A Chance
My Wife part 3
Part 1 | Part 2
↝pairing: Season1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader
↝warning: things are rough between Daryl and Reader, death, cursing, arguing, walkers, ect. The usual twd stuff, angst, reader wears Daryl's clothes ( but as a big girl myself, we can just ignore how he's a twig and that's most likely unrealistic 🫡), not proofread
↝⎙ 1.30.25
|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||
Daryl Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Daylight broke and Andrea hadn't moved.
Daryl grumbled about Amy turning, but you quickly shot him down each time. People grieve in different ways. Andrea knew what she had to do when the time came.
"Y'all can't be serious." Daryl huffed, watching Andrea through squinted eyes, "Let that girl hamstring us? The dead girl's a time-bomb." He seethed.
"Daryl," You glared up at him, rubbing the scratch on your upper arm. "Don't be insensitive."
"We ain't got time for this." He seethed, glaring back at you.
You stood, "She lost her sister, not her smarts. She knows what to do."
He stepped closer, putting his weight on one leg, slightly slouching to be eye level with you. Maybe he was trying to be intimidating, but it didn't work. You had seen the dark, sad parts of him. He will never be able to scare you or berate you with actions or words. "And if she don't?"
"What do you suggest?"Rick questioned Daryl, stopping the oncoming argument.
Daryl stepped closer to Rick, bringing his fingers to his temple, "Take the shot. Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance."
"No," Lori spoke up, "For God's sake, let her be."
Dary scoffed before walking off. In turn, you eyed the back of Andrea's head. She knew what she had to do, right? You hoped so.
Pulling your eyes away from her, you looked around at all of the bodies. Most were people who you had just seen, laughing and eating. Others were the dead that had wandered from the city.
Shutting your eyes, your hand automatically went to your wrist, the tightly woven thread helping to ground you. Your fingers traveled down to your left hand, the wedding ring soothing against your fingertips, a contrast to the thick thread of the collar/ bracelet on your wrist.
Daryl looked up as he helped drag a body across the ground. He watched you, watched your movements; a desperate search for comfort.
- time skip -
Daryl stomped away, not understanding why Amy and Jim were not being taken care of. They were "ticking time bombs". They were liabilities. In the new world, there was not time to grieve. Sneering at the thought, he yanked the tent flap back, watching you jump, immediately wiping under your eyes.
His eyes trailed over you in the silence of the moment. You needed comforting. He wanted to comfort you. He really did. But he had a feeling those tears were his doing. He shouldn't have taken his frustration out on you, knowing you had witnessed something horrific.
The tent opening fell down as he walked away.
Your hands instantly went back to your face, muffling the sobs that raked your body.
-
Sweat had mixed with the dirt and grime, caking your skin as you helped bury the bodies. The bright sun beat down, causing you to squint.
Daryl kept an eye on you from a distance. Neither of you had uttered a word to each other since the morning. You were both too stubborn.
Backing his truck up, bodies in the bed of it, Daryl caught sight of you looking up through the side mirrors. Just as quickly, you looked away and got back to digging, ignoring Rick and Shane's argument to your left. Turning the truck off, Daryl jumped out, slamming the door.
He made his way to where you, Rick, and Shane were digging holes for the friends you had light the night prior. "I still think it's a mistake not burning these bodies. It's what we said we'd do, right? Burn 'em all, wasn't that the idea?"
"At first."
Daryl scoffed, "The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow 'em along? These people need to know who the hell's in charge here- what the rules are."
"And who the hell's in charge, Daryl? It sure as hell ain't you."
Daryl scoffed again, watching as you glared at him, waiting for him to reply, from where you had jumped down in a freshly dug hole.
"There are no rules." Rick countered Daryl's statement.
"Well, that's a problem." Lori walked past Daryl's truck, children and their mothers behind her. "We haven't had one moment to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn, and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do." With that, she turned and walked away, not caring to hear what anyone thought about that.
-
Feeling disgusting, you had made your way back to the tent. Not having any clothes, you opted for something of Daryl's. His cut shirts weren't ideal, but they were cooling and non-restricting. His old work pants fit loose, but that's not anything string couldn't fix.
Buttoning the second to last button of the dingy shirt, you heard the opening of the tent begin to unzip. You moved to cover yourself, but ultimately relaxed when Daryl stepped in. He looked up, scanning your body before glancing behind himself, making sure nobody had seen you changing from over his shoulder. He zipped the flap back up, before simply standing there. He was slightly hunched over, as were you, thanks to the small tent.
It was silent.
Your fingers went back to the button, as you ignored your husband's presence.
Daryl moved closer, standing behind you. The air around you two changed. His head fell to your shoulder, his own grime mixing with yours. He stayed there, vulnerable. This was his way of apologizing.
Your body relaxed further, sinking back into him. His arms snaked around your middle, holding you close.
"It's okay." You whispered, only loud enough for him to hear, and not to disturb this newfound peaceful atmosphere. He nodded, moving his hands to your hips, turning you around. His fingers made quick work of buttoning the last button for you.
-
The next morning, everyone was getting ready to leave for the C.D.C. Rick was out in the field, talking to a man named Morgan, the guy who had saved Rick’s life. Lori, Carol, and the kids were helping to load everything into cars. You helped Daryl load up his truck. Hopping onto the tailgate, you helped pull Daryl’s bike up, gently laying it on the truck bed.
“Are ya willin’ to put your life in his hands?” Daryl helped you jump down, glancing at Rick in the distance. Daryl was looking to you for answers. You were always the more level-headed of the two. Daryl would follow you into fire, he’d follow you to the end of the world. And you just might be doing that.
“I think you have to hope there’s a safe place out there. If we don’t hope for it, then we won’t get it. Hope is all we’ve got.” You patted his chest, before walking by him. He watched you, before slamming the rusted tailgate closed.
-
The wind blew through your hair, cooling your face. Daryl drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other near his mouth as he nipped at his fingernails. The leg that was not being used for the gas and brake pedals slightly shook, a trailer to his nerves. You rode in silence.
“”M sorry–‘bout yesterday.” He spoke up first, biting his thumb nail. You turned your head, looking at his side-profile. He didn’t dare to glance at you.
“I know. I am too. We were both on edge; said some things. It’s alright.”
He nodded, pulling his thumb from his mouth. “Ya think Merle’s alright?”
You thought about it. Daryl had told you what they found on the roof and what they had run into.
“I think he’s a tough fucker to kill.” Daryl let out an entertained huff, “He had enough energy to steal the van, so there’s a high chance he’s okay…maybe.”
Daryl let your words marinate. Letting out a deep exhale, he swapped hands on the wheel, placing his right one of your knee. You moved closer to him, placing your hand over his.
-
Guilt was eating at you.
You had all left Jim under a tree. Sure, it was per his request, but that didn’t stop the shame bubbling in your gut. Even miles from where he sat, you had a frown on your face, thinking of him. The turning was inevitable. But the thought of him having to sit there and deal with the feeling of his bones being made of glass, cutting into him with the slightest move, having to deal with that all on his own, hurt you.
Daryl felt the tension in the truck. You sat closer to the door, hands in your lap.
His hand moved toward the radio, before cursing himself. That wouldn’t work in the apocalypse
Grumbling, he leaned over, opening the glove box and blindly digging through. Pulling a cassette tape out, he plucked it into the truck, twisting the volume knob.
It’s what Jim wanted, you kept reminding yourself. But it didn’t make you feel any better about yourself. You just hoped he wasn’t in pain for much longer.
-
Daryl tapped your arm, watching you blink awake. The melody had settled you to a light slumber. Still groggy from sleep, you took in your surroundings. For a moment, you forgot that the world went to shit. The sky was turning a dark orange, sun setting in the distance. But as you sat up in the seat, you could see the bodies on the ground, bugs buzzing above them.
“Wanna get out?” Daryl stared at you as you looked at the huge building through the windshield. Even more bodies laid in front of the building, flies swarming them. Some bodies were mindlessly wandering around.
This was the C.D.C?
Without giving a response, you opened your door, jumping out. Daryl followed, grabbing his crossbow and a shotgun from the floorboard. Walking around the truck, he pressed the gun to your side, getting your attention. You grabbed it and began following everyone to the building.
The stench alone almost had you hurling.
“Alright, everybody,” Shane began whispering, “Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let’s go.”
The constant buzzing of flies and the horrible smell of decay just might be your own personal hell.
Finally, you were a few feet from the building. Rick and Shane beat on the roll-up doors.
“There’s nobody here.” T-Dog swayed on his feet, turning to look over his shoulder every few seconds.
“Then why are these shutters down?” Rick was holding onto hope; he had to.
“Walkers!” Daryl pulled you by the arm, putting you behind him.
Children screamed, guns cocked, feet shuffled.
“You led us into a graveyard!” Daryl turned, making his way toward Rick. His nostrils flared. Fury behind his eyes.
You stepped in front of him, separating him and what he wanted to do out of anger and frustration.
“He made a call!” Dale interjected.
Daryl rounded you, “It was the wrong damn call!”
Shane stopped Daryl. “Just shut up. You hear me? Shut. Up. Shut up!” He pushed Daryl back, pointing at him.
You quickly walked over, grabbing Daryl’s shoulder before the whole thing could escalate.
Shane turned, walking back to Rick, who still stood at the shutters. “Rick, this is a dead end.”
“Where are we gonna go?” Carol held onto her daughter, but was ignored.
Night was blanketing the sky–fast. You could barely see where the cats were parked from where you stood.
Shane continued, “Do you hear me? No blame.”
Lori acknowledged Carol, “She’s right. We can’t be here, this close to the city after dark.”
“Fort Benning, Rick-still an option.”
“On what?” Andrea stepped forward, glowering. “No food, no fuel. That’s 100 miles.”
“125. I checked the map.” Glenn corrected.
Carl clung to Lori’s legs. She stared at her husband, “Forget Fort Benning! We need answers tonight, now.”
“We’ll think of something.” Rick tried, not meeting his wife’s eyes.
“C’mon!” “Let’s go!” “Let’s get out of here!” Everyone began to make their way back to the vehicles, “Alright, everybody back to the cars. Let’s go, move.”
“The camera– It moved!”
“You imagined it.”
“It. Moved.” Rick didn’t think anything of Dale’s words, walking closer to the camera near the doors. “It moved.”
“Rick, man. It’s an automated device. It’s gears, okay? They’re just winding down. Now come on. Man, just listen to me.” Shane grabbed Rick by his upper arm, trying to drag him away. “Look around this place. It’s dead, okay? It’s. Dead. You need to let it go, Rick!”
Rick pushed Shane off, going to the shutters and beating against them again. He stared up into the camera.
“Rick! There’s nobody here!” Lori yelled.
Rick ignored her, “I know you can hear me!”
Shane began ushering everyone back to the cars. “Everybody get back to the cars, now!”
Rick didn’t budge. “Please, we’re desperate. Please help us.” He begged, “We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left.”
Lori thrusted Carl onto you, seeing as you were the closest to her, and ran over to Rick. She grabbed him. “Rick-”
“We have nowhere else to go-”
“There’s nobody here.”
Rick continued to pound on the doors.
Carl clung tighter to you.
“Keep your eyes open.” Shane ordered.
“If you don’t let us in, you’re killing us! Please!” Rick yelled at the top of his lungs.
Shane went over, pushing Lori away and grabbing Rick by his shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go.”
Carl pushed himself closer to you, hearing his father so desperate but to no avail.
Rick fought against getting dragged back, still staring into the camera, “Please help us.”
People shouted. Carl’s tears soaked into your /Daryl’s/ pants.
“You’re killing us! YOU’RE KILLING US!”
Shane shoved Rick away, watching his face crumble.
“You’re killing us.”
Your eyes widened, holding Carl closer, as a bright light nearly blinded you. The shutters opened, rolling up slowly. A hissing echoed. Everyone gawked, not knowing what to do.
“Daryl, you cover the back.” Shane ordered. Carl let go, running to his mother.
You cocked your gun, joining Daryl. He glanced at you, a questioning gaze set on you. You simply blinked at him, in shock.
Everyone walked toward the light, looking around and gawking at the interior. It smelt clean, a contrast to the horrid, rotting smell outside.
“Hello? Hello?!”
“Close those doors.”
“Watch for walkers.”
“Hello?”
A gun cocking had the group readying themselves, wildly looking around for the source.
A man stood in the shadows, gun in hand. “Anybody infected?”
“One of our group was. He didn’t make it.” Rick answered the unknown man.
“Why are you here?” The man stepped forward, “What do you want?” He put the gun down, looking at all of your grime-covered faces.
“A chance.”
Part 4
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