Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Summary: Morning arrives quietly, but nothing on the farm feels the same. As unease spreads through the group, long-buried truths come to light, forcing everyone to confront what they've been avoiding. With loyalties tested, grief laid bare, and tensions finally reaching a breaking point, one irreversible decision changes the farm forever.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, zombie violence, gunfire, major character death (canon), child death (canon), grief, emotional trauma, and heavy angst.
A/N: I moved around some of the canon events to the show in this chapter, I hope that doesn't bother anyone! Probably one of my favorite reader/Daryl interactions so I’ve written so far in this chapter! I love when small moments mean SO MUCH.
Previous Part - Masterlist
The morning came quietly, without asking. I woke up before the sun cleared the trees, though I couldn’t remember ever really falling asleep.
The farm was still wrapped in blue-gray dawn. Dew clung to the pasture grass, turning every blade silver. Somewhere beyond the barn, a rooster crowed into the cool morning air, answered by another farther off. The cattle shifted lazily behind their fence, leather creaking as they rose one by one.
Everything looked exactly as it had yesterday.
My bedroll was already packed. I’d rolled it once the night before. Then, unrolled it. Then rolled it again before sunrise.
I still hadn’t decided whether I was staying, or leaving.
I adjusted the strap across my shoulder before immediately pulling it back off again with a frustrated sigh.
“Make up your mind,” I muttered to myself.
The words disappeared into the morning air. I rested the pack against the trunk again.
My leg complained the moment I straightened. Hershel’s stitches tugged beneath the fresh bandage, a sharp reminder that despite everything, I’d promised to take it easy.
Funny how yesterday that had sounded like kindness. Today it felt like an obligation.
I wandered toward the farmhouse with nowhere in particular to be. People moved through the yard in familiar rhythms.
Beth shook out quilts across the clotheslines. Patricia carried a basket towards the chicken coop. Jimmy wrestled with a stubborn gate that refused to stay latched.
Life. Ordinary, stubborn life. Except no one seemed willing to meet anyone else’s eyes.
Rick stood near the porch speaking quietly with Hershel. Too quietly. Neither man looked angry. Neither man looked comfortable either. Rick’s shoulders were tight. Hershel's expression was unreadable.
When they finished speaking, Rick rubbed both hands over his face before walking away without another word. Hershel watched him go, then turned back toward the house as though there was still work to be done.
Across the yard, Glenn nearly walked straight into Maggie before mumbling an apology. She laughed, he didn’t. He kept glancing toward the barn, then quickly looking away, like he was afraid someone would notice.
Shane was easier to read. He wasn’t doing anything. That was the problem. He paced across the yard, then back again. His hands moved from being positioned on his hips to moving through his short hair, to being folded across his chest.
He looked like a wolf wearing a man’s skin. Waiting, watching. Counting seconds until something snapped. He reminded me of a horse that smelled smoke before anyone else did. Restless, unable to settle, and ready to bolt.
The feeling settled low in my stomach.
Something was coming. I didn’t know what. Only that the farm was holding its breath.
I spent the better part of the morning trying to keep my hands occupied. I helped Patricia carry feed to the chicken coop, though she insisted she could’ve managed without me. Beth had tried making conversation while we folded laundry, but even she’d fallen quiet after a while. The stitches in my thigh tugged every time I bent too far, reminding me Hershel’s idea of light duty was still very much in effect.
So I wandered. Not because there was anywhere to go. Just because standing still made it easier to think.
I found myself circling the yard, watching the farm move through another ordinary morning. Except, it wasn’t ordinary.
Rick was nowhere near the porch where he’s usually sat with Carl. Shane hadn’t stopped pacing since sunrise. Even the horses seemed to notice something was off, ear flicking toward raised voices I couldn’t quite make out from across the pasture.
I was halfway back toward the oak when I noticed everyone drifting toward the farmhouse. Not all at once. One by one. Andrea emerged from her tent. T-Dog crossed the yard. Dale climbed down from the roof of the RV. Maggie emerged from the stable, wiping her hands on her jeans before slowing as she realized something was happening.
Conversations died off as people gathered into a loose circle. No one looked relaxed.
Curiosity got the better of me. I started walking that direction, slower than I would’ve liked thanks to my leg. The closer I got, the more voices carried across the yard.
Another voice answered, too low to make out.
I frowned. Someone spoke over them.
Another voice, sharper this time.
The air seemed to leave my lungs. I kept walking. No one noticed me, or if they did, they were too distracted to care.
Instead of listening to the words, I found myself looking at faces. Rick stood with his shoulders drawn tight, exhaustion carved deep beneath his eyes. Shane looked like he was one bad sentence away from exploding. Dale’s expression wasn’t angry, it was disappointed. Daryl was still bandaged, but stood along with the group.
Glenn stood near the back of the group, refusing to look at anyone for more than a second. His eyes found the ground instead. Then they found me. His shoulders sagged. For the briefest moment, we locked eyes. His face fell. Just slightly. Then he looked away again. I didn’t need him to say a word. Something had happened.
My gaze continued around the circle until it landed on Carol. She wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t crying. She just stood there, hands clasped so tightly the color had drained from her knuckles. Her eyes moved from Rick, to Daryl, to Shane, then back again, lingering on each of them just long enough to search for something that wasn’t there. Hope, or permission to keep hoping.
Hope. Fear. Desperation. All tangled together.
Yesterday, I’d been wondering whether I belonged here. This morning it looked like nobody did.
A cold knot settled in my stomach. I looked from Carol to the barn.
The weathered boards stood exactly as they had yesterday. Still, quiet, ordinary. Except, they weren’t. Not anymore.
The conversations sharpened as I stepped closer, voices finally separating from one another.
“...this changes everything…”
I stopped just outside the circle. Nobody had to explain it. I already knew. And judging by the looks on everyone’s faces… Whatever happened next wasn’t going to leave anyone untouched.
The conversation around me splintered into smaller arguments. Some drifted toward the porch. Others stood frozen where they were, still staring toward the barn as if looking long enough might somehow change what was inside it.
Rick finally broke away from the group.
“I’ll talk to Hershel,” he said, more tired than determined.
I watched him cross the property toward the stable where Hershel had disappeared. His shoulders were stiff, every step measured.
Beside me, Daryl shifted weight.
“...You already knew.” He said.
It wasn’t really a question. I kept my eyes on Rick.
“Yeah.” I said simply, frowning.
“Yesterday.” He glanced at me. “Glenn”
A grunt escaped him, “‘Course.”
Silence settled between us again. I folded my arms across my chest.
“I confronted Hershel.” That finally earned me a look.
“...How’d that go?” Daryl looked down at me.
I let out a humorless laugh, “He told me if that’s how I saw the world…” I swallowed. “...I couldn’t stay here.”
For a second, he looked toward the farmhouse. “...Hell.”
Neither of us had anything useful to add to that.
Across the yard, Rick reached Hershel. The two men spoke quietly beneath the stable overhang, too far away to hear. A mirror image of them speaking this morning.
I wasn’t watching them anymore, I was watching Shane. He hadn’t moved, not really. He stood apart from everyone else, weight shifting from one boot to the other. His hands couldn’t decide where to settle, on his hips, crossed over his chest, or raking through his hair only to be dropped again.
His eyes never left the barn. Every muscle in his body looked wound too tight. I’d seen it before. Not on farms. Not in horses. In men. Men who’d already decided what they were going to do and were only waiting for the moment they could justify it.
“...Rick’s not gonna talk him outta this.” Shane stated, maybe to himself, maybe to the part of the group still around.
Shane started pacing. Once, twice. His head shook every few seconds like he was arguing with someone only he could hear. I watched his hands. They opened and closed, opening again. He wasn't calming down, he was building.
The argument at the stable ended. Rick turned and started back toward the house. I stepped away before I could think better of it.
He looked up, “What?” He said, almost impatiently.
I glanced toward Shane before looking back at him. “You need to watch him.” Rick followed my eyes. Shane had stopped pacing. Now he was just… staring. “He looks like he’s about to do something he’ll regret.”
Rick sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, “I know.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t think you do.” His attention returned to me. “I grew up around men who couldn’t let something go.” I nodded toward Shane. “That’s what this looks like.”
Rick looked over again. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he exhaled, “I appreciate it.” He looked toward him. “But, I’ve got Shane handled.”
I held his gaze for another second. Something in my chest told me he was wrong. My stomach dropped.
Then, a shout cut across the farm.
“Hershel!” Every head turned.
Jimmy came running from the pasture, breathing hard.
“Hershel! We caught two more!”
The uneasy quiet shattered.
Jimmy stumbled to a stop a few yards from Hershel, bent over with his hands on his knees as he fought for breath. His words settled over the yard like a storm cloud.
Hershel closed his eyes for the briefest moment before nodding once.
“I’ll be there directly.”
Jimmy turned and hurried back toward the pasture. No one spoke. Then, Shane laughed.
It wasn’t amusement. It was sharp, bitter.
“You hear that?” Shane said to the group, raising his arms toward Jimmy and Hershel.
He looked from Rick to Hershel, shaking his head. “They’re out there catchin’ more of ‘em.” His voice rose with every word. “Like stray dogs!”
Hershel had joined the circle now. His face was tense, eyes stern. Beth, Maggie, and Patricia had all made their way outside to see what the commotion was about.
“No,” Shane took a step backward, never taking his eyes off Hershel. “No, I’m done.” He jabbed a finger toward the barn. “You got people sleepin’ fifty feet from a damn barn full of walkers.”
“They’re sick,” Hershel answered.
“They’re dead.” Shane bit.
“They’re people.” Hershel snapped back.
“They’ll kill every last one of us!” Shane exclaimed, throwing his hands up. The yard had gone completely silent. Shane looked around the rest of us. “Y’all really okay with this?”
His eyes settled on the RV. Something inside me tightened. He’d made up his mind. Before anyone could move, Shane strode across the yard.
“Shane!” Rick called after him. He didn’t stop.
I watched him go, making long, purposeful strides. No hesitation. That feeling I’d had all morning settled like stone in my stomach.
“...He’s doing it,” I murmured.
Beside me, Daryl followed him with narrowed eyes.
Rick hurried after him, “Shane!”
Still nothing. Shane reached the RV in seconds. He threw open one of the storage compartments and reached inside. Metal clattered. A rifle appeared in his hands. Then another. Rick grabbed his arm, “No.”
Shane jerked free so violently that Rick nearly lost his footing.
“They’re gonna get somebody killed.” Shane sneered.
Dale spoke up, “They’re already dead!”
“Oh they’re dead all right,” Shane’s voice cracked across the farm. “I’m done pretendin’ otherwise.”
Shane made his way back to the group in front of the barn, Rick on his heel. He shoved another rifle into T-Dog’s hands. Another toward Andrea. One toward Glenn. And lastly one toward Daryl who already had his crossbow on his back. Nobody wanted to take them. Nobody wanted to refuse.
He sneered and looked me up and down after handing Daryl the rifle.
I reached over my shoulder. My bow came free with the familiar whisper of leather against worn wood. Not because I wanted to use it, because I knew I might have to. My fingers checked the string without thinking. Still tight, still true. One hand brushed the grip of my sidearm resting against my hip. Loaded and ready.
I wasn’t thinking about the barn. I was thinking about Beth, about Carl, Patricia, Maggie, Lori, and Carol. If those doors opened, someone needed to be ready for the people standing behind me.
Shane turned then, toward the barn. Rick stepped into his path.
“I’m asking you,” Rick tried to reason.
“I’m done asking,” Shane shoved him aside. Not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to make a point.
The chain on the barn doors rattled beneath Shane’s hands.
Hershel’s voice finally broke, “No!”
The lock hit the dirt. The chain followed.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, Shane grabbed both barn doors and threw them wide open.
The barn breathed. A damp, rotten smell rolled out through the opening before anything else did. Then came the shuffling. A hand appeared around the edge of one door. Another. Gray fingers dragging against weathered wood.
Someone behind me sucked in a breath.
The first walker emerged into the light with an uneven, dragging step. Gray skin stretched tight across its face. One eye hung cloudy in its socket. It blinked against the morning sun as though it remembered what daylight was.
Another figure appeared behind it.
Then the darkness inside the barn began to move.
Shapes crowded together, bumping against one another as they shuffled toward the open doors.
Shane didn’t hesitate. The first rifle shot cracked across the farm. The walker’s head snapped backward. Another shot. Another body hit the dirt.
Everything erupted at once. Gunfire swallowed the quiet morning. People shouted over one another. Walkers lurched forward, drawn by the noise.
I never drew the bow. Instead I turned.
The boy stood frozen near Lori.
I crossed the distance in three limping strides, putting myself between them and the barn.
My arrow stayed on the string, but I couldn’t make myself loose it. Not while there were still people between me and the dead. The living came first.
Not yet. Only if one got through.
Andrea fired, T-Dog fired. Glenn’s rifle kicked against his shoulder. Another walker collapsed. The smell of burnt powder filled the property.
Someone screamed. Another shot echoed, then another. Another.
Bodies piled in front of the barn. Every instinct I had screamed to watch the tree line, the flanks, the places danger usually came from. Instead it was all in front of us. One by one they fell. Until…
Something moved inside the darkness. Slow and small. A tiny figure stepped into the sunlight.
Carol made a sound I hope I never hear again. It wasn’t a scream. It was hope breaking. My eyes drifted beside me, to Daryl. The rifle Shane had handed him was now on the ground. His face had gone completely still. And suddenly…
I saw the doll pressed into his hand while he’d bled in the bottom of that ravine.
He’d found her trail. He’d been so close.
Sophia took another slow step forward. Her eyes were empty, clouded. Her mouth opened with a low rasp.
Carol whispered her name.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
Rick broke the shock and walked past all of us. Nothing stopped him.
He raised his revolver with shaking hands.
Sophia kept walking. Not toward him. Toward all of us.
For a heartbeat the entire world held its breath.
The shot cracked through the farm. Everything disappeared into ringing. Nothing else existed. Not the cattle. Not the crying. Not the barn.
Just that impossible, deafening silence that follows a single gunshot when your mind refuses to believe what your eyes just saw.
“What the hell were we doin’?” His voice ripped through the silence, through Carol's quiet cries. I hadn’t heard him so angry before.
“I spent days out there!” Nobody answered. He kicked the rifle so hard it spun across the dirt.
“I looked everywhere!” He turned on the group, eyes bright with grief and fury.
“She was right here!” His voice broke. “Right here the whole damn time!”
His crossbow was off his back and hitting the ground with a violent clatter.
Carol collapsed into sobs now, no longer the quiet cries of someone in shock. Rick couldn’t look at anyone after what he had just done. Hershel stared at the ground as though the earth itself had betrayed him. No one had words. Because there weren’t any.
Daryl turned on his heel and began to walk away. Hands on his head, brushing through his hair. Lori held onto Carl, tight enough that maybe she could reverse what he’d just seen. T-Dog made his way to Carol’s side.
I looked toward the dirt. The crossbow still lay where Daryl had thrown it. No one else seemed to notice.
I limped over and picked it up. The wood was worn from use. I brushed the dirt from one limb before carrying it back.
I started in the direction Daryl had gone, picking up my own pace. I limped while trying to catch up with him.
“Daryl!” I called. He didn’t look at me. So, I called for him again, more stern this time.
He stopped, shaking his head, breathing heavily. Slowly, he turned towards me.
I held out the crossbow to him.
He shook his head once, “Ain’t want it.”
I left the crossbow hanging between us.
“I said I don’t want it.” His voice wasn’t angry anymore. Just tired, broken.
Back home, silence had always been a part of grief. You let people find the end of it themselves.
After a while I spoke, “Back home, when horses got out…” I said quietly, still holding the crossbow between us, “...sometimes we’d spend days looking. We’d ride until there weren’t any tracks to follow.” He didn’t answer. “Sometimes we’d find ‘em standing in the next valley over.” A pause. “Sometimes all we’d find was the saddle.”
Daryl’s jaw tightened. I looked down at the crossbow between us.
“We never regretted looking. It didn’t make the ride a waste.” I continued. “If all you ever find is the saddle, that doesn’t mean you were wrong to search.” A breeze stirred between us. “It just meant we’d done everything we could.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. He didn’t look up.
Then, slowly, he reached for the crossbow.
His fingers brushed mine as he took the crossbow back. Then, he slung it over his shoulder without a word.
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