Look at me.” Carl’s blue eyes lifted to your face.
“I’m scared,” he said.
You nodded. “I know. I am, too. But you know what? Your dad can do anything. And look,” you glanced back at Daryl, Shane, and T-dog all trying to break the glass. “It isn’t just him. We’ve got all these other brave people helping. We’re gonna be just fine.”
It was right at that moment that Carol remembered the grenade. Daryl rushed over as Rick grabbed it and yelled for everyone to get back.
You caught Daryl’s blue eyes and he wrapped an arm around you. You grabbed him and pressed a kiss to his lips before looking back at your brother as he pulled the pin.
The explosion rocked the building. Daryl shielded you protectively with his body from the flying glass and he pulled you to your feet, linking his hand with yours again. He climbed through the window first and turned to help you, grabbing your hips and lifting you down from the ledge and setting you on your feet again.
You laced your fingers with his as you ran for the vehicles. Your lungs felt like they were going to tear from the anxious breaths you were gasping, but finally you were away and reached the RV. You collapsed against it and turned to look back at the building. Daryl leaned against it beside you, your hand still in his.
You’d made it.
But now your whole group watched as the building exploded and incinerated, Jackie and Dr. Jenner with it. Daryl instinctively threw himself over you, pressing you back into the side of the RV, shielding you from the shockwave. You felt the concussive blast run through you and the RV rocked before settling.
Your chest was heaving as Daryl pulled back slightly from you, his palms pressed against the vehicle on either side of your head, his body against yours. He seemed to suddenly register that you were touching from knees to nose practically and he started to straighten up and move away, his blue eyes suddenly breaking from yours. “Sorry,” he murmured, but he didn’t get far.
You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was desperate and fiery. Daryl sunk into you immediately, one of his hands alighted on your lower back and pressed your hips against his, the other clasping your face and then tangling into your hair. You let out a small sigh, a noise of pleasure as you felt him pressing into you, kissing you deeply and hungrily, and you smiled into his lips.
Suddenly there was whistling and whooping from inside the RV and your eyes shot open and met Daryl’s. You glanced over your shoulder to see most of the members of your group in the windows of the RV right behind you, looking out at you with surprised grins on their faces, cheering and clapping. You felt your cheeks flush bright red and when you looked back at Daryl, a little wide-eyed, pressing a hand to your face bashfully, you saw that his cheeks were red too. He ducked his head but he couldn’t keep his eyes from yours as you laughed bashfully. He wanted to drink you in. Both his hands were on your lower back now, and he didn’t want move. But there was the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly and you looked over to see your brother standing there staring at you and Daryl, his arms crossed over his chest.
Daryl’s nerves got the best of him and he lifted his hands from around you and you both turned to face Rick. But you laced your fingers with his, resting your other hand gently on his arm, and Daryl’s heart jumped. “Rick—” you started, but your brother interrupted.
“Now, just stop, Y/N. I want to talk to Daryl for a second.” You watched as he dropped his arms from over his chest to his hips and paced slowly toward the two of you. You felt Daryl stiffen next to you and you watched Rick with apprehension. But after he stopped in front of Daryl, your brother’s stern expression softened and he held out a hand to Daryl.
Daryl glanced down at it in confusion for a moment and then over at you, before clasping it with his own. Rick gave it a hearty shake. “You saved us,” he said. “Thank you. Without you saying what you said to Jenner, we might not have made it. I’m grateful. I can’t even tell you how much,” he said, glancing back at Lori and Carl waiting in the car. Rick thought about how Daryl had fought for you, shielded you, protected you. He glanced over at you, his little sister, and sighed.
You smiled at him and grabbed Daryl’s hand again. “I look forward to getting to know you better,” Rick said to the archer. “But I would appreciate it if the two of you wouldn’t make out in front of my son anymore.” You felt your face flush and you punched your brother hard in the arm, eliciting a loud laugh from him. “Come on. We need to get on the road. Are you ridin’ with us?” Rick asked you. You glanced up at Daryl and he nudged his nose up at you. “No,” you said, turning back to Rick. “I think I’m gonna ride with Daryl,” you said happily.
“Alright, but ya gotta wear the helmet,” Daryl drawled.
“You never wear one,” you pointed out.
“Yeah, that’s different. You ain’t me. C’mon,” he said, tugging you toward his motorcycle.
Rick sighed and shook his head, smiling as he watched Daryl adjusting the chin strap of the helmet for you and helping you climb on his bike. He hated that you were always right about everything… but he was glad you had someone else protecting you now. And he hadn’t seen that brilliant smile on your face for too long.
Been rewatching season 10 on AMC & just watched the episode where Yumiko punches Carol & it pissed me off. I really liked how Eugene went to check on her & their talk after, especially Carol telling him his choice was simple & that he should go to his date.
I know Caryl were separated during this time but I was hoping for a Caryl take on this—a scenario during/hearing about the punch or just some more protective Daryl?
❤️
Unpopular opinion that might get me murdered, but I understand where both Yumiko and Carol were emotionally in that moment. Disheartening to watch nonetheless.
The exchange between Carol and Eugene was nice. I liked that they could both relate to being the outsider, and I like that Carol recognized he wanted to meet up with his crush. In my mind, she probably felt there was nothing holding him back. Unlike her, he was free to chase his happiness.
But anyway, here’s protective Daryl...
Daryl chews his lip nervously while scouring the surrounding woods for signs of life. He lands on Yumiko and Eugene emerging with Magna in tow. Before he can register his own surprise, Kelly swoops past him, running on her injured ankle.
He follows, catching up just in time to see Magna shrugging, tears in her eyes. Kelly lowers her head, clearly disappointed. Daryl doesn't need further clueing in.
Daryl [To Magna]: You alright?
Magna: I’d feel better if Connie was with me.
Kelly: We aren’t giving up. If you got out, so did she.
Daryl nods his agreement.
Daryl: See anyone else out there?
Yumiko: Just Carol. But she decided she couldn’t be bothered with anyone else’s wellbeing, so she went off on her own.
Eugene: And by my calculations, her time of arrival was set to precede our own by 1 hour and 2.5 minutes give or take, though judging by your expression, I can only conclude that turned out not to be the case.
Yumiko: She’s probably just licking her wounds.
Magna: You should apologize, Miko.
Yumiko: I don’t understand why you keep defending her.
Daryl: What’d you do?
Yumiko sighs.
Yumiko: I popped her one in the jaw. I lost my temper and I’m not entirely proud of it, but she needed to know her actions have consequences. It was like she didn’t even care.
Daryl is silent for several beats.
Daryl: You can’t hit her. Ever. You hear me?
Yumiko: I know she’s your friend, but she put my friends — our friends — in danger.
Daryl: Know what she’s done. What you did ain’t helpin’ anyone. Just keep your hands off her.
Yumiko frowns at him. Before she can respond, Lydia bursts through the trees, hurt and out of breath. Daryl rushes to her aid.
