I created this blog to practice my writing and to finally get all those endless character scenarios out of my head. English isn't my first language and I tend to be a slow witer, so I appreciate your patience! Constructive comments are always welcome! ♡ Works posted here are also uploaded on my AO3 acc.
─ Content & Style ─ 🪄
Safe for work: I focus on sfw content only (fluff, angst, romance, drama)
Nsfw: I don't write explicit content, so NO nsfw stuff.
Format: Currently writing Character x Fem!Reader. I may explore specific ships or original characters (OCs) in the future.
─ Fandoms & Characters ─ 🪩
While I have written a lot about Daryl Dixon (TWD) lately, this blog is a multi-fandom space! My writing follows whatever I'm currently watching, playing or reading.
I'm looking forward to writing about these fandoms soon:
A/N: This was the first drabble I wrote when I decided to try writing again after a long time. It's almost 2 years old now, or maybe it already is, haha. This version I'm posting here is a revamped one; you can find the original with errors here.
Will has always been a reserved person, always avoiding getting too close to others.
You could say that you had hit the jackpot by being one of the very few people he had let into the "chaos," as he himself called it, that was his life.
To you, he was someone fascinating, despite all the imperfections he claimed to have and the ones you could see for yourself.
From the very beginning of your friendship, a strong desire arose in you to make his life a little more pleasant, a little lighter. Will wasn't much of a smiler, and that became increasingly clear over time. The few smiles he did give were almost always nervous or half-hearted. Once, you even asked him about it, and he simply replied with a quiet:
"I've always had difficulty with this smiling thing... Why?"
What slipped from your lips was a sincere, "I just want to see you genuinely smiling."
A mocking, bittersweet smile was what he gave you in return.
When Jack Crawford appeared in Will Graham's life—and, in a way, in yours as well; you started seeing each other less frequently. On one hand, fewer text messages and rare phone calls remained. In the fleeting moments when you did manage to see each other, Will always seemed exhausted. You knew about his work, about how he did it. That's why, on those occasions, you insisted that if he ever needed you, you would be there. You begged him to go out with you, trying your absolute best to distract him as much as possible.
But he was stubborn, everyone knows that. Whenever you tried to help him, he would only respond with a soft "thank you" and "I have to help them," followed by tired smiles that tried to convince you everything was fine, even though you both knew it was a lie.
Then came Hannibal Lecter. A name that brought discomfort followed by a cold flash of anger every time you heard it. Will had changed upon meeting him. If you could, you would have done everything to keep him away from the psychiatrist, but it already seemed too late.
Every time you and Will met, he seemed less like himself. When he told you about the latest events, you noticed that he would sometimes zone out, looking agitated, with a lost, hollow look in his eyes. But what bothered you the most was that now, the smiles he gave didn't even reach his eyes. They were empty... and becoming emptier by the day.
The first time you saw him at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, tears wouldn't stop streaming down your face. You wondered how things had ever reached this point. It was impossible for him to be guilty as they said; his only problem was that he was sick, he was hurting, and he needed help. These thoughts constantly cycled through your mind. Will tried to calm you down, telling you that he was fine, that they were treating him well there, but nothing could soothe the ache in your chest. Even his attempts to smile and reassure you looked more like quiet grimaces of sorrow than anything else. He felt terrible seeing you like this, crying because of him.
A heavy silence lingered after your tears finally ceased.
"I believe in you, Will Graham. I believe you."
Looking at your face and seeing how deeply you truly believed him, it was Will's turn to cry. Someone believed him. Someone truly believed that he wasn't crazy and that Hannibal Lecter was the one responsible for this living hell.
"I'm going to unmask and kill Dr. Lecter."
A shiver ran down your spine. That was Will's new goal after they finally proved his innocence. He had changed again. But this time, he was darker, a side of him you didn't know how to handle. It felt as though a wall had been built between the two of you. A wall too high and difficult to cross.
The last smile he ever gave you was so dark that you couldn't help but wonder... Where did I fail with Will Graham?
But everyone changes. Time passes.
In those two years and a few months that followed, it was unbelievable to see how much a person could change, a complete night and day. Not only had Will Graham changed, but you had changed too. Now, you were no longer so open or friendly. You felt hesitant to get close to anyone, retreating into a quiet, introverted shell. It felt as though a piece of you had been carved out and taken away when he left.
There wasn't a single day that you didn't think about him, and the fear of never seeing him again became more real with every passing sunrise. Dealing with his new obsession and his return to therapy sessions with Dr. Lecter made the wall between you grow higher and colder, impossible to climb. The visits ended, the messages went unanswered, and the calls ceased to exist.
The bond between you two felt like a ghost from a distant, painful past.
Yet, you still missed Will Graham. You missed the soft smile he wore when he went fishing, the relaxed one when he took his dogs out for a walk, and the shy, breathless smile when your hands accidentally brushed against each other.
All those quiet moments before Hannibal Lecter. Even before Jack Crawford.
One morning, you were awakened by sharp knocks on the door and the ringing of the doorbell. It was far too early for anyone to show up. Your heart immediately began to race.
"Could it be the police saying that he's..."
Those were the thoughts that haunted you. You were terrified of Will either becoming a murderer or being killed himself—mostly the latter.
"I'm coming!" you called out, rushing down the stairs.
Upon opening the door, there he stood. Will Graham.
He had a wide, soft smile on his face, looking completely different from the version of him that had been swallowed by fears and shadows.
The sound of the autumn wind rustles through the forest trees. Leaning against the cold concrete wall, Daryl stares lost into the dark horizon, while the cigarette between his fingers burns slowly.
You finish climbing the metal steps of the ladder slowly, trying not to make too much noise. He doesn't look in your direction, but the slight tension in his body is proof that he knows you're there.
"It's cold out here," you say softly, approaching him with your hands in your jacket pockets. "You've been up here for hours, Daryl."
"Good vantage point," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, heavy with sadness. "Keepin' watch."
"It's Rick and Glenn's shift," you retort calmly, stopping a short distance from him. You look at his profile, the shadows defining his face, weary from the grief of losing his brother, Merle. "You don't need to punish yourself out here."
Daryl finally drops the cigarette to the ground, stomping on it forcefully. "Ain't punishin' nothin'. I just want some quiet. Go back down."
That's his usual defense, the familiar wall he puts up to keep everyone away who tries to get close. All this to avoid being seen breaking down, vulnerable. You swallow the lump in your throat, knowing that forcing him to talk wouldn't do any good, it would only push him further away. Sighing, you take a step to the side, moving away from him.
"My door is always open for you. Please don't close it from your end."
You turn to leave. Before you take the next step towards the stairs, a thick, trembling hand catches you.
Daryl grips the edge of your jacket, his fingertips white from the force. He doesn't look at you; he keeps looking at the horizon, with no intention of letting go of the fabric.
The silence between you lingers, heavy and deep, broken only by the sound of Daryl's shaky and uneven breathing. He couldn't find the words to ask you to stay, but the desperate grip on your jacket said everything he couldn't.
Summary: After years of surviving together, from the ashes of the farm to the safety of the Commonwealth, Daryl Dixon still hasn't learned how to use his words. But after fourteen days of agonizing silence, the walls he built over a lifetime of fear are finally forced to come down.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Genre: established relationship, slow burn (mild), emotional hurt/comfort.
Word count: 2.5
A/N: This oneshot is an indirect continuation of A Fine Line and Worlds Like Grenades. These stories are part of a project I have in mind, which shows a timeline of Daryl and the Reader's relationship. Even though there is a chronological timeline, I won't be posting them in order; I'm just writing the parts that catch my attention the most right now. I will soon update my masterlist with the official name of this project/series and organize everything in the right order. Hope you enjoy it!
The silence inside the apartment is uncomfortable. The white walls, the old furniture, the intact windows; everything seems way too fake. An illusion of what life out there really is, of what he saw, what he lived through. A big lie, just like it was in the beginning in Alexandria.
Sitting on the chair near the window, Daryl sighs. His hands move the piece of flannel in a trance-like motion over the aluminum track of his crossbow. He has already checked the string tension and the alignment of the bolts twice this afternoon alone, but he refuses to stop and put the weapon down. He needs the cold weight of the metal on his fingers. He needs any mechanical distraction that keeps his thoughts from running to the road outside.
Carol took RJ and Dog to get supplies, and Judith is at the community school. Soon she will arrive, slamming the door and throwing her backpack on the table. But until the kids and the dog come back, he has to deal with the suffocating silence of the apartment for a little longer. From one moment to the next, his eyes shift focus from the crossbow in his hands to the open window right ahead, as if searching for someone. The sun is starting to drop, painting the sky and the houses in orange. An involuntary smile tugs at his lips, and he thinks that she is probably standing in some corner out there looking up at the sky, just like she always does at this hour.
He draws a heavy breath, feeling a tightness in his chest. Fourteen days. Fourteen days staring at this damn window and hearing the ghost of your voice echoing in his head. Still fresh in his memory, as if it were today, seeing you walk out of the house and cross the community gates on a mission that, to him, is completely unnecessary.
"What are we, Daryl?"
The question had been left floating in the air. He didn't know how to answer right then. That old habit of freezing in moments like that, made you head out to the road without a word from him. In his head, he wonders why you even asked that. It's obvious to him that you guys are together, ever since all that shit in Alexandria... isn’t it?
Every passing hour, his mind sabotages his sanity, reminding him that the world out there doesn't forgive hesitation. He almost lost you in the farm fire, almost watched you die in the prison's quarantine block... and now, he has let you walk away out of pure cowardice to say what he feels —out of fear of seeing everything fall apart all over again...
The sudden sound of running in the building's hallway cuts through his train of thought. Daryl tenses his shoulders, but relaxes a second later upon hearing Dog's muffled, happy bark outside. The front door opens with a familiar thud. Judith comes in first, her cheeks flushed with her backpack slung over one shoulder, almost bumping into Carol, who comes right behind her balancing a cardboard box with extra supplies, while RJ tries to hold onto the dog's leash. The apartment, which felt like a tomb just moments ago, is instantly swallowed by voices, heavy footsteps, and the sound of Dog's nails clicking against the floor.
"Hey, Daryl!" Judith exclaims, tossing her backpack onto the dining table with her usual carelessness, exactly as he predicted. She looks at the crossbow in his hand and then at his grim expression. "Is Y/N back yet?"
"Not yet, little girl." He gets up, leaving the crossbow and the flannel on the table. He takes the box from Carol's hands and sets it by the sink.
Daryl feels Carol's eyes on him, but they don't say anything. Carol notices the tension and how much he misses you.
"Dinner will be ready soon. RJ, go wash your hands. Judith, help your brother, sweetheart." She smiles at the kids.
Daryl forces himself to participate in the routine. He eats dinner with them on autopilot, answers Judith’s questions about trackin' in the woods, and even shares a piece of jerky with Dog under the table. But his mind keeps drifting back to you.
The hours in the Commonwealth seem to move differently, dragged out and suffocating. Soon, the night falls completely, bringing a quiet chill inside the apartment. Carol says goodnight and heads to her own quarters, and Daryl helps put the kids to bed. He covers RJ, leaves a gentle kiss on the top of Judith’s head, and closes their bedroom door with the utmost care, leaving just a crack of light spilling into the hallway.
The apartment goes back to being a desert.
Without turning on a single lamp so he won't wake the little ones, Daryl goes to take a shower. Something he does more often now because of you; you complain too much when he tries to go to sleep without taking a shower, saying he is going to get dirt all over the clean sheets. As the hot water hits his shoulders, he counts the days on the wet tiles of the wall.
Maybe she’ll get here tomorrow morning, or sometime in the afternoon...
He shuts off the valve, sighing heavily, and puts on some comfortable pants and a dark shirt. Leaving the shower, Daryl walks silently down the hallway and enters your bedroom. The space feels too big and too cold without you here. Dog is already lying at the foot of the bed on his mat. Daryl sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the light, neatly made sheets in the dim light. He rubs a hand over his face, exhausted.
It is already past one in the morning when Dog snaps his head up with a start, his pointed ears pricking up in the dark room. The dog lets out a low, barely noticeable growl and quickly gets to his feet. Daryl freezes on the edge of the bed, his heart giving a violent thud against his ribs. The metallic click of the key turning in the living room lock sounds like thunder in the silence of the night. His fingers press into the sheet tightly. Six seconds pass, the key turns again, and he stands up.
"You still awake, boy... I'm home," Daryl hears your tired but still radiant voice from the hallway.
Daryl stops right at the beginning of the hallway. His blue eyes scan your silhouette from head to toe. Dog circles the two of you, barking happily, and Daryl mutters for him to quiet down. The dog obeys, trotting over to lay down on a cushion in the living room. Daryl leans against the doorframe, watching you, as a massive wave of relief washes over his body.
"You took your damn time" he whispers. His voice comes out rough.
You drop your backpack on the floor with a dull thud and step closer to him, resting your head against Daryl's chest.
"The truck broke down on the way back and we had to walk for miles..." You breathe in his scent. "You smell like soap."
Daryl wraps his arms around you. He buries the tip of his nose in your hair, pulling you tighter into the hug.
"You complain too much 'bout the sheets," he mutters into your hair. "And it's stupid comin' back at night. Shoulda waited till dawn." He lets you go.
"I wanted to get back home right away." You look up at him.
"Still. It was a damn unnecessary risk."
He doesn't want to fight, but he is a mix of emotions ever since you stepped foot outside to go on this mission. He doesn't know if he is pissed off because you doubt your relationship, pissed off because you got back late at night, or because he hadn't been clearer with you before.
"I'm gonna take a shower. "
You brush past him, visibly annoyed, shutting the bathroom door. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, Daryl curses under his breath. Damn it, Dixon. Walking back into the bedroom, he stops in front of the window. The sound of the pipes rattling echoes through the apartment at times. Fourteen days without seeing you, thinking the worst; and the first thing he does when you get back is pick a fight. But what is eating him alive inside is that question. The pipes stop rattling. The shower is over. He bites his right thumb, nervous.
Daryl hears your footsteps entering the room, hears the sound of the drawer.
"Why'd ya ask that?" He doesn't turn around.
" What?"
"Before ya left. Before crossin' that damn gate." Daryl finally turns to face you. "What are we, Daryl? ". Why'd ya ask that again?" He steps closer, noticing your tense posture.
"Because you never say anything, Daryl. You used to vanish before sunrise back in Alexandria, you build walls every single time I try to get too close... I needed to know where I stood before heading out to the road... especially now that we're taking care of Rick's kids."
"Ain't it obvious?"
His voice wavers in a tense whisper so he won't wake the kids in the next room. He holds your face with both hands, his calloused fingers trembling slightly against your soft skin.
"To me, it's always been obvious that we're together. Since all that shit in Alexandria... since always. I ain't good with these fuckin' words, ya know that. I didn't stay quiet to be mean. It was... fear. Just damn fear."
You furrow your brow, touching his wrists.
"Fear of what, Daryl? Of us?"
"Fear of ev'rything falling apart again!" The confession finally comes out in a painful breath, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a second.
"Look back. Think about it... Every time we try to take a step forward, every time I let us get too close, the world comes around and kicks me right in the teeth. Back at the farm, when things were finally gonna happen between us, that fuckin' fire happened. At the prison, when I thought we had a real shot at settling down, the flu and the Governor came along. And Alexandria... Negan showed up and turned ev'rything into hell."
He opens his eyes, and the vulnerability there is almost raw.
"You said you loved me, Daryl" you interrupt him, your voice cracking slightly, remembering that night. "You said it... and then you went right back to acting like normal. Like nothing changed. We live together, Daryl, but we’re stuck in this agonizing limbo, and I'm left drowning in doubt, never knowing what we actually are."
"Because I thought if I stayed quiet, if I pretended it wasn’t a big deal, the universe wouldn't notice ya!" his voice breaks, taking an involuntary step closer. "I thought I’d keep ya safe if I didn't say anything else. This place... this whole Commonwealth thing, it looks pretty, but all I see is another target. I'm terrified it’s gonna fall just like the prison, just like Alexandria, just like everywhere else."
His gaze locks onto yours, the intensity there silencing anything you might have wanted to say. Daryl can see the shock in your eyes, but he can't stop now. The words are pouring out like a broken dam, and he needs to get it all out.
"In every damn place, the world finds a way to take away what I wanna protect the most. But I spent fourteen days starin' at that damn window thinkin' my cowardice made ya leave without knowin'... " He presses his forehead against yours, breath coming hard. "I don't wanna live like this anymore. I wanna change this. I want ya, fuck everything else. If the world's gonna fall apart again, it's gonna fall apart with us together."
You blink, feeling your eyes well up with tears at all that vulnerability he spent years hiding beneath his leather vest. Your hands move up to his shoulders, pulling him even closer, erasing any remaining distance.
"We always find a way, Daryl" you whisper, your voice steady, keeping your forehead pressed against his. "We survived the farm, the prison, and Negan. Together. If anything happens again, we're gonna fight, because that's what we do. I'm not going anywhere."
Daryl chuckles softly at your words, his shoulders finally relaxing under your hands. If it were the old him, he would've called you an idiot, a stupid dreamer, but the him of now sees things differently and has learned to live with your comfort-exuding personality. You slide your fingers up his neck, gently caressing his skin.
"I'm sorry... " you murmur sincerely, looking into his blue eyes. "Sorry for making you so tense, and for leaving like that before the trip. I just wanted some certainty."
"You got it now, " Daryl responds, his voice lower and raspy, his eyes dropping to your mouth. "Don't ya ever doubt it again, ya hear me?"
You nod with a half-smile, and he doesn't wait any longer. Daryl seals your lips in an urgent kiss, yet one filled with a deep tenderness. There is no longer the rush of despair, only the pure relief of having you right there; clean, safe, and in his arms.
His calloused hands slide down your neck, caressing your soft skin as the kiss deepens, slow and warm. Daryl carefully guides you toward the mattress, laying you down on the light sheets he protected so much from the dirt of his patrol clothes.
As he climbs onto the mattress over you, propping his weight on his elbows so he won't crush you, the rustle of the fabric and your heavy breathing are the only sounds left in the room.
For him, that moment holds a weight unlike anything they have ever experienced. In the forest, or in the dark corners of Alexandria, they were always surrounded by a fog of urgency, as if they only had seconds before the world tore them apart again. He always touched you with a hidden haste, wanting to etch your presence into him before any disaster struck.
But here? Here, the silence of the apartment is safe. He feels at peace. He is in no hurry. He watches the way your breathing changes under his touch, how your skin prickles when he leaves a trail of slow, almost reverent kisses along the curve of your neck.
When he lightly pulls your hair, just enough for your body to arch against his, Daryl sees the way your eyes close in complete surrender. That disarms him. He is no longer just the hunter, the protector, or the quiet man; in that bedroom, he is entirely yours.
The scent of soap and the physical contact make the rest of the world fade away completely outside. Inside, in the dim light of the Commonwealth apartment, you are finally home. And this time, he's not gonna run when the sun rises, because he doesn't need anymore.
Daryl was used to being the group's shield. He was the one who went out hunting in the freezing cold and took the watch shift while everyone else slept.
When you started bringing him little gifts, his system completely shorted out. Because for Daryl, receiving things had never been easy. Growing up, "gifts" always came with strings attached or were followed by disappointment. But you changed that logic. You weren’t just giving him objects; you were giving him time, safety, and above all, attention.
🎁 The first gift you gave him was a "new" t-shirt you found during one of your runs. The moment you saw it, the archer instantly came to your mind.
🎁 You remembered how his current one was already covered in bloodstains and had a nasty tear.
🎁 When you found Daryl after getting back, his usual impatient, no-nonsense expression was the absolute best.
"What do ya want?" he grunted.
"Here, this is for you."
"The hell is that?"
🎁 Daryl took the shirt, looking at the fabric with pure skepticism. He stared at the clean material and then at you, with that look of someone trying to figure out where the "trap" was.
"Figured yours was already begging for mercy," you said, giving him a slight smile.
🎁 Daryl grumbled something inaudible, but you noticed his fingers gripping the fabric a little tighter. He didn’t say thank you, but his glare softened for a split second.
🏹 Daryl looked at the folded fabric in his hand and felt a strange knot form in his throat. He wanted to tell her he didn't need charity, that his old shirt was just fine. But as his rough fingers brushed against the soft, clean cotton, it hit him that you had actually noticed the tear on his side. The fact that you had looked at him closely enough to know his exact size scared him more than any herd of walkers ever could.
🎁 The second gift was a handful of crossbow bolts. This was, without a doubt, a huge and dangerous find; Daryl absolutely hated the idea.
🎁 Michonne had called Daryl and you for a quick run to see if you could scavenge anything. The stop in question was a small roadside pitstop. A gas station, a few stores with shattered windows, and some motel rooms upstairs. The place looked like it had been deserted for months.
🎁 But one of the shops caught your eye. A hunting supply store that was apparently looted.
🎁 Daryl had been dead set before heading to the back with Michonne to check the rest of the place: "Stay by the station, right where I can see ya. Don't go wanderin' off." But curiosity and instinct won the round when you peeked through the broken window of that hunting shop. It looked safe enough. Driven by the urge to find something useful, you decided to slip inside.
🎁 The interior was a total mess of knocked-over shelves, dust, and corpses. It was in a dark corner, buried under a pile of debris and two dried-up, decayed bodies, that you spotted it: a thick military canvas bag with the tips of a few crossbow bolts sticking out. An absolute treasure.
🎁 The problem was the rush. As you took a step toward where the bolts were, you slipped, crashing to your knees on something that felt like spilled oil or cleaning chemicals. The knife you were holding slid across the floor, disappearing right under a small table.
🎁 Judging that the bodies there had been dead for months, you ignored the sting in your knees and focused on pulling the corpses off the bag of bolts. That was your mistake. The sudden movement, and maybe your scent, woke up a third walker that was lurking nearby. Before you could even drag yourself backward, the creature lunged and grabbed your leg, its teeth snapping inches away from your boot while you stretched your arm out, in vain, trying to reach your knife.
🎁 Outside, Daryl stopped dead in his tracks. His tracker instincts flared; when he looked back, the station was empty. No sign of you. Before he can even call your name, a loud metallic crash echoed from inside the hunting store—the sound of cans on that small table hitting the floor while you desperately tried to kick the monster away and reach for your knife.
🎁 Daryl burst into the shop like a cornered animal. What he saw made his blood run cold: you on the ground, pinning down the weight of a walker that was seconds away from biting you. In a heartbeat, Daryl lunged. He drove his knife into the creature's skull with so much force that the sound of cracking bone echoed through the room.
🎁 Instead of helping you up gently, he grabbed your arm roughly, yanking you to your feet in one sharp motion. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated from pure panic and adrenaline.
"The hell is wrong with ya?!" he barked, his voice raspy, his chest heaving violently. "I told ya to stay put! Ya don't listen? I look back an' you're gone! Could've got yourself killed in here, dammit!"
With your heart in your throat, you couldn’t find your words at first. Hands shaking slightly, you pulled the
bag out from under the bodies. "I just... I thought you needed the arrows."
🎁 Daryl looked from the bag of bolts to your pale face. The silence that followed was suffocating. His anger didn't fade; it just twisted into a terrifying fear that he absolutely hated feeling.
🏹 To Daryl, those bolts had almost cost your life. The image of you on the ground, unarmed, about to be bitten over a handful of arrows made his stomach turn. He ripped the bag from your hand roughly, shoving it into his pack without a word, and spent the entire hike back walking three paces ahead of you, tense as a tripwire.
🏹 But that night at camp, while everyone else was asleep, you woke up to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. Near the dying embers of the fire, Daryl sat up, inspecting and wiping down each of the new bolts with an almost surgical obsession. When he noticed you were awake and watching him, he didn't look away; he just muttered, his usual scowl gone, but with a cutting seriousness that sent shivers down your arms: "Don't ya ever do that again. My arrows ain't worth your blood."
🎁 The third gift was the simplest of them all, but it was the one that finally shattered the last wall Daryl insisted on keeping up.
🎁 The day was brutal. The oppressive Georgia heat seemed to stick to your skin, and Daryl’s mood was even worse than usual. He had spent the whole afternoon fixing a part on his bike under the scorching sun, sweaty, covered in grease, and visibly frustrated, snapping at anyone who dared get too close.
🎁 That was when he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm and caught sight of you walking toward him. He recognized your stride from a mile away. But what gave it away completely was your expression—that specific look you always had whenever you were hiding something in your hands to give to him.
🎁 His defense mechanism kicked in instantly. Daryl slammed his wrench onto the ground and crossed his arms, locking into a defensive stance before you even stepped in front of him.
"Ain't wantin' no stupid gifts today," he cut you off, his voice gruff and guarded. "Ain't got the patience for it. An' if ya went pokin' around the woods or some old shop again to get some junk, I swear to God..."
🎁 You didn't flinch at his harsh tone. You just took another step forward, cutting his rant short, and opened your right palm.
🎁 There were no bolts, no clothes, no tools there. Resting in the middle of your hand was just a blue stone, perfectly smooth and rounded by the water, which you had pulled from the river while fishing earlier. Daryl stared at your open hand and froze. His mouth hung open just a fraction, his brain completely stalling as he tried to find the utility or the danger in it.
"What... the hell is this?" he stammered slightly, his guard crumbling into dust.
"A stone," you answered simply, letting a soft smile slip. "Found it in the river while fishing. Just wanted to give it to you because I thought it was beautiful... and it’s the exact color of your eyes."
🎁 If a walker had jumped out in front of Daryl right then, he would've been less shocked. He looked from the stone to your face, completely lost for words. He could feel his face burning even hotter as sweat trickled down his neck.
🏹 To Daryl, getting a shirt made sense—it was useful. Getting bolts saved his life. But getting a blue stone just because you looked at nature and thought of him? That was something he didn't know how to process. It didn't come with a catch. It didn't demand him to be the protector or the soldier; it just required him to accept that someone thought he was beautiful enough to be remembered in a moment of peace.
🏹 Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked away while he stood there rooted to the spot for long seconds, his eyes glued to your back. When he finally broke his gaze, Daryl lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. He tucked the stone away with a sacred kind of care into the inner pocket of his vest, right against his chest, and went back to working on his bike, his mind miles away as he felt the weight of that little blue piece changing everything inside him.
✨️ Bonus ✨️
🎁 In the days that followed, you started avoiding Daryl a little bit. Not out of anger, but because his silence after the blue stone had been so heavy that you figured it was best to give the archer some space, afraid.
🎁 You were distracted near the edge of the camp when you felt a rugged presence step up right behind you. Turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with Daryl. He looked incredibly tense, hands shoved deep into his vest pockets, his posture completely stiff as if he’d been rehearsing this exact moment for hours.
"Here," he grunted suddenly, pulling one hand out of his pocket and holding out a closed fist toward you.
You blinked, caught off guard, and held out your hand. Daryl dropped what he was holding into your palm: it was a smooth river stone, but this one had a unique hue that caught the light in a way that perfectly matched the color of your own eyes.
"For the other day. Bein' an ass," he muttered, dropping his gaze to the ground, his face flushing. "Found it by the creek this mornin'... Thought of ya when I seen the color."
🎁 Before you could even process the shock or say a single word, the voice of one of the camp members echoed through the trees, urgently calling your name to help out with some camp chores. You looked toward the shout and then back at Daryl, clutching the stone tightly against your chest.
"I gotta go," you said, beaming at him with the brightest smile you’ve given anyone in months. "Thank you, Daryl. I love it."
🏹 To Daryl, handing over that stone was one of the most terrifying things he'd done since the world ended. He’d spent the whole morning down by the creek, sifting through the gravel with shaking fingers until he found the exact shade that flashed in his mind every time he closed his eyes to sleep. Swallowing his pride and handing it over felt like stripping off his armor in front of an enemy, but seeing that radiant smile you gave him before running off made every single second of panic worth it.
🏹 He walked over to a fallen log near the campfire and sat down, his shoulders finally dropping. Daryl thought he was playing it cool, but the truth was he just sat there, looking completely soft and spaced out, his eyes locked onto your back while you talked to the person who had called you over. Watching you gesture excitedly, still holding his stone tight against your chest, his legendary scowl completely melted away. A faint, genuine smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he bit his inside cheek and looked away, feeling a sense of peace he hadn't known in a long, long time.
Summary: With less than ten minutes of oxygen left and a bleeding bunker, surviving a chaotic race against time was a matter of pure adrenaline. Every suffocating gasp felt like your last, but dragging bodies and locking tanks was the perfect place to anchor a desperate promise—a guarantee that if the world healed, the next shift would be entirely different. Six months later, the cryogenic mist clears to reveal a steady green light on the ceiling, and a dangerously teasing Bauer who has absolutely no intention of letting you back down.
Pairing: Vincent Bauer x Reader (aka sweetheart by Bauer )
Word count: 6.9k omg 😲
Genres: fix it fic, sci-fi, slow burn, dystopian, angst to comfort, partners to lovers,
Notes: After rewatching the movie Air last month, I was so angry at the ending where Bauer died (the first time I saw the movie I gave up halfway through) that I thought: why not write a better ending for Norman Reedus's character?
This Fix It fic took me a long time to finish writing, and then even longer to translate into English 💀. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors.
I used some lines from a script of the movie that I found on a website ♡. I only used Y/N once or three times to identify the reader; throughout the fic, she/you are called by the nickname sweetheart.
I can't believe I wrote all this... I don't think I'll ever be able to do this again haha.
The lights flicker on, the computers beep, and air begins to circulate through the room as the first pod pops open. Bauer wakes up dazed, coughing; with great effort, he pushes himself up, leaning against the equipment for support.
"What a load of crap..." he grunts to himself. It was always both a relief and a torment to wake up in this hole.
The pod in the middle of the room remains sealed, completely silent, while the last one begins to open. On the TV, some old news broadcast plays something he’s heard so many times that he’s completely lost count. Leaning against the middle pod, he crosses his arms and glares at the man in the tank ahead of him.
"You having a nightmare, buddy?"
"Let me out, Bauer."
But he doesn't move a muscle. He just watches Cartwright while his mind drifts back to the last shift. It had been a good shift, a promising one... "Who knows, when the world heals." Her words had been seared into his mind, a promise he genuinely hoped to see come true.
"Bauer..." Cartwright’s voice echoes, muffled.
"You know I can't mess with the system. Take it easy, buddy."
He pushes himself off the your pod, giving the metal two light taps, as if saying "see you later." Finally, the system clicks, releasing his shift partner.
"Why does my pod always take longer than yours?" Cartwright asks, rubbing his neck as he steps out.
Bauer shrugs, walking over to the control panel.
"I don't know. You should leave a note for 'sweetheart' to look into it during her next shift."
"I'll remember that," Cartwright says, walking over to the control panel. "Did you clock in?"
"No. I just woke up seconds before you, man."
He starts getting ready for the shift. Two miserable hours to do the exact same things, and then go back to sleep.
"You might want to hit the bathroom first. If you know what I mean" Bauer says, holding an old Playboy magazine, flipping through the worn-out pages.
Cartwright shakes his head at his partner while scanning the machine report sheets.
"You can go ahead."
Bauer taps his colleague’s shoulder, murmuring a quick thanks. In the bathroom, he flips through the pages and tries to relax, but even looking at the photos of the models, he just couldn't get into it.
"What the hell is this?" he curses under his breath. "Is this a side effect from those sleeping pods or something now?"
He leans his body back against the cold metal wall and sighs, knowing damn well why he’s like this. The only thing running through his mind is you. Your face, your hands, your voice... How he wished he could just open the pod in the middle of the room and touch you. He wished the world hadn't gone to shit, but if it hadn't, he never would have met you.
Just thinking about you made Bauer’s blood pump hard through his body, pooling right between his legs.
"Ah, sweetheart..." he whispers.
Coming out of the bathroom, he notices Cartwright with a worried expression on his face.
"There was a report of seismic activity on the system."
"What?" Bauer asks, finishing adjusting the zipper of his jumpsuit.
"Yeah, an earthquake."
"I know what seismic means. What does it say?" He stops right in front of Cartwright, his posture instantly shifting into alert mode.
"Oh, this is not good." Cartwright shows the system sheets to Bauer.
"Look, if there's any sort of leak down here at all, this place... would be full of poison air from outside. We'd be dead. What else?"
"We should se the tankes and see if everyone is okay."
"Fine. You check on them."
"It's your turn, Bauer," Cartwright looks at him with a weary expression.
"You know they give me the creeps, buddy," Bauer finishes tying his shoes. "Please?"
Cartwright doesn't even bother arguing, only letting out a quiet fine. Bauer leaves the room with his toolkit, glad he doesn't have to look at those sleeping people. What he failed to notice before crossing the threshold, however, was his partner staring at an empty spot beside him, as if he were seeing someone standing right there.
The air lines throughout the levels seemed fine. Bauer made sure to replace a few of them anyway, just to get ahead of the work and avoid dealing with them during their next shift six months from now. While he worked, he occasionally talked to Cartwright over the radio. He felt a chill run down his spine every time he heard his partner murmuring under his breath, sounding as though he were talking to someone else whenever he went down to the tank area.
By the time he returned to the main room, they still had an hour left before they had to return to their tanks and the air supply ran out. Bauer spotted the dartboard and noticed that she had almost hit a bullseye during her last shift; he picked up one of the darts with his name on it and threw, hitting the line right next to the center.
"Almost," he cheers. "I bet I’m going to win this round, sweetheart."
"You guys still haven't finished that round?"
Cartwright enters the room, placing his toolkit on a cabinet.
"Y/N has improved her aim," Bauer says, looking at his partner and then at the chessboard on the small table nearby. "It's your move, buddy," he says, gesturing to the game.
"The tankes are working correctly. No issues." Cartwright looks at the board, analyzing the pieces for a few seconds before making his move, sliding the rook.
Bauer stepped forward, looking down at the terrible mistake his friend had just made on the board, and let out a sarcastic laugh.
"You got six more months to regret that move."
"What? I thought we still had time," Cartwright says, looking up at the clock on the ceiling.
"Nope. We only got fifteen minutes left," Bauer says, putting his headphones away in the locker.
"Did you check the diagnostics?"
"Yeah."
"I'll go prep the sleep cocktails."
Bauer nods at Cartwright. Six more months... he thinks to himself, unzipping his jumpsuit as he heads to the bathroom to change.
"I should’ve brought Miss '79 with me," he murmurs while changing. "I just hope that next time, the air up there is finally back to normal once and for all."
The waiting was getting exhausting. Being stuck in this hole, surrounded by a sea of sleeping people, unable to see the sunlight—it was terrifying. Bauer felt awful just being alive down here, while the ones he was supposed to protect were gone. The lump forming in his throat choked him more with every passing second, especially because next time, he would see you. Someone who didn't know who he really was, and someone he couldn't stop thinking about for the past God-knows-how-long.
Bauer rested his hands on the sink, staring at his own worn-out reflection in the mirror.
"Next time... I'm going to tell her that—"
"Bauer, open the door!"
Bauer is startled by the loud banging on the door.
"Man, give me a second!" he barks.
"I need the extinguisher!" Cartwright screams.
"What?"
"It's on fire, hurry!"
He throws the door open, rushing out the second he hears the word fire. The side of Cartwright's pod was smoking, and flames were already starting to lick up the plastic.
"Shit! How the hell did this happen?"
Bauer runs toward the fire extinguisher mounted on the wall, ripping it off with force. Both men charge at the flames, choking the fire out between blasts of chemical powder and heavy coughing. As the smoke finally settles, the damage reveals itself.
"How the hell are we going to fix this now?!"
Bauer snaps, slamming his palm down hard on the pod's lid. He curses out loud, pulling his arm back as his skin burns. "Shit..."
"How did you do that?" Cartwright steps closer. "Sorry... let me see your hand."
"This? Thanks to your piece-of-shit tank."
His right hand had burned a little when he tried to put out the flame faster than the extinguisher could handle. Cartwright grabs a clean piece of cloth from the counter and pours a little water over his injured hand.
"What are we going to do now?"
Bauer stares at Cartwright, who looks completely lost in the moment, not knowing what to do. He rests his clenched fists on the table, ignoring the stinging pain in his right hand. Suddenly, the lights begin to shut off one by one, and the airflow from the vents starts to dwindle.
"Shit, we're out of air... There's not much left of it."
"What are we going to do? Is there any spare part?" Cartwright questions, frantically searching through the room's drawers.
"This place was built in a hurry, man. You really think they’d leave spare parts behind for us?"
Bauer watches his partner walk over to the photo board, where a map of the facility was pinned, half-hidden among snapshots of friends.
"Of course there must be something around here," Cartwright says, quickly unfolding the map. "There must be an emergency valve or an air line somewhere. We can turn it on and then look for the tank parts."
He is surprised to see Cartwright acting this way—as if he were finally fully present, instead of staring off into space and daydreaming.
"I know which way the emergency line goes," Bauer says, grabbing a flashlight. "Let's check that first before we run out of air and die."
The two of them head out toward the emergency shaft. Bauer climbs into the cramped space first, with Cartwright following right behind him.
"I'll look over here, you check over there."
He goes to the right. Cartwright asks something about it being a red valve, but Bauer yells back saying no, that one is for contaminated air. Checking the valves in front of him carefully, he finally spots one with an emergency air label on it.
"Buddy, I found it!"
Hurrying, he cranks the valve with all the strength he has left. A wave of relief washes over him for having made it.
“Please work...” he murmurs.
"I hope the system responds soon. Let's get back to the main room, Bauer."
💨 💨 💨 💨
"It still hasn't kicked in," Cartwright’s voice comes out tired and drawn.
"Shut up, man. Save your air," Bauer says.
"It would be nice if Y/N were on this shift... she'd know what to do, wouldn't she?" Cartwright says
Y/N.
Bauer swallows hard, staring fixedly at the sealed pod right there in the middle of the room. In all the chaos, he had completely forgotten she was sleeping right there, oblivious to everything. He presses his injured hand against his forehead and glances sideways at his partner.
"Good thing she's asleep. If we're going to die, it's better if she dies in her sleep instead of looking at your shit-scared face."
The two of them laugh, but Bauer meant every word. He would much rather she die like that—beautiful and asleep—instead of with a look of pure panic on her face... he would never forgive himself.
The air in the room went completely still, and the silence between them became deafening. So this is it... I'm going to die like this... Bauer was thinking to himself when the main air pipe rattled twice, and the airflow rushed back in, followed by the lights.
"It worked!"
"It worked!"
The two of them celebrated being alive for just a little bit longer. The clock reset, showing two hours left before the air would run out again. They had exactly that much time to find a way for both of them to go back to sleep and wake up six months from now.
"If we can't find the parts, you're going to have to take a pod from someone on that floor."
Cartwright looked at him in disbelief.
"We can't do that, Bauer. They're important," Cartwright answered him, his tone dead serious.
"Yes, we can. I'm not going to be alone in here, buddy" Bauer says, jabbing his finger into Cartwright's chest.
They cut their argument short when they hear a mechanical sound. Looking back, they watch as a sealed pod begins to hiss and open up. The woman inside starts coughing.
"Shit!"
Bauer rushes to the side of the pod. She's waking up... She wasn't supposed to wake up now. Her eyes open, wide with panic.
"Bauer..." Y/N coughs. "Why..." She lets out another rough cough, struggling to sit up, her muscles still stiff and numb from the cryogenic chill.
"Cartwright?!" she says, looking back and forth between the two of them. "What's going on?"
Even confused, she’s still beautiful, Jesus... Bauer thinks to himself, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He can't help the slight tug at the corner of his lips, a purely genuine reaction to seeing you awake and breathing right in front of him. His eyes trace down and back up quickly; the tank top and light shorts you wore to sleep fit your body perfectly. He takes a deep breath, running his left hand over his face to force himself to focus. A part of him was bursting with happiness just to have you there, while the other half simply had no idea how to explain the absolute shitshow they were currently stuck in.
"Y/N, we—"
"Hold on," Bauer interrupts Cartwright, placing his hands gently on her soft shoulders. "Get dressed, and we'll explain everything, sweetheart."
You step out of the bathroom, pulling up the zipper of your jumpsuit, the weakness from when you first woke up already gone. Your eyes sweep across the control room, taking in the soot stains on Cartwright's pod and the tense expressions etched onto both of their faces.
"What happened here?"
"We had a little issue with the wiring on buddy's tank over here," Bauer says, trying to use the most casual tone he can muster while leaning his hip against the counter, hiding his burned hand behind his back.
You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. The chemical stench of a smothered fire still clings to the walls, and the black soot marks on the pod's acrylic casing don't lie.
"A wiring issue, Bauer?" Your steps are firm as you walk straight over to Cartwright's pod, ignoring his attempt to downplay the situation. "This place smells like melted insulation and chemical fire extinguisher powder."
Your eyes analyze the damage to the wiring panel on the corner of the tank and the charred plastic. That’s when you notice his arm tucked away. You step closer to the blond man and pull his wrist forward, revealing his bandaged palm from the burn.
"And what is this on your hand?" you ask, glaring up at him, though your tone carries a sharp edge of genuine concern.
Bauer looks away, clearing his throat and trying to tug his hand back with a weak grin.
"It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just a little scratch while we were handling the... minor setback."
You gently let go of his hand and look straight up at the countdown timer on the wall.
01:52. Counting down.
"We might be able to salvage the wiring, but the protective plastic? Impossible. We need to find one somewhere in the parts storage... if there actually is any spare left for us." You turn to look at the taller man, your voice mixing disbelief with professional urgency. "What the hell were you two doing while I was asleep?"
Cartwright takes a step back, raising his hands defensively, while Bauer’s eyes fixate on you. He’s half-tense from the lecture, half-fascinated by the way you take absolute control of the room in the blink of an eye.
"We tried... we pulled the emergency air valve from the right duct," Cartwright stammers, pointing toward the ceiling. "The air came back, but..."
"The air came back because the system consumed the mechanical reserve charge," you interrupt him. "There’s a small crack near the pod's panel that we can fix, but this?" You hold up the charred plastic. "Only if there's a spare sitting in some corner of the storage room."
Bauer lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the table.
"Alright, sweetheart. You're the boss. What do we need to do so we don't become just another statistic in this hole?"
He and Cartwright head out to look for the plastic shield in the storage room, leaving you behind to fix the pod's wiring panel.
You don't waste any time. Pulling the toolbox out from under the counter, you sit down next to the pod, facing the panel.
"What a crappy morning..."
With nimble, precise fingers, you start working with a pair of wire cutters and a small putty knife to help strip away the scorched wires. You have to be incredibly careful during this process; if the system detects even the tiniest trace of burnt insulation, the computer won't authorize the restart of Cartwright's pod. Carefully, you isolate the shorted wires, snipping off the burnt ends and splicing the connections back together with high-voltage self-fusing electrical tape. Your hands get covered in soot, and the strain from the uncomfortable position makes your neck ache, but you ignore it.
I just hope they can find that technical plastic. Because if they don't, me messing with this thing won't matter at all, you think to yourself.
"Where the hell is this stuff?" Bauer growls, losing his patience as he glares at the piles of boxes.
"Maybe we're looking in the wrong storage room..."
"I bet they built this piece of shit in a rush and didn't even think about leaving spare parts for insignificants like us..." He lets out a sarcastic laugh, but stops when he catches his partner's expression. Clearing his throat, he adds, "Let's check the other storage room."
The two of them head into the next room. Just like before, they split up among the mountains of boxes, but this time luck is on their side. Both of their eyes light up when they finally spot the technical plastic shield.
"I told you there’d be something," Cartwright says, looking at Bauer with a glimmer of hope.
"Yeah... now let's take this back to sweetheart so she can fix our problems."
The two men walk back into the control room, their spirits lifted. You had just finished repairing the damaged wires. Bauer watches as you stand up, your hands covered in soot and a few strands of hair clinging to your sweaty forehead. So beautiful, and so real, he thinks to himself.
"We found the technical plastic, Y/N," Cartwright says, placing the box on top of his pod.
You inspect the contents of the box along with him. Bauer steps up right next to you.
"Think you can swap it out for this one, sweetheart?"
He speaks right by your ear. He notices the slight shiver running through your body and smirks.
"Of course I can."
You swat his shoulder, and he just smirks, stepping back. Bauer and Cartwright stand a little ways off, watching you fit the new technical plastic into place. Bauer notices just how focused on the task you are. Attentive eyes, delicate yet precise hands, sweat trickling down your neck, the worn-out jumpsuit... a vision of paradise that makes him smile involuntarily.
"There, all fixed."
The look of pure happiness on your face is contagious, and it spreads to him and Cartwright, who share a quick, excited hug.
"You are amazing, sweetheart."
He rushes over to you, scooping you up in a tight hug and spinning you in the air. Cartwright quickly approaches, and as soon as Bauer sets you down, the other man hugs you, thanking you profusely.
"Now we can go back to our regularly scheduled programming. You can get into your pods now, Cartwright and Bauer," you say, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. "I'm going to the bathroom, so... see you both in six months."
"You're not even going to give me a hug?" Bauer asks, feigning a hurt expression.
"Goodbye, Bauer."
You keep walking toward the bathroom, but right before closing the door, you toss the hand towel you’d been using straight at him. Bauer catches the towel before it hits the ground. Even with the soot stains on it, he brings the piece of cloth to his nose, inhaling the sweet scent of you lingering on the fabric.
"I'm going to load the serum and lay down, Bauer. Want me to load the serum into yours before I get in?" Cartwright asks
Bauer takes one last breath of your perfume before turning his attention to Cartwright. He watches his partner carefully prepare the serum for the pod; something deep inside him is bothering him, but he tries to shake it off.
"I'm going first."
He can barely believe the words coming out of his own mouth.
"Are you sure?" Cartwright looks at him, surprised and confused, as Bauer climbs into his pod. "But this is my pod! You don't need to—"
"It's fine. Zip me in," Bauer says, lying down in the pod without even bothering to take off his jumpsuit. "Just keep your eyes open in case anything looks off."
"Alright, starting the process."
Bauer shifts to get comfortable, inserting the serum tube into his nose. The plastic shield inflates around his body normally. He feels his heart race, it’s going to be fine... just like always, he thinks. But the moment Cartwright steps away for a second, the plastic suddenly deflates, and panic sets in. Bauer tries to yell for Cartwright, but his partner doesn't seem to hear him. He tries to move his arms, his hands, but the plastic tightens around him more and more.
Cartwright finally returns but can't pry the plastic open.
"Don't panic, I'm going to find something to cut it!"
Bauer watches his colleague vanish from sight again and gets furious. He tries to break free, but it's impossible. His vision begins to blur, his throat starts to constrict, and his eyes grow too heavy to stay open.
You splash some cold water on your face, taking a deep breath as you lean your hands against the bathroom's metal sink. Finally, the problem was solved. Six more months of sleep, and maybe the next time you woke up, the world outside would be breathable again. Thinking of Bauer and that smug little smirk of his made your stomach flip in a good way, and you let out a silly smile at the mirror before reaching for the doorknob.
But the exact moment you open the bathroom door, the smile dies instantly on your face. You see Cartwright standing with his back to you, and Bauer’s body suffocating under the very plastic shield you had just replaced.
"What the hell is happening here?!"
You sprint toward the pod, freezing in shock for a split second at the sight of an unconscious Bauer. Without a second thought, you scan the area, spotting a pair of scissors left on top of the control panel. You slash through the plastic, using one hand to rip it open to let the air flood in.
"Bauer!"
With a violent gasp for air, he jolts awake, coughing violently. He lurches his body forward into a sitting position. The moment he catches sight of the taller man approaching the pod, Bauer lunges at him, grabbing him straight by the throat.
"Where the hell were you?! What took you so long?!" he snarls, squeezing his throat with brutal force. "Pretty convenient for you, huh? Two pods for three people... Problem solved."
"Are you out of your mind?! That's my pod!" Cartwright chokes out, struggling to break free. "I was trying to find something to cut the plastic!"
"Bauer, let him go! Now!" you scream, grabbing Bauer's firm arms and pulling him back with all the strength you can muster.
Bauer's breath catches roughly, his chest heaving violently, his bloodshot eyes locked onto his partner. Slowly, he releases his grip on Cartwright's neck. Cartwright stumbles backward, coughing and massaging his bruised throat.
"He tried to kill me, Y/N! The bastard locked me inside!" Bauer rages, his voice raw from the lack of oxygen, jabbing his finger in the other man's face.
"I didn't do anything! The system entered a super-vacuum on its own!" Cartwright yells back, his eyes wide with fear.
"The air is going to run out... We only have two working pods and the clock is ticking... its a perfect time to kill someone" Bauer’s voice is full of poison
A heavy silence consumes the tension-filled room. Now, there is only one hour left before the air runs out.
"We're going to have to open someone else's pod..." you say, your voice trembling.
"No!" Cartwright protests. "We can't do that, Y/N."
"I know! But do you want to die? Because I don't, and I don't want either of you to die either." You shout
Bauer looks at the two of you, stands up, and walks straight toward the door.
"Where do you think you're going, Bauer?" The taller man rushes over to block his exit.
"I'm going out there to wake up one of the sleepers," he says, brushing the taller man's hands off his shoulders. "Which one of them is the least important, Y/N?" He looks over at you.
Cartwright is completely incredulous at what he's hearing.
"There has to be another way. Let's just calm down..." He looks between the two of you. "What if we went after that number? There must be another facility nearby!"
"The ABC 108?" You step closer. "Isn't that just a random number?"
"I don't know, but the same number appeared on the registry of the other facilities. They signaled that everything is fine over there."
"But who's to guarantee that everything actually is fine? And how would we even get there?" Bauer says.
To him, it sounds like a suicide mission.
"I'm going to try."
The argument ends with Cartwright putting his foot down. He refuses to sacrifice anyone in the shelter and, in a mix of panic and heroic stubbornness, decides to put on the isolation suit and head out to the surface in search of the ABC 108 facility. Bauer just scoffs, thinking it’s pure idiocy, but he doesn't stop him.
The moment the heavy iron door slams shut behind the other man, a suffocating silence falls over the control room. Now, it's just you and him.
"He's an idiot," Bauer mutters, his voice still a bit raspy from the choking. He leans against the main console table, picking up the radio transmitter. "Hey, buddy. You read me?"
The radio crackles with static for a few seconds before Cartwright’s muffled voice answers through his helmet.
"I read you, Bauer. Just passed through the first airlock. Visibility out here is horrible."
"Just don't go dying out there, man," Bauer says, releasing the radio button with a heavy sigh.
He turns to face you. The red emergency light is still rotating, bathing the metal walls in a crimson glow. He takes a step forward, his eyes locked onto yours. The worry he feels for you is written all over his face; all that casual bravado has completely vanished.
"Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asks softly, stepping close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. "If you hadn't come out of that bathroom..."
"But I did. You're alive, Bauer," you interrupt him, trying to maintain your professional composure even though your heart is still hammering in your chest. Your hands look for something to fiddle with on the console to disguise your nervousness. "I just don't understand... The technical plastic shield was brand new. The pressure system should have held it. There must have been a power surge or a seal failure in the main duct because of the seismic tremors."
Bauer frowns, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes as he leans over your shoulder.
"Doesn't matter what the failure was, sweetheart. The console's emergency protocol should have gone off immediately. Pull up the camera footage from this block. I want to see what Cartwright was doing when the panel started registering the vacuum."
You type rapidly, accessing the security camera feed for the room while the timer ticks down mercilessly.
On the old CRT monitor, the footage shows you walking into the bathroom. Right after, the blonde man lies down in the pod and the plastic inflates normally. Cartwright steps away, walking to the corner of the room, gesturing toward the empty air.
Suddenly, on screen, the plastic violently deflates, crushing Bauer's body. The visual alarm begins to flash on the workbench, right in front of Cartwright. Your stomach ties itself in knots at what you see next. Cartwright hears the warning and looks directly at Bauer fighting for his life. But he doesn't rush to look for anything. He doesn't panic. Cartwright simply takes two steps back, crosses his arms, and just stands there, talking to thin air.
He only moves and fakes his panic, pretending to search for a tool to cut the plastic, the exact second he hears the bathroom doorknob rattle—mere moments before you open the door and catch him in the act.
The radio in Bauer's hand nearly cracks under the brutal grip of his fingers. His face contorts into a mask of pure hatred and disbelief. The accident belonged to the system, but the choice to let his partner die was 100% Cartwright's.
"He didn't try to save me..." Bauer hisses, his voice trembling with fury, his knuckles turning stark white. "The bastard just stood there, watching me black out."
"Bauer?"
He doesn't answer. Bauer just stares at the exact same loop of the footage, feeling his blood boil with pure rage.
"Hey, Bauer, are you there? "
You grab his arm, whispering for him to answer normally.
"...Yeah, I'm here."
"Something's not right..."
"You're telling me," he lets out a sarcastic, bitter laugh.
"This must have happened a long time ago... They're all... dead. They were checked in today, ABC 108 and every other time. We saw it on the system... Do you hear me, Bauer?"
"It's all a lie in the end... Can't trust anyone anymore." He looks straight at you.
Bauer kicks the table and runs a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. The air timer reads 25 minutes left. He turns to face you, arms crossed, his expression deadpan and hardened.
"If that bastard walks through that door, I'm going to end him," the other man says, his voice low and raspy. "I am not giving him a second chance to try and snuff me out. And you are getting into one of those pods, sweetheart."
"Bauer, don't be crazy, we can lock him out or—"
"Listen to me," he interrupts, stepping forward. His tone isn't sweet; it's dead serious, almost aggressive from the adrenaline. "We don't have time for a perfect plan. Before I took this piece-of-shit job, before the world turned into this smoke-filled hell... I had a life out there. A wife, kids."
You freeze. It's the first time he has ever spoken about his past.
"And I couldn't save a single one of them," he spits the words out, an ancient bitterness bleeding into his voice. "I walked through that blast door and I left them behind. For years, I've been waking up in this bunker thinking I had nothing left to lose. That's why I put up with Cartwright, that's why I deal with this damn routine..."
"But things changed, long before you promised me that. I've spent the last few months watching you fix this shoddy wiring, complaining about the food, trying to keep this place standing... and I realized I don't want to see you die in this hole. If one of us has to stay behind to make sure the other gets to the surface when this smoke clears, it's going to be me. I will take Cartwright to hell with me if I have to, but you are going to live. Do you understand me?"
"...I'm coming back," Cartwright's voice cuts through the radio.
You shake your head, your eyes wide before the sheer coldness of his words. The mere thought of leaving Bauer to die in here with Cartwright makes your chest tighten in an unbearable way.
"I am not letting you do something this stupid, Bauer," you say, your voice firm despite the tremor in your hands. "We are getting out of here together."
Before he can retort or stop you, you take a step back and retreat toward the adjacent medical room. Bauer doesn't have time to chase after you; he turns toward the entrance, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.
"I'll be waiting," Bauer mutters.
In the medical room, under the dim light, your hands move on pure instinct. You open the metal first-aid case, searching for the heavy-duty sedative vials, the anesthetic used for cryogenic psychotic breaks. With trembling fingers, you draw the liquid into a large syringe, knowing this is the only chance to stop the madness about to unfold.
As you push the air out of the needle, the shouting begins in the next room.
"Guess where I found this?" The blonde man holds up a pair of pliers.
"I don't know, where?" Cartwright says, setting his helmet on the floor.
"In the toolbox, where I put it. And I remember putting the toolbox... right next to your sleep tank, within easy reach." Bauer paces back and forth while Cartwright watches him, tense.
"Okay, so what is your point?"
"Yeah, I couldn't believe it either... so I checked the video recording." Bauer pulls a gun from the back pocket of his jumpsuit.
"Just a minute, let's talk about this."
"Don't bother."
You flinch as the loud crack of a gunshot echoes, followed immediately by the sound of a door throwing open.
"Where do you think you're going, you son of a bitch?!" Bauer’s voice roars, brutal and dripping with pure hatred.
You rush out of the medical room with the syringe firmly hidden in your jumpsuit pocket, but the control room is completely empty.
They went to the pod bay...
As you race down the metal steps toward the cryogenic pavilion, the scene before you is terrifying. The echo of the gunshot is still ringing in your ears. Cartwright is cornered between the rows of pods, one hand pressing against a grazing bullet wound, his eyes locked onto the predator advancing on him.
Bauer raises the pistol, the barrel pointed directly at Cartwright's face.
"Which one?" Bauer growls, his raspy voice echoing off the cold walls. "Which of these pods is hers, Cartwright? Tell me!"
"Don't do this, Bauer! Please!" Cartwright begs, taking a trembling step back, his spine pressing against the fogged glass of one of the tanks.
Before Bauer can pull the trigger, Cartwright throws himself forward with everything he has left. The impact slams both men against the pipes. A brutal, clumsy brawl breaks out right then and there. You hear the thud of bodies, the sickening sound of teeth clashing, and the screech of metal. In the chaos, Cartwright manages to grab Bauer's wrist and forces his hand against the sharp edge of the console. The pistol slips from Bauer's fingers, skittering across the iron floor and plunging into the darkness beneath one of the catwalks.
Bauer curses, throwing a punch that sends Cartwright reeling back. Cartwright stumbles but manages to steady himself by catching the edge of one of the pods.
You move closer through the dim shadows, the sedative syringe held firmly in your right hand, waiting for the exact right moment to intervene without Cartwright spotting you.
Bauer charges again to pin him down, but your eyes far more trained to the bunker's subtle details catch something the mechanic missed. Cartwright's left hand is hidden behind his back, camouflaged in the shadow of his own body. Between his trembling fingers, the faint emergency light catches the glint of a needle. A stolen vial of morphine. He is going to try and knock Bauer out for good.
The second Cartwright swings his arm forward, ready to drive the needle into the distracted mechanic's back, you strike like lightning.
Bursting from the darkness of the catwalk, you grab Cartwright’s shoulder with brute force, yanking him backward. Before he can even process what is happening, you plunge the heavy sedative syringe straight into the side of his neck, shoving the plunger all the way down.
He freezes. His eyes widen as they lock onto yours, a mix of pure shock and betrayal. The morphine syringe slips from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor. Cartwright tries to stammer your name, taking a stumbling step forward. In less than three seconds, his knees buckle, and his body collapses heavily onto the metal floor, completely knocked out.
Silence reigns over the pavilion once more, broken only by Bauer's ragged, violent breathing. He looks down at his partner's limp body and then raises his eyes to you. With his hair clinging to his sweaty face, he stares at you in total shock.
"Are you okay, Bauer?"
You step closer to the blonde mechanic, who remains frozen.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he lunges forward, catching your face in his hands for a swift, urgent kiss. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours for a long moment, his hot breath brushing against your skin.
"You are completely out of your mind, sweetheart..." he whispers, his voice raspy, his eyes locked onto yours with a mix of retroactive panic and sheer awe. "That was way too dangerous. Thank you. If you hadn't been here..."
"I am here," you interrupt him, placing your hand over his chest, feeling the mechanic's heart hammering furiously against his ribs. "But the air is still running out. We have to move him. Now."
Bauer swallows hard and nods, reclaiming his usual pragmatic composure. He looks down at the unconscious Cartwright on the floor, and then toward the rows of pods.
"Which one, sweetheart?"
You move quickly between the rows, scanning for a profession that seems less vital... at least for now.
"How about this one? He's an astrophysicist..."
"I don't know what the hell he does, but it doesn't look like we're going to need that anytime soon."
"Right!"
You open the tank, whispering a soft "I'm sorry" as you administer the morphine syringe. Bauer comes over, dragging Cartwright's limp body toward the pod where you are waiting. Together, you pull the scientist out and hoist Cartwright inside the tank, making sure the pod's air supply tube is still functioning properly before sealing it shut.
Bauer gives the glass two light taps, staring down at his now-harmless partner.
"Sleep tight, buddy. See you next shift."
He turns to you, reaching out his hand to pull you toward your own pods that are still waiting in the center of the control room. The master timer runs relentlessly: less than ten minutes of air remain.
The metal steps feel steeper as you sprint back up to the main control room. Every single gulp of air entering your lungs burns, heavy and scarce. On the ceiling, the digital timer flashes a stark, vivid red, melting away the bunker's final minutes of oxygen.
You both stop, panting heavily between the three central pods. The middle one—yours—and the one on the right stand open, waiting like technological metal coffins. The silence that settles over the room is heavy.
Bauer turns to you, his breath short, his chest heaving rapidly. His blue eyes, usually so full of snark and bravado, now carry a deep, silent promise.
"See you in six months, sweetheart," he says, his raspy voice cracking from exhaustion, but his lips trace that same smug, half-smirk you’ve come to love.
"See you in six months, Bauer," you reply, your heart hammering so violently against your ribs it feels like it’s echoing off the iron walls.
You take a step toward your "bed," but the sheer urgency of everything you survived during this shift speaks louder. Before stepping into the pod, you spin around abruptly, closing the distance between you. You grab the collar of his jumpsuit, pulling him into a brief, firm kiss; one packed with unspoken meaning. It is your way of saying stay alive, your personal guarantee that the next shift will be different. Bauer blinks, caught off guard, and his smile widens, his eyes gleaming.
You climb into the tank and lie down, settling into the life-support tubes. You watch as Bauer steps into his own pod right beside yours. The computers emit their final, sharp beep.
The technical plastic inflates perfectly around your bodies, bringing with it the biting cryogenic chill that begins to numb your muscles and slow your thoughts. The digital display starts its countdown. One by one, the control screens go dark, the computers fall silent, and total darkness swallows the bunker.
Until the next shift.
💨💨 💨💨
The lights flicker on. One of the pods opens. Once again, Bauer is the first to wake. He pulls the oxygen tubes from his nose the moment the protective plastic releases him. This time, he is in no rush to get up; he simply lets his eyes adjust to the light, waiting for the mental fog to clear. The memories from six months ago rush back all at once, making his heart race. But before panic can truly set in, a sound echoes through the room. Bauer watches as your pod's lid lifts and steam escapes—you are awake.
He finally moves, sitting up and waiting for you to stir. A smile tugs at his lips as he watches your familiar agitation upon opening your eyes, a complete sense of déjà vu. Bauer watches you turn your head toward him, your expression melting into pure relief.
"Morning, sweetheart," he says, climbing down and walking slowly toward your tank. "Hope you slept well."
You offer a weak smile.
"Morning, Vincent."
The use of his real name seems to shatter the very last metal barrier of that bunker. Bauer doesn't waste another second. He reaches out, helping you sit up on the edge of the pod, and pulls you into his arms with an urgency that makes your heart leap.
This kiss is completely different from the last one. It doesn’t carry the panic of impending death, but rather the absolute certainty that you both survived. It is intense, deep, and needy, his hands tangling in your hair while the warmth of his body drives away the lingering cryogenic chill that still numbed your muscles. You only break apart when your lungs beg for air, foreheads resting against each other as you both pant, foolish smiles breaking across your lips.
Bauer gently strokes your shoulder, his gaze bright, but something behind you catches his attention. His blue eyes widen slightly, and his smile expands even further.
"Sweetheart... look over there," he says, gesturing with his chin toward the main ceiling panel.
You turn around, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, and your chest swells with an indescribable joy. The surface atmospheric sensor light, which had spent years flashing a hostile, bloody red, now glows a steady, crystal-clear green.
The air outside is clean. The world has finally healed.
"We made it..." you whisper, your eyes welling with tears. "It's over, Vincent."
"It's over," he agrees, giving you one more quick kiss before pulling back. "But wait a minute... that means..."
"The staff downstairs! And Cartwright!" you finish the thought, adrenaline surging again, but this time for a wonderful reason.
The two of you leap from your pods and sprint side by side through the metal corridors, racing down the steps toward the cryogenic pavilion. As you burst through the door, the scene before you is the very definition of a new beginning. The tanks are all open, the cold mist rolling thick across the floor. And there, in the middle of one of the rows, Cartwright is on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably as he tightly holds his wife; who is finally awake, blinking in confusion but tenderly cradling her husband's face. All around them, the other scientists and researchers are beginning to stand, talking and looking at one another in a daze.
Leaning against the doorframe, Bauer watches the scene with his arms crossed. There is a mix of relief and lingering fear in his eyes, but he quickly tries to push the latter from his mind. He gently pulls you by the waist, flushing his body against yours from behind, and whispers close to your ear in a raspy, dangerously teasing tone.
"You know something, sweetheart? Everyone is awake, the world is saved... and I just remembered you have a promise to keep to me about this shift."
Your cheeks burn instantly, your face flushing completely red as you vividly recall that conversation from six months ago about when the world heals. But you are not going to back down now.
Spinning around in his arms, you slide your fingers along the collar of his worn jumpsuit and flash your best confident smile.
"Of course, Vincent. I always keep my promises."
Without giving him a single second to counter, you grip his hand firmly and pull him hurriedly back toward your control room, walking with absolute resolve straight toward the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind you.
You felt him glance over at you. His blue eyes were worried and intense, but you avoided meeting them.
"I don't care what they're saying about me," you said suddenly.
Daryl nodded.
"They weren't there," you murmured. "I did everything I could."
"I know ya did."
"It's not my fault," you whispered. "I almost didn't come back alive either. And they're all acting like I'm the one who pulled the trigger." You voice was constricted as your throat tightened with emotion. "They're all acting like they'd deal with it better if I'd died too."
"Hey," Daryl interrupted. "Fuck 'em. We dun need 'em," he growled. He sighed heavily and looked back out into the night. The bruising on half your face was still obvious even in the low light. "Ya got me. Fuck the rest of 'em. They're clueless."
You sighed again and finally glanced over at the archer. "You're all I need, Daryl. I'll be alright."
Prompt: "I don't care what they're saying about me."
Summary: In the dark of the night, he pulls you close. In the harsh light of morning, his pride pushes you away. But when the countdown begins and the blast doors start to seal them, Daryl's tough-guy act completely vanishes. Because if the world is going to blow, he’s getting you out alive —or dying trying.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader
Genre: fluff, slow burn, comfort, angst
Word count: 1.1
Warnings: brief mention of toxic family environment/abuse, canon-typical violence/explosions, mild swearing.
He felt his body lighter than usual. The hallway's air conditioning, now refreshing due to the alcohol in his blood, didn't bother him as much as when they first arrived. The windowless walls and the industrial air of the place made him claustrophobic.
Daryl walked slowly down the bedroom hallway, his boots feeling heavier here on the floorboards than they ever did in the woods. Instead of entering the room the doctor had offered him, he stopped by the door, leaning against the wall. Only the low hum of the air vents filled the space. He stared down the empty hallway, thinking, his head heavy from fatigue and the drinks. Without Merle’s chaotic shadow telling him what to do or how to act, his own mind had been running too fast lately. He thought that despite the horrors out there, a part of him still preferred the woods over a charming little cubicle that felt more like a trap. He thought about Merle, wondering where that tough bastard could be... especially without one of his hands. And he thought about you.
About how your eyes had started crossing paths with his, at the quarry without an ounce of fear. You looking for edible berries and checking the fish traps. The smiles you’d give him in the morning, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the camp. In those moments alone, away from the group, Daryl didn't feel that constant urge to snarl and fight. He felt like you could see him beyond the rough facade of a Dixon, like you knew he wasn't just like his brother... And to Daryl, that was dangerous...
The sound of a door opening caught his attention. Daryl turned his head toward the noise and saw you.
With your hair wet, wearing a shirt and your legs bare, he swallowed hard. The dim hallway light illuminated your figure at the far end. Your eyes met. You looked serene, secure.
Daryl noticed you approaching him, taking your time. You didn't say a word, just looked at him and then down at your own hands. Only now did he notice you were holding something. In your hands was a bottle of water and two aspirin pills.
"Figured you'd be needing this, after all that alcohol," you said softly, your voice a complete contrast to the hum of the vent and the chill of the hallway.
" I don't need a babysitter." Daryl looked at your hands and then up at your face, but he reached out to your hand anyway. His thick hand and rough fingers brushed against yours as he took the bottle and the aspirins. That tiny spark of contact made his blood run hot. "Thanks," he muttered, swallowing the pills.
The two of you stood there, close to each other. Daryl could feel the warmth and the scent of shampoo radiating off you, while you caught the scent of alcohol mixed with the woods clinging to him. The moment was cut short by the sound of a door slamming and hurried footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway. Daryl immediately stepped into a defensive stance, blocking you with his back. Shane walked past, agitated and huffing, clutching the side of his face with a scowl of pain. Two seconds later, Lori appeared, pale and shaken. Her eyes caught Daryl's, and the fear in her face was unmistakable; her hands trembled as she opened the door to her and Rick’s room and vanished inside.
He just stood there, watching without a word, but his jaw clenched hard. He’d seen that exact routine too many times growing up in a house with an aggressive, abusive father. The alcohol in his system suddenly felt heavy, making his stomach churn.
"...Daryl?" you called softly, touching his arm.
Daryl blinked and turned to look at you, but his gaze had shifted. It was sharper, guarded by what he’d just witnessed.
"Ya oughtta be in ya room," his voice came out sharp, raspy, as he took a step back, pulling away. "Ain't supposed to be walkin' around dressed like that. This place is a damn rat trap with folks losin' their minds."
You crossed your arms, unfazed by his tone. "I can take care of myself, Daryl. And Shane doesn't scare me."
His jaw locked the second the words left your mouth. His blood boiled with pure irritation now. To him, this was no time for you to be playing brave and tough when you were cornered in this place with people with alcohol in their veins.
Daryl lost the little patience he had left. To prove just how naive you were being and that he was right, his thick hand snapped around your wrist in a swift motion, not to hurt you, but with an unquestionable firmness. With a rough shove, he finally threw open the door to the room he had been avoiding all night. Daryl pulled you inside and slammed the door shut, leaving the dim hallway and the hum of the AC behind.
In the gloom of the bedroom, lit only by the faint moonlight, he didn't let go of your wrist. He took a step forward, pinning you against the wall. His breath brushed right against your face.
"How 'bout now?" Daryl whispered, his voice raspy as he stared intensely into your eyes. "Ya scared now?"
You didn't flinch. Even with your back pressed against the wall and his chest nearly brushing yours, you held his gaze in the dark. Slowly, you raised your free hand and touched his arm, feeling his muscles tense like steel cables.
"No," you answered, your voice steady yet soft. "I'm not scared of you, Daryl."
The answer hit him like a heavy blow. Daryl caught his breath, his heavy breathing faltering for a second. That was the last reaction he expected. He wanted a fight, wanted you to pull away or hit him just so he could prove to himself that he was a dangerous monster who drove everyone away and that you're wrong. But you stayed right there, reaching into his chaos.
Slowly, the grip of his hand on your wrist loosened. His rough hand slid down, releasing you, and Daryl took a step back, running a hand over his face with an exhausted sigh. The weight of the alcohol and his own memories seemed to crash down on his shoulders all at once, leaving him terribly tired.
"Ya too damn stubborn, y'know that?" he grumbled, staggering toward the twin bed in the room.
He let his crossbow drop beside the bed and collapsed onto it on his back, without even taking off his boots. Daryl stared up at the dark ceiling, one arm thrown over his eyes.
You walked silently to the side of the bed. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by his heavy breathing. Kneeling beside the mattress, your elbows resting on the edge, you watched him.
"I'm going back to my room," you said softly, your voice gentle but firm. "Just wanted to make sure you took the pills."
The second the word going floated into the air, his arm yanked off his eyes in a sudden jerk. The silent terror of being left alone with his own demons in that cubicle spoke louder than any Dixon pride.
Before you could even make a move to stand, his large, calloused hand moved fast. His rough fingers slid along the side of your neck, burying themselves firmly into your hair, still damp from the shower. The grip was rough, but it carried a desperate urgency. He pulled you upward, bringing your face mere inches from his.
For a second, the world stopped. His mouth was millimeters from yours, his warm, alcohol-scented breath fanning over your lips. But Daryl didn't push for a kiss. It still felt too dangerous, too intimate for him to handle.
Instead, he tilted his head to the side, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sweet, clean scent of your shampoo.
His grip on your hair softened into an almost imperceptible caress, his large fingers cradling the back of your neck as if he were anchoring himself in the middle of a storm.
"Stay, Y/N," he whispered your name against your skin, his voice so raw and low.
You blinked, your heart hammering against your ribs. He had called you by your name for the very first time. The surprise left you frozen for a second, especially because Daryl Dixon never asked for anything from anyone. Slowly, you pulled your face back just enough to look into his eyes in the dark.
"Are you sure, Daryl?" you asked in a whisper, wanting to give him a chance to back out if his pride got the best of him.
Daryl let out a heavy breath through his nose, his fingers still loosely tangled in your hair, refusing to let you go completely. He averted his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
"Ain't lettin' ya walk out there with Shane prowlin' around," he grumbled, his rough voice trying to sound purely practical. "And I ain't gettin' up to walk ya back to ya room. My head's splittin' open."
A soft chuckle escaped you at his excuse, knowing exactly how to read between those harsh words. "Alright," you gave in quietly.
Before you could even think about how to get comfortable, his arm wrapped around your waist with a possessive tightness and pulled you in. The twin bed at the CDC was narrow, way too small for a man his size, which meant there was no room for hesitation. When you lay down, your body fitted perfectly against his.
Daryl turned onto his side, pulling you flush against him until your back was pressed to his chest. His heavy arm rested over your waist, holding you there as if you were the only real thing left in that scientific nightmare. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the texture of his shirt against your back, and his breathing, which slowly grew deep and steady against your neck. The scent of wood and alcohol mingled with your clean shampoo, filling your senses. Tucked tight into that small bed, the world outside seemed to fade away.
When you woke up in the morning, his side of the twin bed was already cold. Daryl was gone.
After getting dressed, you walked out to the common area where Dr. Jenner was serving breakfast. The mood among the group was normal, free of the shadows of what had happened the night before. You spotted Daryl sitting in a far corner, sipping coffee, his defensive scowl firmly back in place as if the last few hours had never happened.
You approached carefully, holding a mug, and tried to speak to him quietly. "Hey... is your head feeling any better?"
Daryl didn't even look you in the eyes. He turned his face away, his posture rigid.
"I'm fine," he spat the words, his voice cold and sharp, a tone that made it crystal clear he didn't want you near. "Go eat with the others. Quit crowdin' me."
The senseless hostility stung, but you knew his defense mechanism. He was pissed at himself for letting his guard down last night, for letting you see the man behind the wild Dixon facade. Before you could answer or push further, the entire atmosphere shifted drastically.
The last gulp of coffee went down bitter, matching the regret pooling in his gut. Daryl stayed seated over there away from the rest, watching you stand with the group. He knew he’d been a total prick to you just minutes ago. But the moment daylight hit that room, it brought back the crushing weight of who he was: a Dixon. A rough, broken piece of trash who didn't know what the hell to do with the memory of his own fingers buried in your damp hair, or the sound of your quiet voice saying you weren't scared of him. Vulnerability terrified him way more than the monsters outside. So, he snarled, pushed you away, and put his walls right back up.
But fate didn't give a damn about his pride.
In a flash, the ceiling lights started flickering, draining the color from the room. The blast doors began to slide shut, like the whole place was sealing itself up. Daryl bolted to his feet, his right hand instinctively reaching for the stock of his crossbow. On the massive central screen, violent red numbers started ticking down fast in a countdown. The generators were dying. The AC that had been suffocating him just cut out completely.
The group's panic hit the walls. Shane started screaming like a madman, Rick’s voice echoed demanding answers from that crazy doctor, and Lori was yelling for the kid. Daryl felt his chest tighten; the scientific trap he’d been dreading was finally snapping its jaws shut on 'em.
Gotta get out. It was the only primitive thought left in his head.
The doctor finally gave in, and the heavy thud of the metal latches opening on the emergency exit was the cue. The group stampeded, trampling over each other toward the sliver of light. Daryl moved among the first, his eyes locked on the exit, but his tracker instinct—that damn internal clock that only seemed to work for keeping tabs on you—made him look over his shoulder to make sure you were right behind him.
The hallway was empty.
His stomach dropped into a massive, freezing void. He saw Carol pulling the girl, he saw Glenn, he saw the others... but he didn't see you.
"Where is she?" he muttered, his blue eyes scanning the panicked crowd in sheer desperation.
"Daryl, we gotta go! The door's closing!" Shane yelled, his heavy ex-cop hand slamming onto Daryl's shoulder to shove him toward the exit.
Shane’s touch was the breaking point. The terror that you’d given up, that you’d chosen to stay behind with Jacqui, Andrea, and Dale in this godforsaken place to die, blew away whatever damn sanity the hunter had left. He wasn't leaving you. Not if he had to tear this whole building apart with his bare, calloused hands.
"Get the hell off me!" Daryl roared, driving a violent elbow straight into Shane’s chest, sending the man stumbling back.
Without looking back and tuning out the group yelling his name, Daryl bolted back into the darkness of the CDC. The adrenaline was pounding so hard in his temples he could practically hear his own heart hammering.
Where are you? Why'd ya run off?
He rounded the corner of the metal corridor in long, heavy strides, chest heaving, and that’s when his world finally caught its footing again.You came running from the opposite direction, eyes welling with tears, your face pale. You didn't want to die here. You were trying to get out.
The relief was so violent it almost knocked the wind out of him. Daryl didn't slow down; he charged forward like a piece of shrapnel straight toward you, and before you could even dodge or say a word, his thick hand clamped around your wrist—again. The grip was tight, rough with the sheer force of desperation, his calloused fingers locking onto your skin with a possessive need he’d never shown before.
"I thought you..." his voice cracked, choked by the panic still scratching at his throat, but he swallowed the rest of it. Didn't matter what he thought. You were here now.
Daryl gave a sharp tug, yanking you behind his broad back in one clean motion, using his own body like a blast shield against the dark corridor. He started running back toward the exit, dragging you along, refusing to loosen his grip on your wrist by even a fraction of an inch.
Over the deafening roar of a distant explosion, he glanced back for a split second, his intense blue eyes locking onto yours, laying bare every bit of truth he’d tried to hide at breakfast.
"Stay close to me!" he bellowed, his raspy voice echoing off the metal walls. "I ain't leavin' ya in here! Move!"
The tough-guy act was completely gone. If this place was going to blow in a matter of minutes, Daryl Dixon only had one truth burned into his soul: he was gettin' you out of there alive, or he was gonna die tryin'.
First of all, I want to thank everyone for the love that "words like grenades" and this one (I still need to name it) have received since the day I posted them here. ♡ This makes me very happy, even more so because I wrote them at a time when I was experiencing writer's block and i have to push myself to get out of this.
In the last few days, I've had many ideas to write about Daryl and Bauer (Norman's character in the movie Air). and i have already started to write some of them.
So I hope to post them here soon when work allows. Thank you so much for your support, and have a good week everyone! 🩷
