I’ve had several asks over the last few months wanting to know if I’d ever scrub/pub Way Down We Go considering all the other former HP fic flooding the market and literally the only way I’d ever consider it is if the publisher was okay with me donating all the royalties to trans charities while being obnoxiously vocal about the fact that I’d be donating all the royalties to trans charities and that I thought JK Rowling was a milk-livered, sheep-biting, dissembling caitiff.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, neither of the editors/houses who have approached me about WDWG were willing to agree to those terms and I haven’t shopped it anywhere because right now I’d rather it stay fic than deal with the ensuing drama if a publisher WAS willing to agree to those terms.
Series: Way Down We Go || Season 1
Word count: 2,5k+
Pairing: Rick Grimes x Female! Reader; Shane Walsh x Reader; Daryl Dixon x Sister! Reader
Warnings: usual twd themes
A/n: Aye, it's WDWG time! I wanted this chapter to be as packed with tension as it was possible. Let me know your thoughts and theories!
If you’re not on the taglist but you’d like to be added let me know!
FULL MASTERLIST
WAY DOWN WE GO MASTERLIST
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You woke up to the warmth of the morning sun, the rays streaming into the backseat of the car where you had fallen asleep. Merle snored in the reclined passenger seat, his boots propped up on the dash. You shifted your body into a sitting position, the wound on your side still aching horribly. You clenched your teeth and peeked through the window, gaze searching for Daryl and his beloved crossbow.
Your younger brother stood near the lake, observing the water shimmering in the morning sun. He was finally taking a break from patrolling the perimeter. You wondered how long it has been since he got some rest—some real sleep—not a fifteen-minute-long nap.
After the stunt Merle pulled at your camp near Turner Reservoir, you both agreed you’d not let him take another watch shift alone. You, though injured, were more trustworthy than him in spotting incoming threats and getting rid of them. Merle turned out to be too reckless, and you couldn’t risk coming all this way just for him to fuck up again.
As you stretched, the car creaked with your movement, the sound of metal and fabric shifting before settling into silence again. You slid out of the vehicle, unbothered by the loud slam of the door as you pushed it closed behind you. You secretly hoped it was clamorous enough to wake Merle from his deep slumber.
Daryl looked up from his spot near the water as you dragged your feet forward, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. At least your injury wasn’t pulsing as painfully as it did the day before—that was a win in your book.
“You should get some sleep, Daryl,” you said when you reached him, standing by his side and looking at the water ahead. It was so peaceful.
“Don’ think tha’s a good idea,” he replied, looking you up and down, lost in thought. “Does it still hurt like a bitch?”
“Yeah, but less than yesterday.” You hid your yawn behind your palm. You only managed to get a few hours of sleep—the pain on your side was too unbearable to allow more than that. “Seriously, you should kick Merle out of the car and take a nap yourself,” you insisted, studying the dark circles underneath his eyes and the paleness of his face.
“Nah, I should probably catch us somethin’ to eat.” Daryl stretched his arms above his head with a groan before letting them drop down to his sides.
“Can I go with you?” you asked with an excited glint in your eyes.
You used to do that together when you were kids—when Will took you to the cabin and all the cupboards were empty. Every mention of your hunger was a reason for him to lash out; he used to yell about how ungrateful you were, saying you should finally learn to fend for yourself. You were just a kid, and you had to worry about finding something to satisfy your hunger because your own father was an asshole who refused to provide for you.
Although Daryl is younger than you, he was always the resourceful one while you followed him like a lost puppy, clumsily stumbling over every branch and rock. When you got lost in the woods, he was the one who got you food and clean water as you bawled your eyes out. He was the one who taught you which berries and mushrooms are safe to eat and which can make you wish you were dead.
You shook your head to will the memories away as Daryl responded, “Nah, ya should stay ‘ere with Merle.” Just when you were about to protest, he fixed you with a challenging quirk of his eyebrow and you instantly shut your mouth. “Yer wounded.”
You groaned in exasperation, then nodded your head in agreement. You had no reason to get pressed—even though you could move a little bit easier now, you’d still be a nuisance to him on a hunting trip. “Alright,” you mumbled in agreement.
The moment the words left your lips, your ears picked up noise in the distance. You whipped around toward your brother, meeting his gaze in a silent question. His squinted eyes told you that he heard it too.
The noise got closer and closer with every passing second—its source was definitely heading your way. You could see the gears turning in Daryl’s head as he realized the same thing.
“Get to the fuckin’ car!” he ushered you, swinging his crossbow off his shoulder while his unoccupied hand pushed you gently toward the vehicle.
You listened to him without a second thought, moving forward as fast as your legs allowed you to. You got to the car just in time for another vehicle to come barreling forward and skidding to a stop by the lake, and the large boulders you occupied yesterday. As the door to the black Jeep Wrangler opened, Daryl’s crossbow was already raised and aimed in that direction.
First, a muscular man jumped out of the driver’s seat, then the other doors opened, and a few women exited the car. They had yet to notice your presence. You felt Daryl nudging your arm—a silent sign to get into the truck before they spotted you.
But before you could do anything, the metal door opened with a loud creak as Merle darted out of it. He had the best timing ever—you had to give him that. You heard the commotion as the strangers finally noticed your group of three. And oh my god, Merle had a gun.
You stopped in your tracks, motionless, your eyes darting toward the newcomers. The driver also pulled out his gun as he started moving toward you. Daryl was saying something to your older brother, but your brain turned itself off, focusing solely on the dark-haired man ahead. He came to a stop not too far away, but not too close either, his weapon raised in your general direction.
You had a chance to give him a good look over as the world seemed to slow down around you. His eyes were dark brown but seemed almost hazel as the morning sun hit them. The hair on his head was black and wavey, a subtle stubble decorating his scowling face.
You don’t know what exactly happened, but suddenly those same rich brown eyes were studying your person, almost concerned. “Ma’am, do you know these men?” he asked, his voice deep as his gaze darted between you and your companions.
Daryl moved in front of you, shielding you away from the stranger’s view. No one answered the man’s question—no one even thought about it. You noticed Merle tense up next to you, clutching tightly the pistol in his hands. The stranger’s expression remained unwavering, but his eyes did glance at your older brother’s weapon briefly before they tried to catch a glimpse of you once more.
A thought popped into your head, and you looked down at your injured side, quickly connecting the dots. Now, you understood the glint of concern in his eyes. Your shirt and jeans were still stained with the dried-up blood—you completely forgot about it.
You peeked over Daryl’s shoulder and your gaze met the stranger’s. You’re not sure what he saw in it, but it somehow encouraged him to take another step forward in your direction. Your heart was pounding hard inside your chest. Everything looked like it was in slow motion, the man’s movement, the crowd behind him watching your stare off, every twitch of your younger brother’s muscles. The silence hung heavily in the air as you waited with bated breath to see who was going to fold first and finally say something.
Someone from the unknown crowd walked over and took a stand by the dark-eyed man. “Ma’am, are you injured? Do you need help?” The voice belonged to a woman, it was gentle, with a hint of annoyance at the unnecessary hostility between your groups. “Shane, put the gun away,” she urged the man beside her with a hushed tone—almost a whisper.
Shane listened to her, and although tentatively, he did lower his weapon. The woman stepped forward with a confident walk, escaping the arm that shot out to keep her from going any further. She was a woman on a mission, you could respect that. Her gaze locked on Daryl as she tried to sidestep him, but his aim followed her. You could hear Shane say something to her—maybe even to all of you—but your brain didn’t quite catch it, once again. Merle was oddly quiet.
“Woman, ya step any closer an’ I’ll blow yer pretty brains outta tha’ head.” Yep, he's still here.
Merle didn’t take his gaze off her, he was still clutching the gun, ready for the stranger to try something. Daryl looked even more uneasy than before, and you wondered whether the end of the world squashed all of your trust in humanity into the ground or have you always been like that—you were leaning more towards the second theory. Your older brother, however, seemed calm, like he was the only one who was in control of the situation. He looked around, sizing everybody up with a mean look in his Dixon blues.
“Where did you come from?” Shane asked, tensing up as your older brother stepped into the woman’s path when she tried to sidestep Daryl again.
You noticed the mocking snort that escaped Merle, his knuckles almost white from gripping that pistol so tight. Maybe he wasn’t as sure of himself as he was pretending to be. You had a feeling he was about to do something stupid.
You grabbed him by the wrist, shaking your head disapprovingly. He rolled his eyes, but let you pull him back, seeing the imploring look in your eyes. Don’t do it.
The unknown man’s expression grew darker when he noticed you weren’t really caving in. “Drop your weapons,” he ordered. “We don’t wanna harm you.”
Daryl and Merle didn’t say a word, simply refusing to give up their weapons. You lifted your leg, then kicked the old man in the calf, not too hard, but not too delicately either. He dropped the pistol in resignation, grunted, and pushed it a step away with his foot. Daryl agreed wordlessly and lowered his crossbow.
“Wha’ do ya all want from us?” Merle barked out, towering over the petite woman that finally gave up, understanding she wasn’t going anywhere near you.
You don’t know what gave it away, but the strangers seemed to understand the two men at your side were your friends rather than kidnappers.
“We have a camp nearby. We come here almost every day,” the woman spoke, looking you up and down once you sidestepped the protective wall consisting of your two brothers. “Are you injured?”
“She’s good. Old blood,” Daryl responded to her question. He was met with a suspicious look from the strangers once again.
“The woman can speak for herself, for fuck’s sake.” Shane sighed deeply, clearly annoyed by the whole situation already.
“She don’ speak.”
“Oh…” You took the chance to look the brunette up and down. She was quite skinny with sharp cheekbones and long wavy hair with side-swooped bangs. From her behavior, you figured out she was a classic example of a woman who thought she was untouchable.
“Can I at least take a look at it?” she proposed—a pinch of concern in her voice.
You noticed the way her companion looked at her with admiration at her “selfless” attitude—like a love struck teenager. You guessed he was probably her husband—a lover at least. The man must’ve felt your eyes boring into him, he met your gaze, making you withdraw it instantly. The texture of the ground beneath your feet suddenly seemed far more interesting.
“Wha’? Ya wanna get a chance to feel up mah lil’ sister?” Merle, please, shut your fucking mouth.
“Dressing’s old. Might probably need a change, or it’ll get infected,” Daryl’s response surprised you, your eyes shot up to his face and the worry-etched frown decorating it.
“We have a medical kit back at our camp. We can bring it around, or you can come with us.” The brunette seemed just as shocked as you did, judging by her expression. She probably expected him to put up a fight and refuse to say anything about your injury. “You didn’t set up camp anywhere nearby, did you?”
“Nah, we’re jus’ passin’ through.” Daryl’s shoulders relax visibly as he let out a deep breath. “Plannin’ to head into Atlanta once ‘er wound heals up a little.”
“Atlanta?” Shane snorted loudly, earning himself a disapproving shake of his companion’s head. “Man, you got a death wish?”
You glared at him, his tone toeing the line between surprised and sarcastic. Judging by the scowl that started growing on Merle’s face—he was the one who had a death wish. Shane must’ve felt your eyes boring into his face, he stood a little straighter, holding your gaze.
“Place is swarmed with those things,” the woman added, nodding her head in agreement. Her eyes darted between you and Shane, a frown growing between her thin eyebrows.
“You heard ‘bout the refugee camp?” Shane asked as his gaze left yours, focusing on your younger brother instead. Daryl’s nod confirmed his suspicions. “It’s not there anymore. Don’t think it survived the napalm.”
The archer looked at you, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head. You could’ve met the same fate if you didn’t leave the city to look for them. The thought that he could’ve lost you made him sick to his stomach. He exhaled deeply, his chest shaking with the trembling of his breath. You squeezed his arm briefly—a simple reassurance that you’re still there in one piece.
“Guess our plan jus’ died,” he mumbled out, mostly to you and Merle. His words were a weight off your chest.
Shane eyed Daryl’s crossbow, and an idea popped into his head. “You good with that thing?” He nodded his head toward the weapon, making the archer look between him and the crossbow confused.
“Shoots since he was a lil’ bastard,” Merle butted in before his brother could muster up a response. “Should’ve seen how many squirrels and bucks he brings back from huntin’.”
There was an uneasy feeling stirring up in your gut, Merle had a plan, and you were almost one hundred percent sure it wasn’t one worth considering. God, you’d give anything to know what silly little idea he brewed up in this empty skull of his. But he put it in motion before any of you could talk him out of it. Seeing the amazement in the brunette’s eyes and the silent understanding between her and her friend—it was too late for you to save the situation.
“You guys have a tent?” The man asked, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. Did you just see the corner of his mouth quirk up?
