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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Words: 5,818

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Reader pronouns: she/her

Era: the Whisperers

Warnings: language (lots of swearing always haha), typical TWD violence

Summary: Daryl finds himself in a tight spot in the woods when walkers are suddenly behaving in ways they shouldn't.

A/N: This is the first part of a news series! Thanks for joining me on another new adventure.

“How was it?” Carol asked, catching sight of Daryl as he came in.

The archer shrugged. “Got somethin’. Deer. Ain’t much. Was pretty scrawny, but better than nothin’. Dropped it off at the pantry,” he drawled. He hesitated and she saw it immediately.

“What is it?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

Daryl shook his head and shrugged again. “I dunno. S’weird. I felt like somethin’ was watchin’ me out there some of the time.”

She leaned heavily on the counter, a tight frown growing on her face. “Something?”

“Or someone maybe,” Daryl said with a shrug.

The worry lines on her forehead deepened. “Well, did you see any sign of anybody out there? How close were you to here, to Hilltop?”

Daryl hauled his crossbow off his shoulder and shrugged. “I didn’t see shit. And I was a ways off but not far enough. Close enough that if somebody is out there, they’d probably stumble their way here eventually. Made sure nobody could follow me back but—” He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously. “I dunno.”

Carol looked worried and her eyes drifted to Henry where he stood with Alden and Earl, already starting his blacksmith training.

Daryl reflexively reached for his knife in its sheath, meaning to check the sharpness of the blade. He swore when his hand grasped at air. “Fuck!” he growled.

“What is it?” Carol asked.

Daryl sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, annoyed. “I must have left my knife out there… Prob’ly set it down after I gutted the damn deer. There were walkers comin’ and I was in a hurry.” He sighed heavily again. “Shit. I’ll go back for it tomorrow. See what else I can see out there. I can’t shake the damn feeling somethin’ was out there.”

Carol nodded, her brow still furrowed.

“Ya heard anything from Michonne? How’re the kids?” Daryl asked.

Carol’s expression dropped. “Haven’t heard. We’re still… not talking. She’s keeping Alexandria closed off.”

“Mmm,” Daryl hums, swinging his crossbow back up on his shoulder. He was about to go on, but Tara, Jesus, and Aaron come running up. They exchange greetings and hugs before Daryl excuses himself to find some place to crash with Dog for the night.

Carol puts her arm around Henry’s shoulder as they watch him wander toward the barn. “I guess he’s not so bad,” Henry comments. “Henry!” Carol scolds him, but she can’t help laughing a little herself.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning Daryl woke early like usual, plagued by the same old restlessness that never seemed to have a cause or a cure. He wanted his damn knife back, and that nagging feeling was still bothering him, like a tickle at the back of his brain, some itch he couldn’t reach to scratch. That feeling he had been watched the day before. He assembled his gear, grabbed a spare knife, and set off beyond the walls of Hilltop and back into the woods, retracing his route from the day before.

It was easy to retrace his steps. Even if he hadn’t known the woods like the back of his hand by then after his six years of wandering, the circle of vultures and noisy cawing of ravens squabbling over the gut scraps of the carcass drew him. He prepared himself in case there were walkers feeding too. He found the gut pile easily and started to search the ground nearby for his knife. He felt through the leaf litter and kicked over sticks and through nearby bramble but his search was initially fruitless. Did the damn thing sprout legs? What the hell… It wasn’t until he stood up in frustration and really scanned his surroundings that the glint of something silver caught his eye.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as they landed on the metallic object. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and stood on end. He found himself carefully surveying the entirety of his surroundings again, straining his hearing for any sound of movement, squinting into the shadows cast by the large trees overhead. He cautiously approached the nearby tree trunk, watching where he placed his feet, waiting for someone to pounce like this was a trap and he was the mouse going for the cheese.

His knife was hanging from an arrow shot into the trunk of a huge oak, dangling from a leather strap. Daryl carefully slid it off and inspected it. It looked just as it had the day before, except for the addition of the makeshift loop in order to hang it from the arrow. Oh—and it had been sharpened? The blade was honed to perfection. And the arrow was something else… He grabbed and pulled on the shaft, but the head broke off and remained buried deeply in the tree. He could tell, however, that it had been handmade. The fletching was of stiff, black, glossy feathers with a slightly iridescent sheen. He spun the shaft between his fingers and watched the way the light shone on them, shifting from plum to emerald to shining sapphire blue and then back to deep night. He glanced over his shoulder, frozen, listening.

He didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but he knew one thing for certain now; he wasn’t imagining that feeling of being watched. But who was watching and why would they bother to hang a found knife in case its owner returned? Most people would have considered it a good find and kept it for themselves. He maintained it religiously as a rule. It was in perfect condition. Not that he was complaining… but it seemed fucking peculiar.

As he turned toward home, a raven let out a series of raspy croaks overhead and took flight. The wood was so quiet that Daryl could hear the wind through its wings as it flapped past and wheeled upwards, disappearing into the canopy of the craggy trees.

Daryl began to slowly search the area for any sign of someone, but was surprised and even more perplexed when he couldn’t seem to find a leaf or twig out of place. Not even a damn partial footprint… an impression in the ground. Nothing. The archer scoured the area thoroughly for the next couple hours, knife back in its sheath and the mysterious arrow shaft with its inky black fletching clutched in his right hand. He kept his eyes open for game, but it seemed to be making itself as scarce as clues were. There were seemingly endless game trails, old and new, and he walked them as systematically as he could. It was the easiest way to get around. Step off to either side and the blackberry brambles and vines would tear at your clothes and skin, biting in and drawing blood. That alone should have made it easier to figure out if someone was lurking around, but he found neither track nor trace… With the day wearing on and no sign of anything else out of the ordinary, Daryl conceded and decided to head back to Hilltop. At least he had his knife...

It was nearly dark by the time Daryl could see the walls of Hilltop ahead. Carol happened to be up on the guard platform when he returned, though Henry was absent. “Find anything?” she asked, surveying his expression as he came inside and the walls closed behind him. He was as stoic as always.

His hand went to the handle of his knife, replaced in its sheath. “Yes and no,” he drawled. Furrows appeared in Carol’s forehead. “Found my knife. But it was hangin’ up on this,” he said, holding up the arrow he still had clutched in his hand. “Stuck into a goddamn tree like somebody was waitin’ for me to come back for it.”

“That’s strange,” Carol murmured. She took the shaft and examined it, running a finger along the glossy black feathers at the end. Her eyes met Daryl’s, sharp and wary. Her expression was questioning. Daryl shrugged and shook his head. “I ain’t got a clue. I spent the whole day over there, crisscrossing the trails lookin’ for some sign of who was out there and all I was left with was this damn arrow. Not a boot print, not a broken twig, fuckin’ nothin’. ‘S’like it was left by a damn ghost.”

“Why would someone would pin it up for you to find again? Why wouldn’t they just keep it?” she questioned him, handing the arrow shaft back. Daryl shrugged.

“Dunno…” he murmured, twirling it in his hands. He looked around at the afternoon shadows crawling slowly over Hilltop and sighed. “How’re things? Henry?” he drawled, patting Dog’s head absently.

“He’s… doing okay,” she said, smiling. “I think it’s going to take him a little time to find his place here. But Alden and Earl have gotten him started.”

Daryl nodded. “Can’t be easy tryin’ to figure out bein’ ‘round other kids his age for the first time,” Daryl commented.

“No,” Carol said. “But I’m sure he’ll figure it out,” she added with a tight smile.

Daryl looked up as Jesus, Aaron, and Tara were suddenly making their way down the hill toward him and Carol with grim expressions.

“S’matter?” Daryl drawled, fiddling with his bandana absently as they came to a stop in front of him.

“Early this morning, Aaron and I found Rosita collapsed and exhausted out in the woods. She fired a flare. She and Eugene were working on something when walkers came up on them. Eugene’s hurt. She said she left him in a barn and was trying to get here for help. She’s in the infirmary,” Jesus explained.

“Eugene is still out there,” Aaron said, looking at Daryl. “We could really use your tracking skills. I don’t want to risk him spending another night out there.”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course.” And the three of them, Daryl, Aaron, and Jesus (and Dog) prepared to head out and search for Eugene.

They headed back toward where Aaron and Jesus had found Rosita and Daryl realized it wasn’t far from where he’d shot the deer and forgotten his knife. He pondered this, but didn’t say anything to Jesus or Aaron. He did, however, continue scrutinizing the ground closely for any sign or Eugene or anyone else.

They came to the edge of a large field and Daryl stopped dead. “What the hell?” he drawled. Aaron and Jesus stopped beside him, squinting at a herd in the field moving in concentric circles.

“Have—have either of you ever seen walkers do that before?” Jesus asked. Both Aaron and Daryl shook their heads.

“Never,” Daryl said, his gaze sharp as he studied the swirling horde. “C’mon. We ain’t got long before dark.” He led the way again with Dog out slightly in front. Moving through the woods as silently as possible, Daryl knew they were now very close to where he’d shot the deer. The hair on the back of his neck prickled again and he stopped as a gust of wind suddenly kicked up at their backs. “Stop,” he said suddenly, throwing up a hand. Jesus and Aaron stood still. “I can hear ‘em,” Daryl drawled. “On the wind.”

Straining their hearing, Jesus and Aaron heard the growls on the wind now too. “They’re following,” Aaron said, glancing back. Through the trees, wandering shapes could barely be seen. “Did they see us?” he asked.

Jesus stared at the incoming herd, suspicious and at a loss. “I don’t know. But we better keep moving.” Night had fallen by the time Daryl was able to trace Rosita’s trail back to the barn. They found Eugene huddled in the cellar. He was nearly incoherent, shaking and sweaty. “C’mon. We gotta go, Eugene,” Daryl insisted.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked concernedly as soon as they had hauled him up from the hidden cellar.

“I took a bad step and dislocated my knee,” Eugene said, still shaking.

“Well, if it’s dislocated we can just pop it back in,” Daryl said, his brow furrowed.

“No. No, listen to me,” he argues, wiping sweat from his brow. “The herd that followed us here is on its way back.”

“I saw their tracks,” Daryl drawled, not understanding his frantic tone and his trembling. “They’re gone…”

“No. It’s not. It’s already been through here twice. It’s lookin’ for me,” he insisted. “Eugene—” Jesus started. “No! We have to get out of here before it comes back! This wasn’t a normal run-of-the-mill bunch of wandering dead,” he says in his Texas twang.

“What do you mean?” Aaron asked, wide-eyed and unsettled by Eugene’s behavior.

He lowered his voice. “When they passed us by, we could hear them—they were whispering to each other.”

Everyone exchanged confused and stunned glances. “You mean they were—talking?” Aaron asked.

Eugene was almost crying he was so frantic. “I know how it sounds! But Rosita heard it too. She’ll corroborate!”

Suddenly, Dog barked. The herd was back and inbound.

Daryl rushed to look out the window. “Shit,” he swore. “They’re gonna cut us off… Look, you two get him outta here. I’ll distract ‘em, lead em away so you can cover some ground. This dun make any damn sense,” Daryl said, pacing the length of the barn.

“They shouldn’t have doubled back like that and they definitely shouldn’t have followed us to the barn,” Jesus agree, shouldering Eugene’s weight with Aaron.

“It ain’t right,” Daryl agreed. “Alrigh’, go. Go! I’ll lead ‘em off. Go! C’mon boy!” Dog rushed after Daryl as the other three made their way slowly in the opposite direction.

Daryl and Dog pounded the pavement as fast as they could until they reached a dilapidated trailer house on the side of the road, not too far from the fork where he’d separated from the others. Daryl hurriedly heaved himself up on the top and withdrew some firecrackers from his bag, flicking his lighter, and lighting the fuse. He tossed them out onto the pavement and they soon were popping and banging with a burst of sound that echoed up and down the lonely road. Dog barked at the herd in the distance and Daryl watched as some of the walkers began to turn toward him and away from the direction of Eugene, Aaron, and Jesus. “Keep ‘em comin’ boy,” he called down to Dog, squinting in the fog and darkness.

All was as it should be at first; the walkers were following the sound. And then suddenly, they weren’t. The ones who had veered off were suddenly pulled back the way they had come as if drawn by some magnetic force correcting their course again. Daryl couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He hurriedly hushed Dog and stared, bewildered and desperate as the horde continued in the direction of his friends.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Shit!”

Daryl hurriedly slung himself over the edge, hung from the edge and then dropped down onto the ground. Dog ran up beside him. Huddled in the grass, he wondered frantically what to do. He had to get to the others—they wouldn’t know what was coming until it was too late. But how?

“Fuck it,” Daryl muttered, straightening up and dashing across the road into the brush on the other side. He followed parallel to the walkers, trying to get ahead of them so he could reach the others, but it was hard as they walked on the old highway and he had to scramble through windfalls and brambles, Dog bouncing in front of him. He found the path of least resistance suddenly cutting closer and closer to the road and the horde.

Overhead, lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Daryl ducked low in the shadows, eyeing the progress of the walkers, constantly trying to pass them and stay hidden. Soon the developing fog was closing in around him and he could barely see ten feet. Suddenly, Dog let out a low growl and Daryl froze, sensing some mass behind him. His hand twitched to his knife and he withdrew it. He spun and was face to face with a lunging walker, its hands raised and slashing like claws. He struck with his knife and it dropped. Daryl stumbled backward and swung his bow off his shoulder as his back hit the trunk of a large tree. He fired a bolt as another figure emerged from the fog reaching for him. Dog leapt and attacked as another walker stumbled forward. Daryl readied his knife again. They were closing in. He was hemmed in on all sides, the tree at his back, and as he stood, trying to prepare himself, panic threatening to drown him as he faced the certainty of his own death, he did hear the whispers.

Kill. Kill him. Kill. Tear. Rip him apart. Kill.

“Dog! Here! Get back!” Daryl yelled, waiting for the next of the circle of walkers around him to lunge. He watched with confusion as a huge walking, lumbering toward him, was struck by an arrow, seemingly rained down from above. It fell with weight in front of him, tripping up another. Then Daryl was suddenly struck hard on the head by something which then tumbled down over his shoulder.

Distracted, he looked to see a rough-looking rope ladder with wooden steps cascading beside him from out of the tree. Another walker jolted forward, snarling, and Dog clamped down on its head and didn’t stop biting until it lay still. Daryl kicked another back to keep it off Dog. He craned his neck to look up the ladder, up into the huge old oak tree, but he could see nothing high up in the darkness and haze of the fog. There was a sudden moan and snarl and Daryl found himself holding off a walker at arm’s length, grappling with it to keep its snapping jaws away from his neck. There was a sharp swish and a rush of air and the walker he was fighting went suddenly still, an arrow buried in its face. Daryl had half a moment to note that the fletching was black as midnight before it fell at his feet.

More of the dead pressed in. He stabbed two more and another arrow from above pierced the head of a third. He glanced back up at the tree and the dangling ladder. Did he have a choice? He looked back at the circle of walkers pressing ever more closely in. Another couple began to stagger forward. Dog barked frantically, facing them bravely, trying to protect Daryl. No choice. He had no choice. “Dog! C’mon! Up! Get up!” He seized the bottom of the ladder and pulled it slightly out, using all his weight to hold it taught as Dog let out a nervous bark and then ran up it like a ramp at full speed, scrambling a little against the trunk and more vertical steps near the top but finally disappearing into the darkness under the eaves of the tree. Daryl heaved out a final breath, slung his bow across his back and scrambled up after him. He felt fingertips on his ankle and kicked hard to free himself but the grip was strong. Another rush of air and the sharp sound of a passing arrow and the grip disappeared.

He climbed, heart racing, until he arrived at a surprisingly large wooden platform, built in among the thick branches. He spilled onto it and lay flat on his back, trying to catch his breath. Dog surged forward, anxious paws tapping, and licked his face.

Daryl startled as a dark figure moved beside him and quickly heaved the rope ladder up, rolling it into a neat coil and dropping it onto the platform before retreating again to the other side to lean back against a particularly large offshoot of the tree trunk. Daryl hurriedly rolled over and sat up on his knees, squinting into the darkness. Below, the growls and snarls seemed even louder and he could still hear the faintest rustle and hush of whispers woven in among them.

Dog circled and sat beside Daryl, peering with interest at the dark-clad figure. Daryl waited with bated breath for a long time to see if they would speak. They didn’t.

They were set back in shadow and he couldn’t make out much about them at all until lightning burst overhead again and he could barely see that they had on a sort of dark cloak with a hood and clutched a bow in one hand.

There was an increasing roar of crackling and rustling all around him and Daryl realized that it had started raining, but he felt no drops falling on him. Looking upwards, he saw with the next burst of lightning that there was another platform above him. He glanced back down at the figure. They were still unmoving. He watched as they set their bow aside and then raised their hands and pushed back their hood. Another fork of lightning lit the sky.

He gulped. His heart did a strange lurch in his chest. He was staring at you, and you were staring back at him. He was at a loss for anything to say. Below, the growls and snarls went on and on…

You were studying him carefully, your eyes narrowed, lips parted a little and slightly pursed.

He attempted to clear his throat, but it felt tight all of a sudden. “‘M Daryl,” he said, having to nearly yell over the torrent of rain and continued rolling booms of thunder.

You reached for your bow again, not taking your eyes off him.

“I—I think ya just saved my life. And Dog’s too. Well—I know ya did,” he said lamely, trailing off.

Instead of responding, he watched as you slung your bow on one shoulder and then turned and started to climb up the large vertical branch you’d been standing in front of with an agility and speed that was astonishing.

“Wait—hey!” he called after you.

But the tail of your dark cloak was already licking around the platform above and you were gone. Dog trotted over to where you’d been, sniffing and then looking up the branch. He let out a low whine and wagged his tail.

“What the fuck?” Daryl muttered, climbing to his feet and going to stand where you’d been. He examined the tree trunk, half-expecting to find steps or footholds drilled in that allowed you to climb so swiftly but there was nothing but the rough bark of the tree. He ran his fingers over it. He couldn’t imagine how you’d gotten a hold. Another bright burst of lightning shot through the sky and a loud boom of thunder rolled. Daryl backed away from the edge and sank down in the middle of the platform beside his pack and crossbow. He hauled his bow onto his lap, set another bolt in the flight groove, and drew it back so it was ready to fire in a hurry if needed. There he sat, rigid, staring into the darkness around him, Dog at his side.

His heart sank as he thought of Jesus, Aaron, and Eugene. He hoped they were safe. What a massive fucking misadventure this had been. But as he sat clutching his bow, wondering who the fuck you were, why the fuck you’d helped him, where the fuck you’d gone now (up the tree?), his mind did continually wander back to the whispering... He’d heard it. Exactly as Eugene had said. And the herd had behaved unlike any other he’d ever seen. They’d doubled back. They’d ignored the lights and sounds of the firecrackers. They’d rerouted. They seemed to move with purpose. They didn’t just wander. He didn’t know what it meant, why it occurred, but it was terrifying. _ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl awoke with a start when Dog let out a soft woof and he shot upright, grappling for his bow. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, especially being twenty-five feet in the air, but he had finally succumbed to exhaustion when the storm had passed in the wee hours of the morning. His back was stiff and tight from sleeping on the hard wood and he attempted to stretch to relieve the worst of it but was far too aware of you staring at him.

Now, he was looking back at you in the light of morning where you’d just climbed down on another ladder from the upper platform. This ladder passed through a hole in the platform above and he again remembered how skillfully you’d ascended without it the night before.

You were still dressed in mostly black, but the cloak and hood you’d worn during the night were gone. Along with your bow and a quiver full of arrows, there was a small bag slung across your body and you knelt and slipped it off. You flipped it open and pulled out a thermos and a chunk of crusty bread. You thrust them toward him and he eyed them somewhat warily. You finally just set them down and then stood, shifting your bow and quiver to the side, and leaning back against the tree trunk in the same way you had the night before. You crossed your arms over your chest and surveyed him.

Your eyes were bright and the colors seemed to flash in the morning sun. Daryl gulped and then cautiously reached for the bread and thermos. He unscrewed the top and sniffed its contents. Steam rose up and it was accompanied by an earthy and slightly sweet smell. Hot tea. Tea… in a tree? He was baffled. Did you have a fire up there somewhere? A stove? What the fuck? he thought for the hundredth time in a day’s time.

He looked up at you again and set the thermos aside. His eyes flickered down to your quiver. The feathers of the fletching were all glossy black. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Ya found my knife the other day.” A long beat of silence. You were unreadable. “Why’d ya—hang it back up for me to find?” he asked. “Ya knew I’d come back lookin’?”

Still nothing.

“Were ya watchin’ me out here before?”

Silence.

He was getting slightly annoyed. “Christ, d’ya speak at all or—”

“Yes,” you said suddenly. “I do.”

Now, Daryl’s mouth was hanging partially open.

“But I’m not in the habit of speaking with strangers.”

“Well,” he straightened up a bit, clearing his throat, “’M Daryl. And this is Dog,” he said, ruffling the Malinois’ fur. He waited to see if you’d reciprocate the introduction but you merely shifted a little. Daryl chewed on his bottom lip nervously.

“How’d you get mixed up in that mess last night anyway?” you asked him. You couldn’t help studying his every little movement closely, watching for a microscopic flash that something was off, waiting for him to suddenly reveal himself to be something… dark. But you saw nothing like that. Not yet, anyway. But he was obviously strong, capable. Careful, you cautioned yourself mentally.

Daryl’s stomach turned as he thought again of Eugene and Aaron and Jesus. He scolded himself for not thinking of them until now after waking up. “S’kinda a long story,” he drawled. “I was tryin’ to lead ‘em away from somewhere. Guess it backfired.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Lead them? Of course it went wrong,” you said, looking at him like that was the most obvious thing ever, or maybe more like he was a fucking idiot.

His brow furrowed low over his blue eyes. “What d’ya mean?”

“Well, the shepherds, obviously,” you said, deadpan.

“The—who?”

You straightened up, perplexed as you stared back at him. “The shepherds.” There was no understanding or recognition on his face. “Of the dead.”

Daryl only stared back at you, utterly confused.

You shook your head a little. “Couldn’t you hear them?” you asked him.

Finally, he nodded. “Ya mean the—the whisperin’?”

“Yes. It’s the shepherds,” you said again.

He still looked confused. You sighed and walked over the coiled ladder and nudged it off the edge with your foot. “Come down. I’ll show you.”

Daryl watched you slip down with ease and then glanced at Dog. “Stay, boy,” he said, and he followed more clumsily down the ladder behind you, feeling cautiously with his boots for the next step. He felt overly large and awkward behind you. When he planted his boots back on solid ground again, he was surprised to see the number of dead walkers lying at the base of the tree. You had shot more than he’d noticed the night before in all the chaos. Most had a thick arrow shaft capped with black feathers protruding from its head. You went about collecting your arrows. You paused at the last one and gave him a significant look before rolling it over with your boot so it was facedown. You bent and Daryl moved closer. “Here. See?” You pointed at the back of the head. At first, Daryl didn’t understand what he was supposed to be looking at. You withdrew a knife from your hip with a skillful movement and slipped the blade up the back of the head. It was as you did this that Daryl finally saw the lacing, like a shoelace, on the back of the head.

“What the hell?” he growled.

Once the lacing was cut, you gripped the scraggly hair on the top of the head and tugged. The whole head seemed to come off at first until he realized it was slipping off like a mask. You held it up with a disgusted look on your face for him to see.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he drawled. He turned the body back over and found himself looking at a person. Not one who had ever turned to the undead, but the very human-looking corpse of a person dead from your arrow the night before. He stood up, in slight shock.

You dropped the horrifying mask to the ground. “They wear skins, herd the dead. They walk with them. Control them,” you said. “The shepherds.”

“Why?” Daryl asked.

You didn’t answer, simply stared at him stony-faced, sheathed your knife, stuffed the arrows you’d collected back in your quiver, and climbed the ladder back up into the tree.

As a last thought, Daryl grabbed the mask and crammed it into the inside pocket in his vest. Then, he followed you back up.

Daryl found you sitting at the edge petting Dog when he pulled himself back onto the platform. The bread and thermos were still sitting there in the middle and his hunger reared its head. He grabbed the bread and sank down beside his pack and bow again.

“What d’ya know ‘bout these shepherds?” he asked you again. “These—Whisperers?”

Your eyes flickered up to his face and then back to Dog as you picked a burr out of his coat. “They almost killed you last night. What more do you need to know?”

“Alrigh’…” Daryl drawled, biting off another piece of bread. “Ya ain’t even gonna tell me yer name? Where ya came from?”

Your eyes snapped up to his face again. “You don’t owe me your backstory and I certainly don’t owe you mine,” you said. You stood abruptly as the croak of a raven sounded nearby. “You led that herd right to my tree—”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “Ain’t like I did that on purpose. I didn’t know somebody was livin’ in a fuckin’ tree—it coulda been any tree in a thousand.”

“But it wasn’t. And I saved your ass—”

Daryl was slightly incredulous. “Ya want another thank you? Or an apology?” he asked, standing.

Your hand reflexively strayed to your knife as he rose to his full height. “And now I’ll have to move—”

Daryl continued to stare at you, baffled. The raven croaked again nearby. “Why the hell did ya even save me and Dog?” he asked.

“Should I not have?” you retorted. Abruptly, you tore your eyes from his face. “I think it’s time you go. I’m sure your people are worried,” you said, patting Dog once more time.

“Hang on—how d’ya know I got people?” Daryl pressed you.

“You have people,” you said.

“Do you have people?” he asked.

You ignored his question. “I can fit a harness on your dog to lower him down,” you said.

“Forget it,” Daryl growled. He shoved what was left of the chunk of bread into his pack and slung it across his back. He shouldered his crossbow. “Thanks for breakfast. Dog. Shoulders, c’mon!”

Daryl bent his knees and Dog propelled himself onto Daryl’s shoulders and balanced there. Daryl was bowed slightly under the weight and you watched, somewhat amazed as he navigated the edge of the platform and climbed the ladder back down. You leaned over and watched Dog jump down. Daryl readied his crossbow in his hands, prepared to set out.

You couldn’t resist having the last word. “Daryl,” you called down. He looked up. “You didn’t thank me, technically, for saving your life.”

Daryl peered up, disbelieving. “Last night, I said—”

“You stated a fact, that I did,” you interrupted. “That isn’t a ‘thank you’.”

He swore under his breath. “Hey, what the hell is your problem?” he growled back.

And for the first time, Daryl saw you smile, and his stomach seemed to somersault in his midsection. Just then, a huge raven swooped in and perched on your shoulder, letting out a raspy noise as a greeting and ruffling its feathers as you scratched beneath its bill affectionately. “Bye, Daryl. Be careful of the shepherds. And I’ll ask that you just go and forget about me.” And with that, you disappeared, and the ladder behind him slowly began to raise as you reeled it back up.

Daryl had seen a lot of shit in his time since the world fell, but this? You? Some mysterious woman living in a tree with a fucking pet raven? What the fuck... This was something else entirely. Forget about you? Not fucking likely.

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xwritingdixonx · 8 months ago

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To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.

Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison to Alexandria

A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!

Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

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A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.

The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.

It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.

The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?

But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.

The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.

Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.

"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.

"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."

Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.

He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.

Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.

Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.

The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.

What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.

Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.

The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.

You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.

The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.

You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.

But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.

A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.

Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.

“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.

With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.

“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”

“Maggie…”

“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.

While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.

“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.

Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.

A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.

"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.

You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.

You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.

"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.

"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.

“Y/n.” Just like your own.

“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.

To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.

"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.

"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.

On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.

Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.

However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.

Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.

Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.

You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.

“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”

Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.

"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.

The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.

Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.

He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.

What if something happens to you?

What if you get stuck somewhere?

We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.

All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.

Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.

And it infuriated him.

“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”

You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.

“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”

"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."

Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.

Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."

It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.

When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.

"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."

"Why wait? I'm standing right here."

You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.

It was a silent ride home.

You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.

Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.

You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.

Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.

But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.

You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.

Neither of you truly knew the other. Where did he grow up? Has he ever broken any bones? What was his favorite candy as a child? When did he have his first drink?

Daryl pondered the same of you. Who taught you to braid your hair? You spoke of your father but never your mother, what happened to her? Why the dog tags? Have you ever loved another?

It was a day familiar to all the others. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.

"You comin' or what?"

And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.

Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.

Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."

Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.

In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.

He was outraged for the entire three weeks.

"Whatever."

The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."

Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.

You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.

This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever.

You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.

You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through.

Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.

Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.

"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.

It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.

"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."

"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.

"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.

Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.

Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.

You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.

But you wouldn't be for long.

"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”

He marched onto the blacktop.

"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.

"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.

You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now.

"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.

There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape.

"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home."

"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart.

"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.

"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing.

Why couldn't you just get on the bike?

Why couldn't you breathe?

Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up?

Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.

"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.

Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.

All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.

You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine."

"Daryl, it's getting dark."

"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."

You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it.

"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."

You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you.

You couldn't pick one.

No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.

You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast.

Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied.

Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl.

You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker.

Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.

"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.

You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."

Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."

The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness.

"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.

"It was just me and my brother for awhile."

"Meryl?"

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before.

"Maggie's talked about him briefly."

"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically.

"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"

You nodded muttering a, yeah.

Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued.

"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings."

"M'sorry."

"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second.

"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."

"I know."

The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle.

A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood.

You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.

Why did it take so long?

Was what you wanted to scream at him.

I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance.

"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed."

Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n."

You didn't know why you expected anything different.

"Goodnight Daryl."

Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face.

You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you.

When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.

Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; giving a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?"

There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy. Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances.

"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen."

You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him.

Patrick began to walk with you.

"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes…a short time after my mother died.”

Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to be prepared for what the world was to through at you...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"

Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.

Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second. "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.

You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults.

"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”

You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy.

"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy.

"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return.

You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.

"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."

Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. You’d recognize them even in the dead of night. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”

You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that."

Daryl nodded.

Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to.

"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.

"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours."

The river.

"Alright."

You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.

"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.

You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you, rummaging through old antique stores and dusty jewelry boxes. Picking out the ones he thought you’d like; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."

"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.

Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.

There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.

You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”

The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”

Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.

“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”

Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.

You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.

Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.

Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.

“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.

"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.

Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.

Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him.

It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him.

"Y/n no!"

Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.

"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.

He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.

"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything."

"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.

With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.

Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you.

While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.

"M'sorry."

His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.

When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.

You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar.

You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.

You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.

You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost.

Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be.

Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.

He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.

Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.

Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen.

Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.

"I had to see ya."

You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now.

"Was gonna go out..."

He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.

You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run?

Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"

You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl."

“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."

The fire was lit once again.

You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.

Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.

You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.

Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.

"I shoulda left ya out there!"

"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me."

"I don't need you."

"You fucking need me." You repeated.

"Yeah? Then you need me!"

"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."

Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. He was mere inches from your face, your foreheads almost touching. “Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"

Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.

You only think about yourself, just like your father.

But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He watched as you continued on, your body shaking from a mixture of adrenaline and tears. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.

The prison fell that same day.

Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.

You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.

You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days. You’d denied yourself the comfort of his company. You urned for him to be gentle to you once again. To speak to you so deeply and sincerely as he had before. To comfort you amidst your grief. All the draining nights of crying yourself to dehydration, you desired for him to be there.

You’d never been hugged by Daryl but in your mind, his touch would’ve healed a thousand gaping wounds.

"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.

"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.

A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.

The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, [or so you thought], you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.

Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.

But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.

You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.

Your ears perked at a sudden snap of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.

Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.

Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. Daryl wanted to reach out to you but the looming fear of rejection didn’t allow him. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.

The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.

Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.

You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.

Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.

But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.

You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.

The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. Daryl saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.

Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.

Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."

"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.

"What?"

Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.

“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in, almost a whisper.

“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.

“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”

The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."

Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.

How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat?

“I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage in a now empty cup. You took note of this, pouring more for him. "I know, D."

"M'sorry."

"I know that too."

After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.

“Patrick uh…”

“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”

“No, I need to.”

The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.

A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.

Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the whiskey in hopes it would calm his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding strength in the liquid.

“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”

Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.

“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.

"They were brave." Daryl said in hopes it would relieve some of your guilt.

You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”

Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.

You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace. “You’ve never hugged me before." You commented with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt; now wet with tears. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be, to make up for all the nights he hadn’t.

He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.

You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...”

Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy. “I love you.” Your words mumbled against his lips.

The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.

Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."

Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.

His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

#daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon series #daryl x you #twd #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon / reader #daryl dixon angst

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darylmydix · 9 months ago

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THE SCARS WE SHARE | daryl dixon [m.list]

❝i looked for you…at the start. why’d you leave without sayin’ goodbye?❞

summary: you were the only good thing daryl had in his life. bonded by similar trauma, you suffered abuse at the hands of your stepmother, just as daryl had suffered from his own father. when you finally decide to escape your abusive home life, you’re forced to leave behind your best friend in the process. now with the world in an apocalyptic state, you’re left wondering if daryl was even alive.

pairings: daryl dixon x f!reader.

warnings: smut, violence, blood and gore, unrequited love, best friends to lovers, mentions of s/a, mentions of abuse, mention of suicidal thoughts/attempts, mention of drug use, use of deadly weapons, fluff, angst, slow burn, strong language, kidnapping, coercion, seasons 5-11, 18+, minors dni.

©darylmydix. please do not repost.

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deli-writes-fanfics · 1 month ago

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Hold Onto Me - A Daryl Dixon blurb.

Its late and you and Daryl share a room most of the time. You've just made it to a house and you've laid in bed silently for a while now. Hours maybe. When you're out on the road; you're with him. When you're hunting; you're with him. You're not close with anyone else and yet, it doesn't seem like you're close with Daryl either.

But you creep downstairs where you see him lost in thought on the couch. You linger at the bottom of the stairs for a moment before to walk over, climbing onto the couch and then into his lap. In the darkness, the room barely lit, you hear him sigh a bit, maybe a faint grunt but he slowly slips his arms around you and you feel his body shift and sink into the couch a bit more, glancing up you see his head leaning back and his eyes closed.

You smile a little and close your eyes, face pressed into his shoulder as you melt into his hold. You needed this. Human touch. Comfortable silence. You just couldn't sleep without Daryl in the room. And you didn't realise just how touch starved you were until now. And the restless nights unease seems to melt away, you were once again at peace. For now.

#the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead series #the walking dead show #daryl dixon blurb

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kaayyyys · 28 days ago

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Daryl Dixon X reader

Fluff alphabet

A is for Arms: His arms. Strong, calloused, always ready. Ready to pull you close when a walker gets too close, ready to hold you tight when the nightmares come. They’re not always gentle, a little rough around the edges like the man himself, but damn, they feel like home. Sometimes, when he thinks you're not looking, he'll just wrap one arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the warmth, a silent promise that he's there.

B is for Banter: Before you, Daryl didn't 'banter'. He grunted. Now, he teases. It’s subtle, a dry remark about your terrible aim (which isn’t that bad), or a playful jab about the time you tried to cook squirrels and nearly burned down the house. It's his way of flirting, his way of showing he's paying attention. You tease him right back, of course, because seeing that small, almost-smile flicker across his face is worth any risk.

C is for Comfort: He's not one for grand gestures, but he knows how to offer comfort. A silent hand squeeze when you're upset. Sharing his blanket on a cold night, even though he pretends he doesn't need it. Leaving you the last of the clean water. Comfort, Daryl-style, is quiet, practical, and fiercely devoted.

D is for Dreams: You share them now, whispered in the dark. Nightmares of what you've lost, yes, but also dreams of a future. A future where you can build a life, a home, a garden even. Daryl doesn’t talk about them much, but you catch him looking at you sometimes, a hopeful glint in his usually guarded eyes.

E is for Eyes: His eyes are a roadmap. They tell you everything he doesn't say. The worry when you're out on a run. The pride when you take down a walker. The raw, untamed affection when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world. You've learned to read them, to understand the language he keeps hidden from everyone else.

F is for Firelight: Sitting by the fire, the crackling flames painting dancing shadows on his face. It's in these moments, quiet and still, that you feel closest to him. He'll sometimes share stories, snippets of his past, things he's never told anyone else. The firelight makes him open up, makes him vulnerable, and you cherish every word.

G is for Grateful: You're grateful for him. For his strength, his loyalty, his unwavering presence in a world that wants to tear you apart. He’s grateful for you too, though he'd never say it in so many words. You see it in the way he watches your back, the way he always makes sure you're safe.

H is for Hair: The first time you ran your fingers through his hair, he tensed up, ready to fight. Now, he leans into it, closes his eyes, lets you card your fingers through the strands. It's a small intimacy, a quiet moment of connection that means more than any grand declaration.

I is for Inside Jokes: You have a whole language of inside jokes now. A raised eyebrow, a shared glance, a mumbled word that means something entirely different to the two of you. These tiny moments of shared understanding are what build your bond, what make you a team.

J is for Jealousy: He doesn't show it often, but you see it sometimes. A flicker in his eyes when someone gets too close, a tightening of his jaw when someone else makes you laugh. It's a possessive, protective kind of jealousy, born from fear of losing you. You reassure him without words, a gentle touch, a reassuring smile. He's the only one you want.

K is for Kiss: His kisses aren't soft and gentle, not at first. They're raw, desperate, like he's trying to pull you into his soul. But over time, they soften, become tender, a quiet promise of forever.

L is for Loyal: Daryl Dixon is nothing if not loyal. He'd walk through fire for the people he cares about, and you are at the top of that list. He's got your back, always, no matter what. That loyalty is the bedrock of your relationship, the foundation on which you're building your life together.

M is for Mending: You mend each other. He patches up your physical wounds, stitching you back together when the world tries to break you. You mend his emotional scars, slowly, carefully, with patience and love.

N is for Near: Just being near him is enough sometimes. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder by the fire, walking side-by-side on a supply run, just knowing he’s there is a comfort in itself. His presence is a grounding force, a reminder that you’re not alone.

O is for Outdoors: You both find solace in the outdoors. The woods, the quiet, the sense of freedom. You often take walks together, just to escape the confines of the walls, to breathe in the fresh air.

P is for Protect: The need to protect each other is fierce, primal. You'd both lay down your lives for the other without hesitation.

Q is for Quiet: Sometimes, the best moments are the quiet ones. No words, no distractions, just the comfortable silence of being together.

R is for Respect: He respects you, your strength, your intelligence, your compassion. He sees you, really sees you, and values you for who you are.

S is for Scars: You both carry scars, both visible and invisible. They're a reminder of what you've been through, but also a testament to your resilience. He doesn't shy away from your scars; he traces them with his fingertips, a silent acknowledgment of your pain.

T is for Trust: Trust is everything, especially in this world. You trust him with your life, with your heart, with your deepest secrets. And he trusts you, completely.

U is for Understanding: You understand each other, on a level that transcends words. You see the pain behind his stoicism, the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. And he sees the strength behind your kindness, the fire beneath your gentle demeanor.

V is for Vulnerable: It takes time, but he lets you see his vulnerable side. The moments of doubt, the flashes of fear, the pain of his past. He trusts you enough to show you his true self, and that's the greatest gift he can give.

W is for Warmth: His warmth. Physical, in the way he holds you close. Emotional, in the way he makes you feel safe and loved.

X is for XOXO (Kisses and Hugs): He's not one for saying it, but he shows it in every action, in every glance, in every protective gesture.

Y is for Yearning: Even after all this time, you still yearn for him. For his touch, his voice, his presence. The yearning is a constant reminder of the depth of your love.

Z is for Zenith: You've found your zenith with him. Your peak, your highest point. He makes you a better person, stronger, more resilient. Together, you can face anything. Together, you are home.

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darylsfavoritegirl · 8 months ago

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Yk that argument Daryl had with Shane at the barn? Put your own spin on it and include the reader somehow, maybe she even tries to break them up and he is still pissed. Afterwards he goes off to sulk in his anger trying to ignore you, but it’s too hard

۶•ৎ

The Odd Man Out

There you all were, away from Hershel's house, near the barn. Your heart was pumping blood more than what felt like necessary, your knees had become weak, all ready to betray you and cause you to collapse to the ground.

"This is unacceptable, man." Shane breathed out with fire, drawing circles infront of the barn gate.

"All this time..." He didn't finish his sentence and chuckled exasperatedly.

"Shane. Calm down. This is Hershel's land."

"I'll- I'll find a way to figure this-"

Shane came at Rick when Lori got between the two of them, pressing her right hand to Shane's chest. Her eyes scolded him as Shane gave her a quick stare and rolled his eyes.

Shane was staring at the barn gate, hands rested on his hips, shaking his head as all you could hear was him mumbling to himself.

Your eyes scanned the barn and its perimeter, observing every distressed face.

"You know we gotta leave man. Now we been talking about Fort Benning for a while..." Shane turned to all of you as Rick didn't let him say a word and raised his hand as a warning.

"We can't leave." He shook his head.

The side of your eyes caught Carol and how he wrapped her arms around herself, bottom lip trembling, eyes glossy with tears to come.

"My daughter is out there." Her voice was shaky. She looked taken aback as everyone gazed upon her. You could tell she didn't like to be the center of attention, especially at a time like this.

"We're gonna find your daughter, OK?" Lori rushed to Carol, offering a sense of support as she squeezed her arm, they were glued to one another.

Your eyes shifted to Shane as you shielded your eyes from the sun. He studied your face for a second or so. A faint snicker painted his lips. He knew why you had stayed quiet so far, he was the one that you spoke in discreet -though you felt that the cat was gonna be out of the bag any second-

You felt uneasy under his gloomy gaze as you looked away, changing your position in which you rested your entire body weight on one leg, arms crossed. You eyes were fixated on the others for a brief second to see if anyone caught that tense eye contact you happened to make with the most troubled man in the group.

Shane walked past you, not skipping to give you one last dark stare as he made his way to Rick.

"I think it's the time that we all start to just consider the other possibility."

You sensed everyone tilting their heads to his direction. Daryl stood next to you, you almost heard his breathing go more and more shallow, irritation growing denser through his veins as he fixated his eyes on him; squiented as ever, dauntless as ever.

"I ain't leavin' no one behind." He squiented his eyes at him, his body still as a stone as you could see he clenched his jaw firmly.

Shane ran his hand through his shaved head as he clasped his hands over it.

"Nah man, I-" Shane were to start another babbling session on a bothersome argument right when you flinched at Daryl's loud words.

"I'm close ta findin' dis girl. I jus' found a damn doll two days ago" He was coming at Shane when you felt like it was time you partook in this before it got out of hand.

"You found a doll, Daryl. That's what you did, you found a doll."

Shane pressed his lips together as he leered at Carol before speaking.

"All I'm sayin' is she could've been dead by now and we're-"

"Enough. Shane, enough." You looked at him in disbelief, eyes wide with your hand reflexively being up in the air towards his direction as a sense of warning before he took this any further.

"Ya dun' know the hell yer talkin' 'bout."

It was Shane one side and Daryl on the other side. Things got ugly pretty swiftly as you had to step back when Daryl came at him but it wasn't a few seconds later that you stepped in once again, punches flying in the air, some hitting your chin with their elbows. Your head and body were thrown back by their aggression reflected on their action.

Dust particles, the strings of hays that were laid out on the perimeter were awakened by this fallout. Your eyes got stung by them, this was like hell that you had no control in whatsoever.

"Hey, you back off."

"Come on now." Dale asserted.

It was Rick, Lori and you trying to break them up. Under the heat of the sun, with your red faces and greased clothes were you tossed in a fight near a barn full of walkers.

"Leave. Leave now." You demanded Shane. You pointed him with your finger, forehead wrinkled and brows creased as he clapped his hands in an amusing manner.

"You got a real mouth on you, I'll give you that." He cackled and continued with his chest heaving.

"Now you care? 'Cause last time I checked you were the one who said 'it's a waste of time anyway' " He waved his hands next to his head theatrically and thinned his voice as if to mock you.

"That's not what I said prick." You stepped forward, walking slowly as you widened your eyes. You were trying to catch your breath, unevenly panting as your eyes were out of focus.

It was Daryl's voice that stopped you

" 'S this true?" He had his hands on his hips, gazing upon you through his lashes. It was like he was let down, couldn't even stomach looking you in the eyes, though his eyes had an uneasy beam to them, as if what you were about to say meant more than what both of you could ever dare to imagine.

"No" You shook your head, you clenched your fists without noticing. You felt goosebumps swarming all over your body, somehow making you chill under the radiant sun.

"Fuck no." Your head turned to Carol instinctly, and then the others.

It was a moment of suffering. You, standing toe to toe with everyone. Their hesitant stares, their subtle glances that traveled back and forth with everyone else but you had riled you up yet you knew you were in big trouble and perhaps in the wrong.

You spanked your forehead with both of your palms, inhaling a huge breath in as you shut your eyes and stared all of them back.

"Come on. That motherfucker's lyin' to your faces."

" 'S he?" Daryl inquired, though his tone gave away that he thought he knew the answer. You could never wrap your head around how a redneck like him, could be so tender to a woman he despised. Yet there comes to question, didn't he despise you all? What had happened that he was now a decent person, defending someone who wasn't his blood nor his kin like a sworn confidant behind closed door?

Your eyes darted to the others.

"You believe him?"

Them looking down at their shoes was your answer.

"Stupid bitch."

Daryl mumbled under his breath as he walked away with slumped shoulders and a crossbow he had put aside.

Your face went white, shoulders sagging as you did what you had thought of doing all along.

You kept breathing sharply, turning around and lunging at Shane. He took a step back, eyeing Rick specifically to come and get you as he already had done so.

"Lying son of a bitch." You spat, your hair was everywhere on your face. You could hear your heartbeat in your eardrums.

"Easy. Easy." Rick kept his hand above your cleavage, fingers gripping the sides of your arms.

"I'm fine." You fumed as you moved your hair aside from your face.

"Wha's with all tha' if he 's lyin?" Daryl commented while he was tapping his feet to the ground, resembling a jaded eleven-year old in a family gathering. He pointed at you with his hand as he emphasized on the word "that". You had gone mad infront of all of them. You were bewildered, brows raised with a blank stare in your eyes for a few seconds.

"Look, that's not what I said at all." You began. You pouted your face as soon as everyone started putting your words into your mouth and jabbering.

"Geez, am I the only one who gives a damn 'bout this lil' girl?" Daryl snapped, walking around in circles and spreading out his accusing tone to everyone.

You shook your head in apace, trying to select the proper words to utter. You pressed your lips together, face heating under the wrathing heat wave. You looked around like a child in need of emotional support. Hands on your hips as Rick took a step ahead.

"Everyone go. Now. We'll sort this out tonight."

You got a chance to gaze upon Daryl for the first as his eyes were fixated on Carol. After all, they had formed a relationship out of this. You barely remembered anyone getting along with Daryl or him with others. You walked towards the house with thought filling your head and the misconception you felt needed to be debunked.

Few days passed, everyone still being furious with you. Little Sophia coming out of the barn as a walker didn't aid to your situation whatsoever.

You were sitting on a rock near the fields on Hershel's property. One of your elbows were resting on your knee as your other hand was supporting your chin. You were observing the stubble land laid out infront of you, cicadas jumping from one to another.

The wobbly wind was aggravating with the way it was blowing hot air to your face and body when your eye caught someone walking out of the woods into the stubble field.

Your position changed gradually with you fixing your hunchback as your arms fell loose next to you and you stretched your body a few inches taller to see who it was.

Daryl.

His eyes were checking out his surroundings as his crossbow was swinging on his hand. He wiped his hand on his forehead when his eyes noticed you.

Uneasy features were tugged on your face, not knowing what to do or say.

He passed by you, putting his best work not to acknowledge your existence.

"Daryl." You softly said.

Though your hands were resting on the sharp-edged rock , head slightly tilted and eyes scrutinising your knees that had scrapes all over it, you somehow managed to sense him throwing his head back and fully preparing himself to say a word to you.

"Yeah." He reacted.

It took a while for you to turn and face him entirely. He was looking rather fed up with you. His lips were pale and pressed, his goatee beard all tangled, he must've been scratching it and running his fingers through it, you assumed. It was something you had noticed him doing back in the quarry.

"I'm sorry but all I said was 'we might be better off elsewhere' when I happened to be absent-minded around him. You know-"

He squinted his eyes at you, his chest heaving up with a heartburn as he barked.

"Ain't ma headache no more."

"The girl 's dead."

He pointed one of his stained arrow at you, a vein appearing on the side of his neck. He was blaming every inch of you from head to toe.

You stood infront of him, pupils dilated, hands in a loose punch as no amount of air was enough to fill your lungs.

"And I'm terribly sorry-"

"No yea ain't." He came closer at you, crossbow on one hand and arrow on the other. His neck was stretching forward, sweat beading the below of his hairline.

"Don' give me tha' crap." He used his arrow once again, pointing it at you in a circular motion.

"Yer upset only 'cause he outed yea like tha', infront of the whole lot."

"You hear yourself?" You gasped slightly at his words. You were more confused than angry.

"Whatever dis is, keep it ta yerself."

You heard the fading tone in his voice, he grew less and less attentive with you within 5 minutes.

He adjusted his crossbow and arrows on one hand and started ambling towards the house with his hand scratching the back of his neck.

Sun shone through his golden hair, he was walking aimlessly. It was like you had sucked away the energy left in him for the day.

"Your one stupid motherfucker." You hissed, standing on your tiptoes and extending your torso forward to make sure he heard you.

It was all a misunderstanding, Shane twisting your words back then and now no one giving you the time to explain yourself but only putting words into your mouth. You had lost all hope for the situation for the time being, after all it was still so fresh, everyone was still so vulnerable. No one could even dare trying to foresee anything.

"What'd ya say?" He turned his head towards your direction, his body adjusting to his head gradually.

"No one is listening to me but they're believing that troublesack for a man." You fumed in one breath, you avoided eye contact with him.

He blew raspberries without sticking out his tongue, his cynical body language took over your mentality.

"Yer a real peach with yer tears n' all." A half smile on his lips, completely not interested in what you had to say. He had biases about you all along, this was only the cherry on top.

"Do you really think I didn't care about Sophia the slighest?" You asked with an ajar mouth, eyes fixated on his body as in order not to miss anything you could interpret for your own good.

His neck stretched forward once again, the glazing sun was aiming right at him, perhaps this wasn't the best time.

"I ain't yer buddy, ain't yer nothin' " He growled, his hands were gripping his weapon as he wiped his sweat with his arm.

"I sure ain't the one yea should be makin' amends ta" He hushed, turning around.

"I'm not making amends!" You declared.

Which was true, you weren't. You just hoped for to be understood and not have everyone jump into conclusions about you.

You heard him murmur "Sure sounds like it." As he was making his way through the long stubble to the van.

That night, on a chilly weather were you above the van with Dale as you were assigned to assist him during his watch.

You sat on one of the camp stools, shotgun laying between your thighs vertically. Though Dale was sitting infront of you, your eyes were fixated behind him. The long roads, the long fields.

"Hey, old man. Rick wants yea back at the house."

You flinched at Daryl's voice becoming less and less muffled as he came near the van.

"Ohh what now." You heard Dale complain under his breath as he got up.

"Heads up." Daryl warned as he threw his crossbow on top of the van while he was yet climbing the ladder.

He didn't expect to see you there. His eyes flickered across your face for a moment or so as he looked around subtly, obviously looking for Glenn with whom you were replaced to assist Dale.

"The hell?" He inquired deadly with half-lidded eyes as he straddled on the chair infront of you.

"Just don't even talk if you aren't good with words." You huffed, not even seeing him fit to make eye contact with.

He remained silent as he rubbed his eyes. He hadn't been getting any sleep.

"Ain't no need fer words with yer bullshit." He scoffed, resting his head on his hands, looking around just like you.

"All this time spent together and you haven't figured out what kind of a person I could be. Not even the slighest, huh?" You sighed, not rushing, taking your time with each word.

Your heart was sinking down your torso, it felt like. Your eyes were droppy, fingers at the tip of the shotgun, seeking to be occupied by anything. Anything but him.

His eyes were glued on your eyes as you weren't bothering to meet with his gaze.

You pegged him for a complex man at all times, deep down you always knew he wasn't someone easy to come terms with. You were not gonna be seen by him, not in this, not in anything.

But at that exact moment, when two of you took a minute to enjoy the calmness, quietness around you, letting your minds talk to yourselves instead of words, you dared to hope for a change.

He could change after all, you saw it with your own eyes.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

A/N: well this request had been on my asks since the beginning of this year... so i hope you still enjoy this anon!! also dumb me accidentally replied to a different request🥲🥲 so if that anon got the notification, im sorry, feel free to request whatever you want bae!!!

also i think i never wrote for season 2 daryl before huh? i hope this was satisfying, he was some constant-nagging redneck in season 1-2 but we love him

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moonyflesh · 3 months ago

Text

i’m tired of pretending i didn’t absolutely love him.

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holdmytesseract · 13 days ago

Text

mini-series masterlist

daryl dixon x fem!reader

summary: your secret crush on daryl dixon was supposed to stay a secret - but one faux pas 'causes the failure of your plan. the archer stumbles upon your secret and suddenly questions everything. will you two be able to bite the bullet and let your hearts speak, or do you choose to remain silent forever?

general warnings: set in s10. wonky timeline (the whisperers didn't happen). twd stuff, slow burn, thirst - a lot, 'idiots in love', heartbreak? angst? cliffhanger(s), fluff, violence? (each part will have its own warnings!)

🪶 part one

🪶 part two

🪶 part three

🪶 part four

🪶 part five

...........................................

a/n: mission almost accomplished @dixonsdarkelf @angelwings-crossbowstrings @ellasdixon 👀 i hope i did it justice. 🙏🏼

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead #twd daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon series #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd

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wonwoosthetic · 1 year ago

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Hi! So I have a newer idea for Daryl that popped up in my mind while shopping today. It's 100% okay if you don't want to write this, though! It is kind of long so I completely understand if you don't feel like writing this 💜

Basically, Daryl meets reader, aka Shane's fiancé, at the quarry and could instantly notice how toxic Shane was to her. She wasn't allowed to really talk to any of the guys in the camp and was forced to do most of the laundry to keep her from interacting with the rest of the group. However, one day while Shane's off doing you-know-what with Lori, Dale sends reader to go hunt with Daryl with a compound bow that he'd found. To Daryl's surprise, she's amazing at hunting and they have a little convo about Shane. They then stumble across Shane and Lori going at it like rabbits but silently retreat, not making a scene. Back at the camp, when Shane returns, reader simply just places the ring back in his hand and tells him they're over. Being free to do what she wants, she starts getting closer with Daryl over the next month or so, and when they get to the CDC, her and Daryl have this cute moment with a few people watching them and then Glenn, in his drunken stupor, makes a comment about what a cute couple they are. Cue the sudden realizations from both sides that they like each other. Can end with a confession or not. <33

a/n – first of all, to everyone who reads this: you better check Krys out! I am absolutely IN LOVE with everything she writes (Daryl and Hazel is my favourite but literally everything is a masterpiece!) second: to get a request from one of my favourite authors on this app here is an ABSOLUTE HONOUR and I truly truly hope that I could somehow reach your expectations!!!! Thank you so much for sending me it, and I really hope you and everyone that reads this enjoys it ˙ᵕ˙ thank you for marking my start in writing for Daryl now too!😊

A little side note: surprise, I still can’t write short stuff, but bc tumblr is a bitch and is messing with long stuff I post, I decided to make 2 parts, so I can truly involve everything I planned, I hope that’s okay!!🤍🤍

masterlist

word count – 7.4k

pairing – daryl dixon x fem!reader, shane walsh x ex!fem!reader (rarely)

warnings – cursing, mentions of sex, infidelity, toxic man

Don‘t Talk To Strangers Or You Might Fall In Love – Pt. 1

Later in the evening, the women gathered down at the quarry once again. With each holding onto a basket of some sort, carrying the laundry of the rest of the camp residents, they had found their usual spot by the water. Their hands were already starting to get wrinkly by the amount of clothes they had to wash - it had only been a couple of days, and there was already a pile of it.

A wince from the oldest woman of the group made all three heads snap towards her, their eye following her carefully.

"Everything okay?" Jacqui asked, stopping mid-movement before she set down the soaked t-shirt she was holding.

Carol was quick to brush off her concerned tone, sending the woman a quick tight smile as she re-adjusted her position on the ground.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she cleared her throat. "Just... a stone."

The other women shared a quick knowing look. Yes, the surface they were sitting on was mostly stone, but not enough to get hurt or even wince the way Carol just did. She must've hit one of her bruises against the hard ground. One of the many that decorated her skin. While some of them she had clearly been able to hide underneath her clothing, the women couldn't help but notice the ones on her arms. And while some seem to fade, it didn't take much longer for new ones to appear just a day later.

"You know," Amy jumped into the conversation. "You... you don't have to share a tent with him." Everybody immediately knowing, who she meant. "You could stay in the RV, or-"

"I'm okay, Amy. Please." Carol's tone made the younger woman stop again, going right back to the task at hand. While you had hoped you'd go back to finish off your work in silence, Jaqui had other plans as she raised the volume of her voice to reach you, who was sitting a little further off.

"Well, speaking of shitty husbands." Getting a scoff out of the older woman. "Where's Shane, Y/N?" A chuckle erupted from Amy.

"Huh?" Your head shot up at the mention of his name. You found three awaiting pairs of eyes fixed on you, sending an uncomfortable rush down your spine.

"Where's your husband?" Amy repeated the question, her voice holding a slightly more gentle tone.

"He's not my husband. Just... fiancé." You shrugged. "I don't know...," mumbling as you were almost too embarrassed to admit. "He said something about going hunting."

Jacqui let out an annoyed huff of air. "That was hours ago. It's getting dark soon, doesn't he think-"

"I trust him to know how to keep himself safe. He knows what he's doing," you told her mindlessly, pouring the now dirty water back into the river in front of you.

You knew how most of the group felt about Shane. He had declared himself as the leader of your little group, thinking his status as a sheriff made him the right fit despite some of the eye-rolls and annoyed sighs it had gotten from the rest in return. It didn't seem to bother him, not even a little bit. You had tried to defend him, wanting to explain his plan of action and knowledge to the others, but he had shushed you down quickly. His own stance was enough for him to stand in front of the group of people, promising to lead them well and try to figure out how to move forward in the, what you'd now call, apocalypse.

While he was securing his place as the tough leader, commanding each person around and giving them a set role in the group, you had tried to find a sense of community. If you were to go and travel further with these people, might as well try to create some form of comradery. But that was brought to a halt before you could even truly start. By Shane.

'They're not your friends. They're just random people. We don't know them and we don't gotta know them.' He had told you. You had tried to start an argument, wanting to explain that while you didn't know most of them just yet, you might as well start now if you're going to spend more time in an enclosed area with them.

'Let's keep an eye out for Lori and Carl. She just lost her husband, for God's sake.' He never really explained just how he knew that Rick was officially dead, but the two members of the Grimes family seemed to be his only concern. The fact that you had known Glenn for a while now and considered him a close friend, almost a younger brother, didn't even register with him. He was just 'another dirty man, just like the rest of them' to Shane. He had made his opinion of the members of your group very clear. They're strangers. If it wasn't about Lori and Carl, it wasn't important. Why you were the one washing their clothes though was still beyond you though.

Jacqui was just about to open her mouth again, not wanting to drop the topic of conversation just yet, but a loud voice from up the quarry got your attention.

"Ya just don't give a shit, ya old bastard!" Daryl's uncanny accent echoed through the open area.

While a deep sigh tumbled from Carol's lips, Amy tried to ignore the fight a few feet away from you and Jacqui shook her head.

"These Dixon brothers, I swear to God... I don't understand why we haven't made them leave yet."

"Daryl's a good hunter," Amy commented quietly with a slight shrug.

"Yeah, and selfish," the older woman spat back, "And Merle? He's nothing but dragging everyone here down."

You decided to leave the scene in silence, not wanting to add anything to the conversation. You believed that everyone had a good reason for acting and behaving the way they were. You'd like to think that your good nature was part of the reason why Shane fell in love with you. Your years of dealing with children coming from troubled families had taught you that there's mostly good in almost everyone, just that most hadn't had the chance to find that side of them yet. In some ways, the Dixon brothers' attitudes reminded you of them.

Back in the camp, you brought the washing bowl back to where the rest of the clean laundry was already hanging to dry. Before you could go any further, hoping to find some alone time in your tent, Dale's voice made you stop.

"Y/N!"

You looked up at the top of his RV, where he had secured a chair, a small table and an umbrella to keep the sun from frying his skin.

"Hey, Dale," you smiled at the older man, who copied your facial expression. While some had come to find him to be a 'typical grumpy old man' - and by some you mean Shane - you and Dale had gotten closer over the short time you had spent in the group. He reminded you of your dad, who at that point in time was God knows where. You hoped he found a group similar to yours and was trying to find his place in the world you would now be living in.

"You know how to use a bow and arrow, right?" He asked you, remembering the story you had told him.

You nodded, shielding your eyes with one hand as the sun was starting to make them hurt. "My dad taught me a little, why?"

"Look what I found," he grinned before turning around to pick something up. He crouched down, now with a compound bow in his grip as he tried to get it down to you. With quick steps, you got closer, your eyes brightening up at the sight.

"Oh my god... Dale!" Your smile only widened once you got your hands on the bow. You let your hand glide over the metal, finding it to be heavier than expected. It was still in perfect condition, but you couldn't even finish admiring it before your eyes found another item being dropped down at you.

"Those were next to it," Dale added as he handed you a bag holding multiple arrows that were hopefully supposed to go with the bow. He watched your smile as you couldn't take your eyes off the archery tool. "You think you know how to handle that thing?"

"I mean... my dad taught me how to use a longbow, but... can't be that hard, right?"

The older man couldn't even answer you as a scoff erupted from behind you, followed by the familiar scruff voice of Darly.

"Ya think it's that easy." Stating it more than wondering. Knowing not to start a conversation with him unless truly needed, only able to imagine how Shane would react if he found you talking to him, you decided to ignore his comment, focusing back on Dale who seemed to have done the same.

"Where did you find it?" You asked him.

"Oh just... from a house a few minutes away. Thought you could use it."

"I don't know when yet, but... I'll try," you smiled at him.

"How about you go and try it out now?" He suddenly asked you.

His question made your head shoot back up to look at him in wonder. "Now? What do you mean?"

He sighed. "It's gonna get dark soon and Shane and Lori aren't back yet, we should try-"

"Lori?" Her name fell from your lips as you glanced around the area, only finding the youngest Grimes sitting in the grass, entertaining himself with some sticks and stones. "Where is she?"

Dale shrugged. "Said something about finding berries and whatnot-" Another scoff from behind you made him stop to shoot Daryl an annoyed glance. "I think we should try to at least get something to eat for the kids. And if they're not back anytime soon, they won't have dinner."

"What? My huntin' skills ain't enough for you, old man?" The younger Dixon brother shot up from his crouched position on the floor, nudging his head up at Dale, who was clearly annoyed by his attitude.

"A squirrel isn't gonna feed an entire group. Take Y/N with you and try finding something."

"Dale-"

"Shane's not here, honey," he immediately stopped you, apparently already knowing what your argument would be. "I think he'll be okay, knowing you were out finding something to eat for the kids."

"That asshole would rather watch 'em kids die than send her huntin' with any of us!" Daryl spat back, ignoring you standing right next to him.

He turned your head towards him. "Don't talk about him like that." Speaking to him in a much softer tone than he just did, only getting a shake of his head and an annoyed mumble in return before he turned his back towards you, making his way towards the woods. A quick glance back up at Dale made him nudge his head towards the direction the archer had just disappeared into. You could either get sulky and refuse to go with the man who had clearly other interests than to go hunting with you or you could be the bigger person and focus on bringing something into the community. Even if that meant rebelling against your partner's order to stay at the camp and focusing on the laundry in the quarry. You decided on the latter, knowing that he'd find something to get annoyed at one way or another.

With a sigh, you nodded to Dale's proposal and swung the bag of arrows over your shoulder. Turning around to follow the way Daryl had just strutted, your eyes found his silhouette already between the trees. It was uncanny. Anyone could tell it was him. His zero-fucks attitude and his arms just casually hanging by his side- The pop of his hips with each step he took just underlined the sass that man possessed almost making you chuckle.

Unlike a lot of the other members of the group, you didn't necessarily dislike him. His brother was a totally different subject. They were difficult to deal with and most definitely not the teamwork type of personalities - not directly at least. You had noticed the multiple times Daryl would vanish from sight, only to come back a few hours later with a few dead squirrely thrown over his shoulder, that he would then give to the group after skinning them. It was absolutely disgusting, to say the least, but he did his part to be a valuable part of the community, even if he might had been a unique character and more challenging to deal with.

What Merle's issue was, you had yet to discover, but the man didn't intrigue you enough to bore into his background story.

A good few minutes in, you still hadn't caught up with the archer, his steps being way bigger and faster than yours. Panting, you hoped he would hear you.

"Can you slow down for a second? Please."

Not following your words, Daryl kept up his pace, only turning his head slightly. "Don't need yer husband to see us together out'ere or we'll be the ones rotatin' over the fire instead of a dear."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his comment, even scoffing loudly at what you had just heard, and mumbling too quietly for him to hear.

Your reaction made him suddenly stop in his tracks and turn his entire body towards you. "What? Ya think I'm kiddin'? I seen the way he talks to ya and everyone else in that godforsaken camp. Treats everyone like shit if it ain' abou' that woman or the kid."

Your glare didn't even intimidate him a bit. Neither did he budge when you took a daring step closer to him.

"How about you focus on yourself and stay out of other people's business? He's trying to be a leader, alright?"

"More like tryna be a dictator. Mussolini woulda loved him." Without another word, he turned around to continue his way further into the woods, leaving you in slight surprise rooted into the ground. A shake of your head and a deep breath brought you back into the present, making you follow him again. You tried to keep the distance between big enough to keep him away from you, let close enough to still have him in view - you sure as hell weren't going to get lost in the middle of the woods.

Looking down to be careful about each step you took, you held onto the strap across your chest. With your view on the ground, you didn't notice Daryl having stopped again, making you suddenly bump into him.

"Oh- sorry." You took a quick jump back.

He had lifted up his arm to the side, keeping you from going any further. Only after looking up, you could follow his gaze, finding what had gotten the archer so enthralled. Between the bushes surrounding you ahead on a tree, there were two chipmunks perked up on a branch. They hadn't noticed you yet and if it hadn't been for Daryl's eagle eye, you had to admit, you would've overlooked them as well.

Suddenly, overly confident, you realised this was the moment you could prove your skill. A skill you hadn't trained for in a few months, but you had long enough training before that, you believed. Swiftly, you grabbed a bow from the bag on your back and took a slow step back, careful not to make any loud noise to disrupt the two animals. Daryl had his crossbow already sitting on his shoulder, his eye trained on the chipmunks as he kept totally still.

"On three," you whispered as you drew the bow in your grip. You couldn't see the archer's slight confusion as he didn't budge, only knowing he had heard you when he suddenly started counting down. As soon as the number 'three' left his lips, you let your arrow shoot through the sky, him going at the exact same time, pressing the trigger on his crossbow. The two bows hit the chipmunks perfectly in sync, making them fall from the branch and onto the floor.

"Yes!" You whispered to yourself in a cheer, brushing past Daryl with a wide smile on your face as you made your way over to where your prey was waiting for you.

The man continued to stand still, only his eyes following your movements as his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Only a few seconds later, he found you standing up straight again, proudly holding up one of the chipmunks. He followed your steps, coming to a stop as he looked down at the other animal still on the floor.

"Was that beginner's luck or...?" He asked you as he gathered it off the ground and took out his arrow before taking its companion out of your hands to put both of them into the small bag he had secured by his hips. Your eyes drifted to his arms. Glistening in the sun behind you. He had been collecting dirt all over his body, but the sweat now on his biceps was making it look only half as bad.

You shrugged, not even trying to hide the small smile still on your lips. "Maybe a little since I haven't used one of these in a while," holding up the compound bow.

"Who taught ya?" In surprise, you glanced at him, not expecting to continue the conversation as you went back to resume your hunting journey through the woods.

"My dad."

You noticed his steps suddenly slowing down again, making you turn towards him in wonder. A finger brought up to his lips told you everything you needed to know. Daryl started looking around carefully, while you just turned in a circle, wondering what he had heard. And then you saw it. A 'geek', as Glenn had labelled them, was making its way towards you.

"How on earth did you hear that?" You whispered at him, but the archer just propped his crossbow up again, ready to take out the thing coming dangerously close towards you. The noises coming from the dead had only then started to register with you too. Maybe it was your hearing turning on you or maybe Daryl had just a trained ear. Realising that he was close to shooting again, you stopped him with a hand.

"Can I?"

With a careful look, he lowered his weapon again, motioning for you to go ahead, bringing a small grin to your face. His hand was quicker than yours as he pulled out a bow from your bag, handing it over to you before leaving you to do your thing. Drawing it tightly, you didn't let a lot more seconds pass before sending the arrow straight through the geek's eye.

"Fuck, yeah-" Grinning to yourself for a split second before you realised the words that had dropped from your tongue. "Sorry," you were quick to apologise, getting a look of pure confusion from Daryl in return.

"What? Ya not allowed to curse or somethin'?" Oh, if he only knew. After years of being with Shane, you had found yourself truly swearing off the usage of any curse words as your fiancé had labelled them 'unladylike', sending you a look of disapproval each time it would escape you accidentally. Strict looks had turned into warnings, which then turned into arguments, so you had just learned to bite your tongue.

You were about to head up to get it back, back Daryl's voice stopped you.

"Stay'ere." He walked past you towards the now truly dead thing to get your arrow back. After ripping it out of its head again, he took a good look around, turning his entire body before coming back to you.

"They're usually not alone," he pushed the arrow into your hands. "Let's see what else we can find and get the hell outta 'ere before it gets dark."

You just nodded in agreement before following him again. This time, you noticed walking side by side with him as he had slowed down his strides.

To you, it seemed like a relatively comfortable silence, but Daryl didn't agree with that apparently as his grunt slashed through it,

"Yer husband know you can hunt?"

A sigh evidently fell from your lips, but you were able to hold back a roll of your eyes. He was trying to keep up the conversation and you couldn't not admit that you quite enjoyed not necessarily having to walk in complete silence. Even if it meant talking about Shane apparently.

"Don't know," you shrugged.

"What d'ya mean, ya don't know? Yer never talked about that? Ain't he supposed to know ya inside out or some shit like that?" You knew, deep down his words held nothing but truth, yet, you had learned to ignore remarks like that, knowing that Shane was just a different kind of partner than most.

"Why should he know about something he's not interested in?" As long as you weren't out on your own and at home in the evening with a homecooked meal waiting for him, he had never truly cared about what you did. Lying, you'd be out with your friends for a few hours while doing something completely different had gotten you far. Him working late hours most days only helped. You never even thought about telling him about the childhood hobby you had started at 8 years old and had carried with you up until well into adulthood. While you had left home as soon as you had turned 18, knowing Atlanta was the place you'd want to study in, archery was one of the things that had kept you connected to home. To your dad.

"That don't sound righ' if ya ask me," he commented.

"Well," you couldn't help but sigh again, "good thing he's not your issue to worry about."

"But he is." His comment made you stop. Daryl was quick to notice you not walking beside him anymore, making him stop and turn. "I gotta worry about him havin' my balls on a stick if he sees me talkin' to ya."

"Then don't!"

"Then why d'ya follow me into the woods, huh?" It looked like you were about to start a fight with Daryl Dixon.

"Because Dale asked me to. Because no one trusts you to do anything good for the group on your own," you spat at him, continuing your way, making sure to bump his shoulder as you passed him.

The archer scoffed, "Yeah because everyone trusts ya lil' husband oh so much to care for every-"

You came to another halt. "He's not my husband! We're engaged, you ignorant fuck!"

"Oh, careful," Daryl eyed you, "What would'e say if he heard ya talkin' like that, huh?" Sending you a provocative look that made you take a deep breath in, trying to contain your anger.

"I think you got a brother to worry about, Dixon. Enough drama there, don't snoop into other people's lives."

That seemed to have done the job as he kept quiet while you walked ahead. It took a few seconds before you heard him behind you again, proud of yourself for leaving him stunned even if it was just for a short moment. You didn't want to snap at him like that, you had to admit. It just came out and if you could take it back, you would've. He wasn't directly snooping, you knew that. You weren't here to make enemies, at least you didn't want to. You desperately wanted to get along with everyone as best as possible. Not meaning that you'd have to become close friends with each person in the group, just good colleagues.

With your mind deep in thought, overthinking every word you had just dropped, you didn't notice the ruffling leaves close by. Not until you felt a tug on your arm that made you stop. Almost annoyed, you turned around, only to find Daryl lifting his finger to his lips, telling you to keep quiet. At first, you looked at him in confusion but the moment you heard a grunt, your ears perked up as you started to glance around. You had just ran into a geek with the Dixon brother reminding you that they usually travelled in bigger groups, meaning the possibility of another one being close by wasn't that small.

The grunting continued making your frown only deepen. It didn't necessarily sound like one of the dead, you realised. Daryl started moving around slowly and as quietly as possible, you following close behind, keeping ducked down just in case.

Suddenly, you caught another noise. One that sounded less like a grunt and more like a... moan? Clearly just as confused as you, the archer turned around to meet your gaze for a split second.

With each step the two of you took further, the noises became much clearer. Shuffling leaves, grunts, and clear moans were now hitting your ear. One specific huff of air made a cold shiver run down your spine. It's like your body knew before your eyes could even see it.

Daryl and you hit a raised ground that kept you from seeing where the noise was coming from as you were still crouched down. But as soon as you let your back straighten, every last bit of air left your lungs. You saw the auburn hair spread out on the grass first. Directly next to it, an all too familiar head of black curls, the face deep in her neck, muting the moans coming from him. With each pound, they became heavier and louder. You already knew it. Right as Shane lifted his head though, you could feel yourself wanting to scream. And if it wasn't for the hand suddenly covering your mouth, you would've.

You were pulled onto the ground, back into your crouched position, and dragged back from where you came from. As hard as you tried to fight the grip the archer had on you, it was no use as he was clearly much stronger than you. The leaves and branches brushed against your pants as he kept tugging on you to keep you right up against him, not daring to loosen the hand covering your lip

Once it seemed far away enough for him, Daryl let go of you, letting you fall to the ground completely as you desperately choked up for air.

"You bastard-" You went at him, only for him to cover your mouth once again.

He pulled you in hard. "Ya screamin' 'ere and an entire hoard will hear ya. Keep quiet," he hissed at you in a whisper. You never noticed the soft specks of green that decorated his striking blue eyes. Not until then.

A quick moment of silence followed as your eyes suddenly filled with tears. Daryl's gaze softened immediately, removing his hand from you as if your skin had turned into burning hot metal.

While you had started to sob in the middle of the woods, trying to keep as quiet as possible, the archer didn't know what else to do, but to stand next to you, his eyes fixed on your shaking shoulders. He wasn't the right person to console someone. Nor did he even know how.

"I told ya he's an asshole," he mumbled, clearly not at the right moment as you sent him an angry frown.

"You didn't tell me sh-"

"I tried tellin' ya!" Raising his voice just a bit to turn his tone stern, yet keeping the volume low enough. "I told ya he ain't interested in anyone but that woman and her son."

"I want to go back," you sniffled, feeling your chest painfully tightening.

"Go back to 'em?!"

"Back to the camp, idiot!" You snapped at him, your hand flying up to your chest. "I feel like I'm gonna throw up." Trying to take deep breaths in that just continuously proved to be hard as you only choked up more. Coughing mixed with your sobs, you fell onto your knees, your hand clutching the very top of your chest as you tried to breathe.

"Hey-" Daryl fell onto the ground right in front of you, his rough hands grabbing you by your shoulders to pull you straight, trying to get you to look at him. "Calm down," he strictly told you.

"H-He-" you sobbed, "he... fucked her. He just-", coughing again as the air got stuck in your throat.

"I know- hey-" you lowered your head to look at the ground beneath you, only for Darly to grab your chin and make you look back up again. "He's a fuckin' idiot. Don't cry 'bout him."

"W-What did I do?" You asked, technically hypothetically, as you continued to choke on your own cries. "What do- How?!"

"Ya didn't do anythin'," he tried to console you. "He's a dumb fuckin' bastard. A coward. A stupid mongo-"

"Lori... I-I thought-," stopping yourself again as another sob shot through your body.

"It's okay," Daryl whispered, "don't fuckin' cry for 'em. Ya think they would cry for ya?"

"What about Carl?!" You ignored his comment, instead continuing to throw out whatever came to your head.

The archer shook his head, "That ain' your problem to worry 'bout."

"She- she just lost her husband... a-and now this?!"

Before Daryl could say anything, you brushed off his hands from your shoulders and raked yourself up.

Still sniffling, you looked around. "We gotta go back." Noticing that the sun had already started to set and no one was supposed to be out in the dark.

With a grunt, he copied you, pushing himself up to stand again while his eyes continued to follow you as you tried to get yourself back together. You could feel his gaze burning holes into your skin, making you look up. Cheeks tears stained, burning read. Your eyes were swollen, still letting single drops of tears escape as you slowly managed to even out your breathing.

"Let's go back." You re-secured the bag and bog on your shoulder before turning around to walk to the camp. A sigh escaped Daryl's lips as he shook his head slightly before jogging up towards you, stopping you with his hands back on your shoulders. He swiftly turned you around, only to let go again, his steps slowing down to let you walk ahead. This time, in the right direction.

The way back was spent mostly in silence, only a few remarks coming from the archer each time he had to tell you to either turn right or left. In no time, you had come back, finding most of the group either already back in their tents or gathered by the SUV. The sun had fully set, now the only source of natural light coming from the soft glow of the moon.

"There you are!" Dale called out as soon as his eyes found you. The smile that had started to spread on his lips fell quickly as soon as you got close enough to him to let him see the dishevelled state you were in. "What happened?" He gasped, but you just shook your head and made a quick B-turn towards your tent. The tent you shared with Shane.

The older man's tone changed quickly, clearly blaming one specific person for your mood as he followed behind you not much later.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Dale snapped at Daryl, only to get a scoff in return.

"How abou' you ask her asshole fiancé." The Dixon brother left him with that, ignoring the looks of the people around them. He opened his satch to take out the two chipmunks you had caught, only to throw them onto a set-up table and disappear down towards the quarry.

In the comfort of the plastic walls, with the bow and arrows set down outside, you had let yourself let go one more time, the tears not needing more than mere seconds before running down your cheeks again. You couldn't continue crying about this.

'Ya think they would cry for ya?'

Daryl's words rang through your mind. You hated to admit that he was most probably right.

Your relationship with Shane wasn't tense. At least until a few months ago. It had always been a little bit more difficult than you would've liked to, but you remembered the words of your mother, saying 'marriage is hard', making you realise that most likely each couple had their fair share of issues to work through. And you and Shane seemed to just have a good amount of those. Either disagreements, discussions, or different ideas and wants. Everything from as simple as the colour of your living room walls, to which state you'd have your wedding in - since your grandma was almost bedridden, you had proposed to have at least the officiant ceremony in Ohio, but Shane was, surprise, against that.

You glanced down at your ring. A gold band, holding a small square diamond right in the middle. It was beautiful. Even though you had always solely worn silver jewellery and had mentioned the classic round diamond as your dream style. Still, you had accepted the proposal. You looked past the smirks he would send waitresses and secretaries. Ignored comments he made about other people in your life. You had even given in and promised him not to get too close to anyone in the group that was right outside.

It was never 'controlling' in your eyes. You didn't know any better. But while you had to lock yourself away, making doing laundry your only form of 'entertainment', he was having fun with a presumed widow. Whereas he had told you and everyone else that he would be spending the day trying to hunt down 'something big'.

You shook your head. You had all the reasons to leave him already months ago and yet you didn't. A lot of your friends had told you you'd regret marrying him. But he had managed to get into your head, making you think that they were the crazy ones. That all of your 'dumb sorority girlfriends' had no idea what they were talking about.

Comments and stares were one thing you could look past, but cheating... you had to draw the line somewhere. You remembered all the times your college friends came crying into the dorm, sobbing into their pillows as they complained about their boyfriends fucking around with other girls on campus. Everyone would gather and support them with one opinion: dump him. Leave him. He doesn't deserve you.

'I told ya he ain't interested in anyone but that woman and her son.'

There was Daryl's voice again in the back of your head. Screaming at you. If even he could see it, yet you were too blind to realise it...

With one final deep breath in, you gathered the sleeping bag you had claimed for yourself into your arms, along with your pillow. You managed to drag everything out of the tent, suddenly feeling more free than ever.

Looking around, you found no one sitting outside anymore, indicating most had gone to bed, but the light inside the RV made you hopeful. You couldn't sleep in your shared tent tonight. Or ever again. And Dale was your only other choice. With everything packed in your arms, you made your way over to the vehicle, knocking on the door with your foot. Two voices made you look behind you, your face immediately falling when you found Shane and Lori coming back from the woods. They took their goddamn time.

The door opened, catching your attention again. Dale looked at you in confusion but before he could say anything, you beat him to it.

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

Forget about your age. Suddenly, you felt like a little kid again. Too scared to sleep on their own, begging their parents to let them sleep in their room.

"Y/N?" Shane's rough voice called out your name, making your heartbeat quicken.

You looked up at the older man in panic. "Please."

With no hesitation, Dale nodded, stepping aside to let you walk in, ushering you inside with his hand. Daryl's remark from earlier had engraved itself in his brain as soon as he found the sheriff strutting over to his RV in big steps.

"What is she doing, Dale?" He wondered, his voice holding slight anger to it. "Y/N!" He shouted out your name again, but you gave him no response.

The older man stopped Shane from coming any closer.

"You better leave, son."

"What the fuck did I do?!" He unknowingly asked before getting the RV's door closed in his face.

The moment silence took over the enclosed room, Dale turned to you, now sitting on the small sofa.

"What the fuck did he do?"

If there was one person in this apocalyptic world that you had come to trust, it was Dale. He had already let you into his home, he deserved to get a reason for it.

You could already feel the tears filling your eyes again. Both of you ignored the knocks on the door, the old man's eyes fixed solely on you as he sat down by the small dining table, ready to wait patiently for you to answer his question.

"He... he cheated on me...," You couldn't hold back the sob that followed. "With Lori." The added remark made Dale's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He leaned back into his chair, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair as he huffed out a chunk of air.

"Daryl and I- we saw them in the woods-," You let your head fall into the palms of your hand. The old man was quick back on his feet, on his way over to you.

"Oh, honey," sighing out, but stopping as the heavy knocks on the door continued. With an annoyed huff, he rushed over to the door to pull it open.

"Get the fuck away from my RV!" Shouting at Shane, not even giving him a moment to answer as he smashed the door close again.

"I-I don't know what to do." You admitted in sobs, glancing up at the man as he got closer to you, making space to sit down next to you. A comforting arm found its way around your shoulder while his other hand rubbed your upper arm.

"That man doesn't deserve an angel like you," he whispered at you, hoping his calming voice would soothe your cries. "He clearly doesn't know what he lost with a stupid act like that."

"He proposed to me," you showed him the ring in desperation. "Only to cheat on me?"

"What can I tell ya, kid... young men are...," Dale sighed as he shook his head. "Dumb... and blind. They think they own the world."

You continued to sob in the man's arms. Listening to his soft voice as he spoke to you while you kept on your rambles of despair. Why Lori out of all people? You used to go out on double dates with your partners. You had known Rick Grimes for a good few years now. He was a good man. You had thought Lori was a good woman. But there she went, sleeping with an engaged man. The colleague, and best friend of her husband. Who may or may not be dead. Maybe Rick was gone, but you were still there. Only one partner of the cheating couple was widowed. The other part was still very much in a committed relationship. Or so you thought.

"W-What do I do now?" You wondered out loud. "How am I supposed to continue this?" Not necessarily talking about your relationship with Shane, but the situation altogether.

"You don't." Daryl's simple but straightforward answer made you look up. In the meantime, your sobs had quieted down again.

"What?"

"You tell him," he strictly told you. "You tell him what you saw. And you end it. Men like that... they don't change."

"God...," you fell back into the cushions behind you, running your hands down your face as you wiped the tears away. "Was I just... not good enough for him anymore? Why would he do something like this?"

"I wish I could tell ya, honey. But don't think that this has anythin' to do with you," Dale's stern voice made you glance at him. "Men like him don't think. You think he really thought of the possible consequences of his actions?"

You shrugged.

"He didn't. If he did, he wouldn't have done it. And men like don't deserve a second chance. Hell- they don't even deserve a first chance. But they're charming and whatnot, and before you know it, they're havin' their dicks in other women, breaking hearts of the ones that actually care about them."

You decided to stay quiet, letting his words sink in and register with you.

"You don't deserve that, honey."

Nodding your head, you took a deep breath in, wiping your nose. "I know..." With a sigh, you pushed yourself to stand up. "I have to talk to him."

"You sure, you wanna do that tonight?" The man carefully asked you, but you had already made up your mind, so you just continued to nod.

Quietly, you left the RV, of course not before Dale promised to set up a bed for you to stay in inside his movable home. You knew you had found the confidence to face your- Shane. Yet, your shaking legs and hands almost betrayed you. Realising, you didn't even truly think about how to start the conversation, the anxiety inside of you only started to bubble up more, hitting its highest point when you suddenly saw Shane exiting your tent.

His eyes fixed on you in the dark, finding your silhouette coming towards him thanks to the light shining through the RV's windows.

"Y/N-" he started, but you interrupted him right away.

"It's over."

Shane's eyebrows scrunched together. "What?"

"It's over," you repeated, finding your voice slightly shakier than you would've liked to. You glanced down your hands, almost mindlessly, wrapping your fingers around the gold band. Once, the sight of the shimmering ring on your finger made you smile, now it just shot another wave of sadness through your body. Almost shakingly, you took the last step, pulling the gold band off your finger, the metal leaving your skin, making you breathe out heavily.

"Hey- hey," the sheriff rushed closer to you, making you scoot back in reflex. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" You spat at him, a salty chuckle tumbling from your lips. There was a slight change in expression on his face as he lifted his hands in defence.

"Listen-"

"No, you listen," you stopped him again. You didn't even let your brain think about what words were about to fall from your lips. "Don't even try-" You had to stop yourself, taking a deep breath in, trying to promise yourself not to cry in front of the man that you had lost so many nerves to.

"What the hell are you doing?" He continued to ask you, his frown only deepening.

But you just continued to shake your head, ignoring the anger starting to lace his voice. You had seen Shane angry before. Even angry at you. And it scared you. But right now, the anger, you were trying to hold back, should terrify everyone involved in this situation.

Taking a few steps closer to stop right in front of him, you lifted your hand that was still tightly holding onto the ring you had once worn and shown off proudly. Once Shane opened his palm underneath it, you let it drop down.

"It's over." Before he could ask you anything more, you left him with one last comment hanging in the air. "Have fun with Lori."

Turning around, you could hear his heavy huffs and the callouts of your name, yet he didn't even dare to try and reach out to you, leaving you to make your way back towards the RV. In the back, the sound of him knocking over some of the empty cans you had gathered, filled the silence. Up ahead, you found a silhouette standing still, almost scaring you if it wasn't for the distinct stance you were able to recognise immediately. The dim light illuminated Daryl's scowl as he had clearly watched the scene from a distance.

Arrived at the door of the vehicle, you wanted to at least send him a tight smile, a goodnight and somewhat of a thank you, but the archer had already disappeared again in his usual nature.

I CAN‘T WAIT TO POST PART 2🙈🤗🥰 I loved writing this so much omg

this is me officially stating I'm writing for the man that is Daryl Dixon now too :)

#Daryl dixon x reader #Shane Walsh #fluff #twd #the walking dead #Norman reedus #Jon bernthal #let me tell you something #one shot #imagine #fem!reader #series #masterlist

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lunajay33 · 1 year ago

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@deansapplepie @azanoni @writer-ann-artist @ghostboneswrites2 @daryldixmedown

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xoxo-sarah · 2 months ago

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A Trapped Memory

My Wife part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Series Masterlist

↝a/n: I finally found the time to upload; sorry for the delay! The next chapter might have a little bit of smut- you didn't hear it from me, though! 🙊

↝pairing: season1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: not proofread, the usual TWD gore and stuff, flashback, eating, eating steak? Lord knows Daryl isn't doing without meat, CDC, mention of suicide, alcohol

↝⎙ 3.18.25

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

Daryl Dixon Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“That’s asking an awful lot these days.” The man stepped forward. Fear coursed through your veins just as your blood did. The man looked frazzled, not only with the gun shaking in his hands and the uncertainty on his face, but his hair was wild, shirt stretched and wrinkled like he had been woken up. His eyes looked tired; not sleepy-but emotionally exhausted.

“I know,” Rick shifted his weight, hoping and praying the man would have mercy. The man’s crazed, unsure eyes searched all of you, watching as you all held baited breath.

The barrel was becoming warm under your grip. Daryl stepped closer to you, looking behind himself just to make sure any walkers didn’t get too close.

The pale man finally spoke after staring, weighing his options. “You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission.”

Rick sighed in relief, “We can do that.” He nodded.

The man put the gun down, “You got stuff to bring in, you do it now,” he pointed at the shutters, “Once this door closes, it stays closed.”

Feet shuffled across the yard, back to the vehicles. People grabbed anything they deemed important. Everyone seemed to already have everything.

You didn’t.

Something was holding you back.

With one last look at Daryl as he shuffled through another set of doors, you ran back. Past the smell of rotten corpses and straight to the truck.

Daryl yelled after you.

Slinging the old, creaky door open harshly, you immediately pulled the vizor on the driver’s side down. A white rectangle fluttered down into the worn seat.

Daryl ran to the truck, beating on the hood, and looking at you like you were crazy. Maybe you were.

Grabbing what you came for, you slammed the door shut, running back to the building.

Daryl wavered behind.

Reckless; that’s what your actions were.

Everyone stared as you ran back, Daryl on your tail at that point. The blond/greying man stared at you, then to what you had in your hand. He swiped a card, “Vi, seal the main entrance. Kill the power up here.” Gears rattled, doors clanking.

Still trying to catch your breath, you avoided Daryl’s eyes as he glared into the side of your head, eyebrows knitted. Inhaling deeply, you looked down. Flipping it over, you stared at the picture. A trapped memory.

~flashback~

You had just bought the camera. You had seen it while walking through a thrift store before heading home. The sweet lady at the counter had let you know the camera needed film, giving you a heads up that a store down the road carried some. Arriving at your second stop before heading home, you bought some blank white polaroids.

Stepping in the house, you didn’t expect there to be a delicious aroma wafting through the small house. Daryl walked out from the kitchen, eyes practically lighting up at seeing his wife.

He put the dish rag down after wiping his hands, before walking over to you. The door shut behind you as you put the bag and your keys on the table by the door. His hands sat on your hips as you put the camera down beside the bag.

“How’s work?” Daryl kissed your forehead, looking down into your eyes.

“Just another day,” you sighed. “What’s that smell?”

“Supper. Steak, potatoes. Stopped by and got stuff for salad.”

“You hummed, already having your mouth water. “Haven’t had steak in a while.” You stepped out of your shoes as he nodded, pulling back.

As he went back to the kitchen, you went to your bedroom, changing into something more comfortable. By the time you walked out of your room, Daryl was setting the plates. Given his childhood, setting the plates, eating at the kitchen table, cooking together- hell, even just having a non-toxic relationship was foreign. It wouldn’t matter how long you were together for. He tried, you both did. The majority of the time, you would eat dinner on the couch. Sure, many grandparents would probably curse you for it -burn you at the stake even- but it didn’t matter. It was your house, your couch, your life--together.

Walking up behind him, you put your arms around his waist. He continued scooping mashed potatoes on each of your plates, before scooting yours over.

“Bon-apple-teet, or whatever the French say.”

A chuckle slipped past your lips before you let go of him, grabbing your plate.

Daryl made sure he turned the oven off, before opening the fridge. You grabbed your plate, along with his, and walked to the living room. Setting the plates on the coffee table, you sat down, reaching for the remote, before switching through the channels.

Daryl walked in, lifting an open beer bottle to his lips, a glass in his other hand, wine bottle under his arm. He flopped on the couch beside you. He made quick work of pouring you a glass of wine as you tried to find something to watch.

All that seemed to be on were reruns or some crappy tv show with terrible acting and a worse plot. Sighing, you gave up, sitting back as some rerun played.

You both began digging into your food, sitting in comfortable silence aside from the laugh track of the show. The flavors melted on your tongue. You silently thanked yourself for teaching Daryl how to season food correctly. He silently did the same from beside you. Daryl would eat anything, no matter the taste. If it was food, he was fine with it. Anything is better than starving.

He swallowed before grabbing his beer, turning to you, “Fixed my bike today.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “What was wrong with it?”

“Brake pads. Drained the old oil, too. Keepin’ myself busy ‘til you got home.”

“Maybe we could go for a ride tomorrow.”

Daryl’s eyes lit up again. Going on rides through the backroads was always relaxing after a long week. Saturdays were usually the days you could both let loose. Wind could blow through your hair, taking the burden of the week with it. Daryl loved that rugged bike, and in turn, you did too. “Sounds like a plan.”

The tiny tapping against the hardwood floor averted your attention. “Ball of fluff.” Daryl tsked, watching the dog stretch from her nap. Before walking over to sit by your feet.

“She needs a bath.” You smiled, already knowing Daryl was readying a sigh and eye roll combo. The puppy hated baths. Usually Daryl took the lead as you guarded the door, towel ready to wrap around her soaked body. It’s not like you didn’t try to swap roles, Daryl persisted every time. He didn’t want you getting scratched– like he has plenty of times.

Finishing your plate, you scooted to the edge of the couch, grabbing a napkin to wipe your mouth.

“I stopped by that thrift store Mary, from work, is always talking about.”

“Whatcha get?” He took another swig of his beer, watching you stand and walk over to where you had set the bag down. Bringing it over, you put an empty polaroid film in the camera. A sneaky grin etched across your face before Daryl could guess what you could possibly be planning. Before he knew it, you turned the camera around, clicking the button.

He grumbled, reaching for you. You moved away, giggling as you waited for the picture to develop. He watched as you smiled at the picture.

“Throw it away.” He squinted his eyes up at you, keeping eye contact as you walked over, sitting back down. You threw your legs over his lap. His hands instantly went to your calves, massaging the stress from the work day.

I want one of us.” You bit your lip, putting the picture aside, before angling the camera toward the both of you. You paused, licking your teeth, before baring them at him. “Anything in my teeth?” He looked before shaking his head.

He continued looking at you as you raised the camera, smiled, and took the picture. When the picture developed, you frowned before actually raking in how he was looking at you. In awe. You could actually see the love he had for you.

The picture instantly became your favorite.

Sadly, you had put the camera on a shelf and forgot about it.

The picture of Daryl was put in your car, the other put in Daryl’s truck. He loved it just as much as you did, even if he didn’t admit it.

You were both happy in the few years you were together. It wasn’t until a couple years later that Daryl got down on one knee.

Sure, the portrait of you two wasn’t perfect, with your fingers covering some of the lens, and it being slightly slanted. It was a perfectly imperfect representation of your relationship.

“Don’t throw that one away.” He picked the polaroid from your fingers, looking down at it.

You weren’t going to tell him that neither were going to be trashed.

~~~

The elevator hummed. Everyone was packed tightly in the box like sardines. You stood beside Daryl, staring down at the picture in your palm. Daryl shifted from beside you, scooting in on himself to give you more room. It didn’t help.

“Doctors always go around packin’ heat like that?” Daryl asked, crossbow in one arm and shotgun in the other.

Dr. Jenner glanced back, “There were plenty left lying around. I familiarized myself.” He nodded, looking around at the strangers he had let in. “But you look harmless enough.” He gave Carl a look, “Except you. I’ll have to keep my eye on you.” Carl tried hiding his grin.

Stepping out of the elevator, Jenner led you down the hall.

“Are we underground?” Jenner looked at her, “Are you claustrophobic?”

“A little.”

“Try not to think about it.”

“Vi, bring up the lights in the big room.”

A halo of light lit up overhead a bunch of machines and computers.

“Welcome to Zone Five.”

Rick followed the doctor further into the big room.

“Where is everybody? The other doctors, the staff?”

“I’m it. It’s just me here.”

Lori began questioning the doctor, “What about the person you were speaking with? Vi?”

“Vi, say hello to our guests. Tell them.. “Welcome.””

A robotic voice emitted from all around, “Hello, guests. Welcome.”

Jenner threw his hands up, frowning. “I’m all that’s left. I’m sorry.”

Laughter emitted from everyone around the tables that were pushed together to make a large table.

Dale was ever the jokester.

“You know, In Italy, children have a bit of wine with dinner.” He laughed, raising his bushy white eyebrows ar Lori, who held her hand out for the glass of wine the elder was pouring. “And in France,” He added.

“Well, and when Carl is in Italy, or France, he can have some then.” She took a swig from her glass, letting the liquid coat her mouth with its rich and complex flavor.

Dale grabbed your glass, refilling it with the Merlot.Rick chuckled at his wife covering Carl’s cup when Dale turned back toward them. She gave Dale a stern look, turning to her husband.

“What’s it gonna hurt? C’mon. C’mon.”

Dale laughed, watching Lori stare down Rick, before turning to Carl, before shrugging. She moved her hand, letting Dale pour a little in the cup. “There you are, young lad.”

Carl took the cup in curiosity, sipping at the liquid. He quickly put the cup back down, pulling a face of disgust that made you laugh. “Ewww!” He shook his head, trying to rid the pungent flavor off his tongue. Lori patted his back with a proud expression, “That’s my boy,” she reached for hid cup, pouring what was left into her glass. “That’s my boy.”

“Yuck! Tastes nasty.”

“Well, stick to sodapop there, bud.” Shane commented from behind his conjoined hands, elbows sat on the table.

“Not you, Glenn.” Daryl moved from his spot beside you. The younger man looked up, confused, the alcohol already taking its effect, “What?”

“Keep drinking, little man. I want to see how red your face can get.”

You smiled as people hollered.

A clicking against a glass and Rick standing up drew everyone's attention.

“It seems to me we haven't thanked our host properly,” You glanced over at Jenner, who sat at a small table a little away from the conjoined tables. T-Dog raised his glass, “He is more than just our host.”

“Hear, hear!”

“Here’s to you, Doc. Booyah!” Daryl raised the wine bottle, smiling down at you.

Everyone started their own conversation. You looked down at your plate, zoning out.

Daryl walked over, squatting beside you. “You alright? Haven’t said nothing.”

You shook your head, “Yeah, just tired.” You offered him a small smile. He hesitantly stood, topping off your glass before taking a swig out of the bottle.

“Been a while since I was able to have wine. Should’ve grabbed a case before going to the city.” The thought of wine collecting dust in your old house brought a frown to your face. Maybe another group of survivors would run across your house and be able to take the edge off. Maybe they would need it more than you.

Daryl placed his other hand on your shoulder, slowly kneading the wound up muscles.

You gave him a close-lipped smile, patting his rough hand across your chest.

“So, when are ya gonna tell us what the hell happened here, Doc?”

At Shane’s question, the little bubble of normalcy was popped. Everyone stopped smiling, finding their empty plates or the bottom of their glasses all the more interesting. Shane stared at Jenner, wild eyebrows raised. He liked the attention now being brought on Jenner, as if he still owed you all something after letting you in. “All the uh-the other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened. Where are they?” Shane grabbed his glass, sloshing the wine around.

“We’re celebrating, Shane.” Rick sent a warning glare to his bestfriend, the bestman to his wedding, the man that held the record for the most stubborn man that Rick knew. The man that didn’t know when to quite. “Don’t need to do this now.”

“Woah, wait a second. That’s why we’re here, right?” Shane countered, holding his palm up to Rick. “This was your move- supposed to find all the answers. Instead we-” Shane cut himself off with a humorless chuckle, “We found him.” He snorted, pointing at Jenner with his thumb. “Found one man. Why?”

Jenner spoke up, “Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just left. Went off to be with their families. And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted.”

Shane licked his plump, chapped lips. “Every last one?”

“No, many couldn’t face walking out the door. They…opted out.”

You brought the wine to your lips, swollowing more than what was normally appropriate.

“There was a rash of suicides.” Jenner looked away, “That was a bad time.”

Andrea didn’t waste much time before questioning him herself, “You didn’t leave. Why?”

“I just kept working, hoping to do some good.”

Glenn stood, walking over to sit at a table near instead of a counter where the alcohol was making seem way higher than it really was. The boyish grin from before was gone. Everyone was sullen with how the dinner had ended up.

Glenn looked at Shane.

“Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man.”

Part 5

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]

Tags for people who enjoyed the last 3 chapters: @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch @wwalkergutzz @buckyssbestgirl @darylmysavior @queen-of-bad-ideas @notmirnda @vomiting-blood @i93jjk @multifandomfan @gaudesstuff @cymbalta-slut

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darylslittlebitch · 2 months ago

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meeting twd characters for the first time (x fem!reader)

characters: daryl, rick, negan, glenn, carl, maggie and michonne.

writer's note: twd fandom just doesn’t age, man. no matter how many years pass, it still hits different every damn time. a few days ago, i started rewatching the series for the eleventh time (yeah, i’ve got issues, i know), and i was craving some good imagines… but guess what? i found nothing with all my faves together. so, you know what? i took matters into my own hands. if no one’s gonna feed me, i’ll fill tumblr myself with imagines of the walking dead. consider this my way of keeping the hype alive. now, go survive the apocalypse, you filthy survivors. request are open! ;)

daryl

The forest seemed to close in around you. You ran aimlessly, your lungs burning and your legs trembling, but you couldn't stop. The guttural sounds of the walkers dragged behind you, each growl getting closer, each dry footstep on the leaves proving there was no escape.

"I can't… I can't…" you thought, feeling your strength abandon you.

Your chest rose and fell frantically, and the branches scratched your skin. Warm blood dripped from a cut on your arm, but you had no time to worry about it. You were alone, defenseless, and had no idea what to do. You had always depended on others—your father, your brother, anyone willing to protect you. But now… now there was no one.

A louder growl, way too close, made you stumble and fall to your knees. The impact shook your entire body, pain shooting through every exhausted muscle.

"No…" you sobbed, feeling tears spill over. "Please, no…"

When you lifted your gaze, you saw it. The nearest walker, just a few feet away, its jaw hanging loose, rotten flesh peeling off in chunks. Its empty eyes stared straight at you, hungry, and its bony fingers reached forward.

"I'm going to die here…"

You curled into yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. There was nothing left to do.

Then, you heard a sharp whistle. Something pierced through the walker's skull, dropping it instantly like a sack of putrid meat.

You opened your eyes just in time to see someone emerging from the trees—a lean man, long unkempt hair, a crossbow still raised, and a serious expression on his face.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice rough and firm.

You blinked, trying to process what had just happened. "W-what?"

"Don't just sit there," he grunted, quickly approaching and grabbing your arm to pull you up. His grip was firm but not harsh. "More of those sons of bitches are around."

You tried to walk, but your legs wouldn’t cooperate. "I can't…" you murmured, panic tightening around your chest.

"Yeah, you can," he insisted, practically dragging you along. "I ain't carrying you."

You barely managed to move, but he never let go. He guided you through the trees with quick, sure steps, like he knew every inch of the forest. You could hear the growls fading behind you little by little until, finally, silence settled.

"It’s over," he muttered, finally letting go. You collapsed to the ground, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

"W-what was that?" you stammered, struggling to catch your breath.

"The end of the world," he answered bluntly, shrugging.

"Thank you…" you whispered.

He nodded, as if there was no need to say anything else. Then, after a long silence, he added, "You got somewhere to stay?"

You shook your head, feeling a sharp sting of shame.

The man let out a heavy sigh, running a hand down his face, as if deciding whether you were worth the trouble.

"Alright," he finally said. "I can take you to my people… if you promise not to screw it up."

It didn’t sound like the kindest offer, but it was the best thing you’d heard in days.

"I promise," you said quickly.

He looked you up and down, as if trying to figure out just how useless you might be. But instead of saying anything, he simply extended his hand.

"I'm Daryl."

You took his hand, still shaking. It was rough, covered in scars, with the firmness of someone who had spent his life surviving.

"Thank you, Daryl…"

He nodded again and, before turning to lead you through the woods once more, he murmured:

"Don’t wander off again."

rick

The sun was beginning to set when you saw him for the first time.

A man, looking exhausted but alert, was walking down the road with a backpack on his shoulders and a revolver ready to fire. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing, attentive to every shadow and every sound. You followed him from a distance, crouching among the bushes lining the road. You didn’t know who he was, but something about him told you he carried valuable things.

For the past few weeks, you had eaten only the scraps you found lying around, and you couldn’t keep going like this. Desperation had pushed you to do things you never thought you’d do… and this was one of them.

When the man stopped in front of an abandoned car, he pulled out a small bag of canned food and stuffed it into his backpack. He couldn’t have much more, but it would be enough to keep you alive for a few days.

You waited until he stepped away from the car and then slipped silently behind him.

“Drop the backpack,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

The man turned slowly, raising his hands just a few inches. His blue eyes, cold as steel, locked onto yours.

“Don’t do this,” he warned calmly.

“I said drop the backpack.” You kept the knife steady, though your hand was sweating.

“You don’t want this,” he insisted. “You don’t look like a killer.”

His words made you grip the knife’s handle tighter. What does this guy know about me?

“Drop it,” you demanded, firmer this time.

With an expression of pure resignation, he let the backpack fall to the ground.

“The gun too,” you added.

His jaw tensed, but he obeyed, placing his revolver on the ground with a soft clank.

You quickly crouched to grab both things, never taking your eyes off him. You were just starting to rise when you heard it—

Gunshots.

First one. Then several, getting closer and closer. You froze, staring at the horizon.

A car was speeding toward you, weaving between the remains of abandoned vehicles. You saw at least three silhouettes inside, one of them leaning out the window with a rifle in hand.

“Shit!”

The shot passed so close you could feel the wind whistling past your ear. Fear paralyzed you—you didn’t know whether to run or drop to the ground. But before you could do anything, you felt a brutal impact on the back of your knee.

You screamed and collapsed to the ground.

“What the hell—?!”

Then you understood: Rick had knocked you down just in time to keep the bullet from hitting you.

He was already on the ground and without thinking, you reached into your jacket, pulled out the gun you had stolen from him just seconds ago, and tossed it back to him.

Rick caught it mid-air, turned in an instant, and fired twice at the car. The driver lost control, and the vehicle crashed into one of the abandoned cars on the road.

“Move!” Rick growled, grabbing your arm and dragging you with him.

You both approached the crashed car with weapons ready. One of the guys inside tried to stumble out, but Rick didn’t hesitate—he shot him in the head without a second thought.

Another man, bulkier, reached for a pistol that had fallen to the ground, but you saw him first. Without thinking, you fired. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, and he dropped to his knees.

Rick finished him off without a second glance.

The silence that followed was overwhelming.

You breathed heavily, your chest rising and falling frantically. Everything had happened too fast, and adrenaline still burned through your veins.

Rick, wasting no time, climbed into the crashed car. The door creaked as he opened it, quickly scanning the interior.

“The keys are still in it,” he murmured. Then he turned to you. “Get in.”

“I can’t go with you,” you said, trying to sound firm.

Rick got out of the car, walked over to you, and looked you straight in the eyes.

“Do you know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t given me my gun back?” he asked quietly. “You’d be dead.”

You couldn’t answer. You knew he was right.

“Get in the car,” he ordered, this time more serious. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

You were surprised at how quickly your legs moved to obey.

You both got in, and the engine roared to life. As the car moved forward, you felt Rick’s gaze on you.

“Why did you give me my gun back?” he finally asked.

You shrugged, unsure how to explain it. “I guess… I trusted you.”

Rick scoffed, as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

“Don’t make that mistake again,” he warned. But despite the harshness of his words, there was something in his eyes… something that made you feel like you wouldn’t regret trusting him.

negan

Night had fallen hours ago, but you kept moving through the shadows, your heart pounding against your chest like a frantic drum.

You had been running since you escaped the small group of scavengers who had tried to trap you on the road. Three men—filthy, armed, and too confident that you wouldn’t get away. But they hadn’t counted on you being fast… though now, they were hunting you like an animal.

“I can’t keep this up…” you thought, gasping for air as your legs threatened to give out. But giving up was not an option.

You hid behind an overturned bus, pressing a hand against your chest in a desperate attempt to calm your breathing. That’s when you saw it: a small camp, lit by torches. Armed men stood at the entrance, chatting with an air of confidence that was almost insulting.

“They don’t exactly look friendly…” you thought, but what other choice did you have?

You stumbled out of your hiding spot, your steps unsteady on the gravel.

“Stop right there!” one of the guards shouted, immediately raising his weapon.

“Please!” You lifted both hands, trying not to seem like a threat. “I just… need help.”

The man hesitated for a second, but just as he seemed about to say something, a voice rose from inside the camp:

“What the hell is going on here?”

The voice was deep, rough, carrying a casual indifference that didn’t match the tension in the air.

The man who stepped out of the camp looked like he belonged to another world. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a leather jacket that gleamed under the firelight. His beard was perfectly trimmed, and his smile… that lopsided, cocky, arrogant smile froze you in place.

“And what are you?” he asked, stopping in front of you with his hands on his hips. “A gift? Or a goddamn spy?”

“I’m neither,” you answered, your voice still unsteady. “I’m just… running away.”

Negan let out a low, genuine but mocking laugh.

“Running away?” he repeated, tilting his head. “Well, sweetheart, you came to the right place… because no one messes with me or mine.”

“Please,” you insisted. “I just… need a place to stay for the night.”

Negan stepped closer, invading your personal space as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He smelled of leather, gunpowder, and something else… something thick, masculine, that made you swallow hard.

“And what do I get out of letting you in?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Because in this world, princess, nothing is free.”

“I…” You hesitated, realizing you were stepping into a game he controlled completely. “I can work. I can… clean, cook, whatever you need.”

Negan let out another chuckle, softer this time.

“You think I need a cook?” His smirk widened as his eyes roamed over you, evaluating you like a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“How about…” he leaned in even closer, his face dangerously near yours, “you give me my gun?”

You frowned, confused.

“Your what…?”

But before you could react, his hand slid to your side, yanking away the pistol you had stolen from the scavengers.

“This one?” he murmured, lifting it in front of your eyes.

You froze.

“You know,” he said, spinning the gun skillfully between his fingers, “I like people with guts… but I also like them to know their damn place.”

He took a step back, still smirking.

“Tell me, princess…” he pointed the gun at you, though now it belonged to him again. “Are your little friends still on your tail?”

The sound of footsteps and voices in the distance answered for you.

Negan clicked his tongue in fake disappointment.

“What a mess…” he muttered, and then, in a swift move, grabbed your arm.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed, trying to break free.

“I’m saving your ass,” he replied as if it were obvious. “Now stay behind me… and if you move without me telling you to, sweetheart, I swear I’ll tie you to a goddamn chair.”

You followed him, unable to process how quickly things had turned.

By the time the men chasing you arrived, Negan was already waiting for them.

“Well, well…” he drawled, casually resting the pistol on his shoulder. “Looking for someone? Because if so, I’m afraid this little lady already belongs to me.”

“Give us what she stole,” one of the men growled, aiming a shotgun.

Negan chuckled softly.

“Really? You’re pointing that thing at me?” Negan tilted his head, his smirk turning even more dangerous. “Look, buddy… if you’re gonna have the balls to threaten me, you’d better know how to shoot.”

And before the guy could react, Negan raised his gun and shot him in the leg.

“Shit!” the man yelled, collapsing to his knees.

The other two didn’t wait to fire, but Negan’s men were already prepared. Everything happened so fast that you barely had time to react before the camp fell silent again.

Negan turned back to you, that satisfied smirk still on his face.

“Guess you owe me one,” he said, tucking his pistol back into his belt.

“Guess I do…” you admitted, still breathless.

“Well, princess…” He stepped closer again, this time leaning in until his warm breath brushed your face. “I hope you’re good at cleaning up blood… because you just got yourself a job.”

And with that cocky, lethal smile, you knew you had just gotten involved with someone who could either save you… or destroy you.

glenn

The gun’s barrel pressed heavily against your temple, your finger trembling on the trigger.

There was no reason to keep going. You had run, fought, screamed until your voice was gone. But the world had already taken everything from you. Your family, your friends, the promises of a future that would never come. All that was left was you—a ghost clinging to a thread of existence that had long stopped mattering.

The wind blew gently through the trees, stirring the dead leaves around you. You were alone. Or so you thought.

"Hey!"

The voice made your shoulders tense. Your eyes lifted, and there he was, standing a few meters away. A young man, his face filled with concern, his lips slightly parted as if he were trying to decide what to say. His hands were raised in a gesture of peace.

"Wait. Don’t do it."

You blinked, surprised. You hadn’t expected anyone to appear—especially not someone who seemed… genuinely worried.

"Go away." Your voice was rough, broken.

He shook his head, taking a cautious step toward you.

"I can’t do that."

You gritted your teeth, your knuckles white as you held the gun.

"Why do you care?"

The man exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

"I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’ve been through. But I know what it’s like to feel alone. I know what it’s like to think there are no more options." His dark eyes held a burning intensity. "And I also know that even when it seems like there’s nothing beyond this moment, there’s always something. Something worth staying for."

Your throat tightened.

"My family is dead," you whispered. "I watched them die. I couldn’t save them. I can’t save myself."

Glenn swallowed hard. He looked nervous, but he didn’t look away.

"I lost my family too." His voice dropped, raw and honest. "Not in the same way, but… they’re gone. And every day, I wonder if it would make a difference if I disappeared too."

Your breath shook.

"And?"

"And… I found out that it does. That even when you think no one cares, someone does. That even when you feel like you can’t go on, there’s something—someone—who needs you to stay."

The metal against your skin felt heavier.

Glenn took another step forward.

"Don’t let this world decide for you," he said softly but firmly. "Don’t let it win."

Your hand trembled, the gun lowering just slightly.

"I… I don’t know how to keep going."

Glenn nodded slowly.

"Then let me help you."

And with infinite patience, he extended his hand to you.

For a moment, you hesitated. But then the tears came—hot and heavy—and you let go of the gun. Glenn took it carefully, as if it were something fragile.

And then you collapsed.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had held you like this—with strong, warm arms, with a presence that didn’t demand anything in return. Glenn didn’t say anything as you sobbed against his chest, as your fingers clung desperately to his shirt. He just held you, letting you release all the pain you had carried for so long.

After a while, when your breathing steadied, Glenn whispered:

"Come on. There’s a safe place. I won’t promise it’s perfect, but… you’ll be with people who’ll help you keep going."

You didn’t know what the future held. But in that moment, as Glenn offered you his support without expecting anything in return, you felt that maybe—just maybe—you could learn to live again.

carl

The cold seeped into your bones, even through your tattered jacket. The night air was thick, heavy, as if every breeze carried the stench of death. You didn’t know how many walkers had been following you, but you could hear them. Their guttural growls and dragging footsteps kept you on edge.

You had to leave your backpack behind when you realized they were catching up. Now, all you had left was the knife you gripped with trembling fingers.

“Please…” you whispered to yourself, not even sure what you were asking for. Maybe for someone to find you. Maybe for all of this to just be a bad dream.

And then you saw him.

A few meters ahead, a figure moved swiftly between the trees. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more afraid. Dangerous people were everywhere in this world… but if you had any chance of getting out alive, you had to take the risk.

“Hey!” you called out softly, afraid of both the walkers and the possibility that this person might decide to kill you instead of help you.

The boy turned, already pulling out a gun and aiming it at you. He froze for a second, evaluating you.

He wore an eyepatch over his right eye and a sheriff’s hat that was too big for him, but what stood out the most was the firmness in his expression. His clear eyes studied you with a mix of distrust and determination.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said without thinking, too desperate to lie.

The growls grew louder. The boy glanced at the path you had come from and frowned.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, turning without waiting for an answer.

“W-what?”

“I said come on!” he insisted, and this time, you didn’t hesitate.

You ran together through the forest, jumping over roots and dodging branches as the walkers' shadows moved between the trees.

You reached an abandoned cabin. Carl—because that’s what he had introduced himself as in the midst of the chaos—gestured for you to crouch behind an overturned table.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, panic gripping your throat.

Carl pulled a knife from his belt and drove it into the palm of his hand without even flinching.

“What the hell…?”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, rubbing the fresh blood against the doorframe. “They follow the scent… I’ll lead them away.”

Before you could respond, Carl slipped out through the back of the cabin. His silhouette disappeared into the trees, leaving you alone in the darkness.

The growls got closer.

You could see them through the window—at least five walkers stumbling toward the front door. You didn’t breathe, didn’t move, didn’t even dare to blink.

But the blood Carl had left behind did its job. One by one, the walkers passed by, following the trail he had created.

When the last one disappeared, your body suddenly felt twice as heavy.

Carl returned minutes later, his shirt soaked in blood—mostly not his own—and his breathing ragged.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Am I okay?” you let out a disbelieving laugh. “You just cut your hand open!”

Carl glanced at his palm indifferently. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” You moved closer to examine the wound, taking his hand before he could resist. “God… this looks awful.”

“It’s just a cut,” he insisted, though his fingers remained still in yours.

“No, it’s reckless,” you scolded him gently, tearing a piece of fabric from your frayed sleeve and wrapping it around his palm.

He stayed silent as you worked. When you finished tying the bandage, you looked up and realized he was staring at you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured. “You could have… you could have died.”

“I wasn’t going to let them get you,” he replied as if it were obvious.

“Why?” you asked without thinking.

Carl swallowed hard and shrugged. “I guess… because I don’t want good people to die.”

The silence that followed was awkward… but not in a bad way. It was as if both of you were suddenly too aware of each other, of the fact that, for the first time in a long time, someone had done something selfless for the other.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Carl lowered his gaze, but you saw the faintest smile under the brim of his hat.

“You’re welcome.”

maggie

The abandoned church stands before you, its structure worn down by time and neglect. The wooden doors creak as you push them open, releasing the scent of dust and dampness. There are no pews left standing, only rubble and fragments of broken stained glass that catch the fading sunlight in muted flashes of color.

You walk toward the altar, where the lifeless bodies you had been forced to kill now lay motionless. Walkers. Or what once had been people. You kneel before them, letting the weight of reality settle onto your shoulders.

Closing your eyes, you clasp your hands together.

"Lord, receive these souls with mercy. Though the world turned them into shadows of what they once were, I know that, at some point, they were sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, friends. Forgive them, if there was ever anything to forgive. Take them home."

The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. You know you are not alone.

"If you want me to pray for you too, you can come closer. I know you've been there this whole time."

You hear a quiet sigh before footsteps echo against the stone floor. You open your eyes and turn your head. A woman approaches cautiously, her rifle secured in her hand. Her expression is serious, but there’s something in her gaze that betrays her curiosity.

"How did you know?" she asks.

You smile calmly.

"You don’t need to see someone to know when they carry a burden in their soul."

She stops a few meters away, her eyes fixed on the lifeless bodies with a deep frown.

"Why do you pray for them?" she finally asks. "They’re not worth it anymore."

You look at the corpses with the same serenity you’ve had from the start.

"Because they were once people," you reply. "Don’t you think they still deserve that much?"

She watches you with a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"It’s hard to think that way after everything they’ve done to us. After everything they’ve done to my people."

You nod slowly.

"I understand. But I can’t forget that before they became monsters, they were just like you and me. How do we know if one of them wasn’t a good person? Maybe a husband, a mother, someone who fought until the very end… And one day, the world betrayed them."

She crosses her arms, thoughtful.

"Do you still believe in God?"

You smile.

"It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive."

Her frown deepens slightly.

"I don’t know how you can still believe."

You sigh softly, never losing your composure.

"Because if I stop, then everything is truly lost."

For a moment, the church is silent. You can tell that your words have affected her, even if she doesn’t say it out loud.

"It’s been a long time since I heard someone talk like that," she admits after a while.

You look at her kindly.

"If you’d like, I can pray for you."

She lets out a brief, almost incredulous laugh—but it isn’t mocking.

"Maybe later."

You nod.

And in that moment, you see something change in her eyes. Maybe not faith, but a spark of hope. Small, but real.

michonne

The air smells of fire and blood. The abandoned town around you is a graveyard of ashes and bodies that no longer have names. Walkers roam through the ruins, dragging their feet over the scorched earth. You wander too, but not without direction.

You have a goal.

The weapon in your hand trembles with exhaustion. You can barely hold it. Days have passed without food, without sleep, with no company but the weight of your own thoughts. You don’t know how much longer you can go on.

A sound makes you freeze.

Footsteps.

Not from walkers.

You turn—and see her.

A woman moves with calculated precision, two walkers chained behind her like macabre shadows. Her braided hair falls over her back, and her steady hand grips the hilt of a katana.

You don’t know her, but her presence says everything. She is not someone to take lightly.

Your fingers tighten around your weapon. This isn’t the first time you’ve encountered someone in this dead world, and so far, the odds have never been in your favor.

She stops, measuring your every move with sharp eyes.

"Don't try anything stupid," she says firmly.

You don’t intend to. But you don’t trust her either.

"Who are you?" you ask, keeping your distance.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, evaluating you as if deciding whether or not you’re worth her time.

"Someone who just wants to pass through," she finally replies. "And someone who’s looking at a person about to collapse."

You clench your jaw. You don’t want to admit it, but she’s right.

Michonne watches the tremor in your hand, the way you barely stay on your feet.

"How long has it been since you last ate?" she asks.

You don’t answer. You don’t want her pity.

She sighs, and before you can react, she pulls a small pouch from her belt and tosses it toward you. Instinctively, you catch it. Food. Something dry and simple, but food nonetheless.

You look at her warily.

"Why?"

Michonne crosses her arms.

"Because I don’t want to have to kill you when you pass out and the walkers get to you."

Her brutal honesty catches you off guard. There’s no kindness in her voice, but no cruelty either. Just the truth.

You sigh and lower your weapon slightly.

"And what do you want in return?"

She shrugs.

"Nothing. But if you want to stay alive, you'd better learn how to move in this world."

You have so many questions, you don’t even know where to start.

Michonne turns and begins to walk away. For a moment, you think that’s the end of it.

But then, without looking back, she says:

"If you have nowhere to go, you can come with me."

You hesitate.

You’re still distrustful. But your options are scarce.

And something in her voice, in her presence, tells you this isn’t an offer she makes lightly.

You take a step forward. Then another.

Michonne says nothing else.

But as you start walking by her side, for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel completely alone.

124 notes · View notes

xwritingdixonx · 2 months ago

Text

The Lover and The Fool. | Daryl Dixon |

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Summary: As the communities struggle with a cold winter and a post-war world, they embark on help from a community unknown. And as fate decides it, Y/n and Daryl’s paths cross after thirteen years; forcing them to confront the memories and unresolved feelings of what once was.

Warnings: language, angst, arguing, sexual innuendos, situationship, slight smut, haunting the narrative, death

Word Count: aprox. 8k

Era: pre-apocalypse, post Negan war

~Anything in italics is the past~

Tags: @negansbestie

Song Suggestions: Silver Springs - Fleetwood Mac, Do I Wanna Know - Hozier (Cover), We Hug Now - Sydney Rose, The Night We Met - Lord Huron

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The aftermath of war is nothing short of a struggle. Alexandria’s burnt houses, the Hilltop’s shrunken population, and the Kingdoms soiled crops were evident of this.

The pivotal members of these communities gathered in Hilltop, spewing ideas and plans of strengthening their own survival. “We’re just gonna have to start looking harder…scavenge every corner of every town we walk in.” Rick stated. Various maps of the surrounding states and cities. “We’ve already done that Rick…there’s nothing left. We’re gonna have to start traveling farther and farther.” Maggie argued in return, her arms comfortably crossed against her chest.

Rick sighed, looking down at the map of Virginia; counting the various towns marked off.

Jesus kept himself towards the corner of the room. He knew supplies were running low and the cold Virginia winter was proving difficult for new crops. The grounds were hard and frozen, the only rainfall passing through only froze the ground more. The sources of electricity had been damaged amid war [ yet to be fixed ] leaving no room for heat lamps to be of any benefit. He played with the glove on his hand knowing his suggestion wouldn’t be taken well. “I…I have a suggestion.” He finally spoke, all eyes on him.

He took a step forward, “There’s this community in Pennsylvania that is…vast and thriving.” Jesus took a seat beside Rick at the table. “We can ask them for help. For supplies and helping hands to rebuild but…” He paused reluctant to continue.

“But?” Michonne questioned.

“I don’t know if they actually will.”

Daryl scoffed from his stance by the window. "Sounds like a bunch of greedy assholes to me." He commented chewing on the nail of his thumb. Jesus sighed deeply before continuing to speak.

“Their leader is kind and charming but she angers quickly and is prone to a grudge..” As he spoke, he pulled the map of Pennsylvania in front of himself, circling a large area. "I can get her here to talk to you, Rick." Rick himself seemed uncertain. Half of it is from pride and the other half not so ready to trust a stranger.

"This can be something, Rick. A one-time thing that gets us back on our feet." Rick deeply signed, rubbing his chin.

"Alright."

The day lay still in wait for your arrival. Though your body itself was yet to be in Hilltop, your presence could be felt from miles away. Everyone on high alert in anticipation.

Ears perked on the guards on gate duty at the sound of engines grumbling. One car drove ahead, two motorcyclists trailing closely behind. Jesus was quick to be at the gates, knowing his face was the only one you’d recognize.

As the gates slid closed behind the vehicles now within the walls of Hilltop, you exited your vehicle. Jesus was happy to greet you, "Hi Y/n." You smiled at him, "Paul."

A sly smile formed on his face. You had no problem greeting him with open arms. "You got my message." Rick approached the two of you, trying to not interrupt the reunion. "This is Rick, Y/n." Rick reached a hand out to you.

You were gentle in your touch but your defense was on high. Rick saw this in the two men you'd brought along who looked happy to take care of anything thrown their way.

Rick immediately saw the ways you were better off than anyone else here. From the gloves on your hands to the coat on your back. The coat you wore looked handmade, sewn together from various types of black leather. The hood of the coat was lined with some type of animal fur to keep you warm.

“Would ya like anything? Water…liquor maybe?” You chuckled at Rick’s offering, knowing it was in good heart. “No I’m okay, thank you though.” A polite response to hide your own un-surety. You found your eyes wondering about the room examining every detail, having only seen this historical building from the outside. You don't think you'd ever been in a place so nice unless it was a museum.

"I understand how difficult this must be...to welcome someone into your home after your latest affairs." At the beginning of the savior problem, Jesus had reached out to you first. You'd only met each other a few months before when your groups ran into each other while traveling. When you'd declined, not willing to throw your community into an unavoidable war, Jesus turned to Rick.

"It's definitely not easy," Rick admitted "We had our fair share of protests from people." You nodded your head in understanding. “Where are you from? I feel like I hear some South in there.” Rick attempted to joke, seeming to lighten the mood. You chuckled at this, “I’m from Georgia actually, I came upstate years ago for school.”

The conversation continued smoothly having something to relate to the other on. You continued to speak on the rebuilding of Alexandria and helping the communities make it through the winter. Having seemed to of formed some type of bond; Rick still awaited your answer.

A knock sounded from the double doors, Jesus peaking his head through. Rick stood from his seat, "Everyone's here now, if it's a good time?" Jesus had a nervous smile on his face. Rick turned to you for approval, "There's some people I'd love for you to meet...if you're willing?" You responded with a nod of approval. People began to walk in one by one, Rick taking the liberty of introducing them.

“This is Maggie, she’s been running Hilltop in Gregory’s absence. And Michonne, we’ve been working together at Alexandria.” You gave polite smiles to the two women.

“And this is Aaron and Daryl. Two of our best scavengers…Daryl has been working with the saviors.”

You had to look at him twice, not recognizing him the first time. You had to look past the outgrown hair and newly found broad figure. Your heart began to race, your throat running dry, wishing you’d taken Rick's offer of water. You could feel the tenseness in your shoulders soften at his mere presence.

Daryl felt himself freeze, the air disappearing from his lungs.

Rick looked between the both of you, he himself falling silent. “Do you two know each other by chance?” He’d asked innocently. His words break the stare. “Yeah…we were uh..” Daryl couldn’t find the word to say what you were, “friends…long time ago.”

Daryl watched your face change, resorting to a cold glare. The feeling in the room became stiff, every wall seeming to close in. “Yeah, we were friends.” You added in spite. He expected it, how could he forget the terms you’d left things on thirteen years ago?

Awkwardness settled, covering the room like an extremely uncomfortable blanket.

“Y/n and myself were just discussing some things.” Rick attempted to continue the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Whatever kind words exchanged between Rick and you meant nothing now. Your mood had been spoiled. Your nerves were shot and your mind scrambled with thoughts. But still, you tried to keep your composure.

Daryl examined your features intentively. Your eyes looked tired, the youthful hope they once held was no longer.

And whether that was from surviving in a world so cruel or the years themselves, he could not tell. You had small scars on your face. One on the bridge of your nose, high cheekbone, eyebrow, and bottom lip; leaving him wondering who hurt you enough to leave such imperfections. Regardless of any flaws, you never shed your beauty. The same beauty that left him nervous and begging years ago.

He couldn't imagine the same for himself. With unruly, uncut hair, new scars all over his hands, and a solemn attitude, he wasn't much to look at anymore. This world had hardened both of you. Burning away the youthful glow and replacing it was a certain bitter maturity.

You could feel his eyes on you, making you squirm in your chair.

Your hair was long and perfectly upkept, growing well past your breasts. Funny, he thought. You always wanted it long.

You refused to acknowledge his curious eyes, focusing on Rick. But you could still see him in your peripheral vision. " You don't have to give us an answer now. I know this is a lot to ask." Rick chuckled nervously, finding himself in a very uncomfortable situation. "I... uhm...I just need some time to think." Rick nodded understandingly. "Give me two days to collect my thoughts and maybe I'll see you on the third."

"And if we don't?"

"Well, then you have your answer."

You heard Daryl scoff.

Your head whipped to him in an instant. "What?"

"How can ya be so selfish?"

Rick sighed deeply. His high hopes were being squashed by the second - remembering the words Jesus had said. Quick to anger and prone to a grudge.

"Sel-? Daryl." You snickered in return, rolling your eyes. His demeanor only fueled your annoyance as yours did his. It was as if no years had passed, picking up the argument right where it had been left.

People slipped out of the room swiftly, knowing the extent of Daryl's anger. Though they didn't know the extent of yours, they weren't willing to stand around and find out. "Do you even understand what's being asked of me?" You crossed your arms over your chest, sitting back in your chair.

"It ain't that hard...These are good people Y/n. They deserve this." He argued.

"But do you?" Your response is full of spite.

Daryl's face twisted. He couldn't believe your pettiness could go to the lengths you were taking it. He sat up in his chair "That ain't right and ya know it."

You did know it but your emotions were in disarray and you didn't care what was deemed right in this moment.

The anger that accumulated every day without him was coming to the service, burning away any fear of saying what you truly wanted.

"What was right, D?" His nickname coming from your lips made him flinch. Your tone was pointed. You weren't talking about communities anymore. You were talking to him directly.

“I don’t know.”

You could say you didn't know when it started but that would be a lie. You had just turned twenty-one on the sixth day of March, now having the permission needed to work in your uncle's dive bar. It had been in the family for years, your grandfather opening it in the late 1960's. Your uncle and father ran it together until your father's sudden death only five years prior. Your mother's death following soon after.

The bar stunk of cigarettes and the bitter scent of 'fresh linen Febreze' in an attempt to cover the stench. The wood floors and walls held the scent of every drink ever spilled on them. The decorations on the walls hadn't been changed in nearly twenty years. Old school pin-up liquor posters, clique Coke decorations, and stained glass lamp shades above every table.

The red spinny chairs at the bar and at every high-top had never been replaced, the red leather peeling in spots exposing the synthetic material beneath. Even the pool tables had seen the years come and go. The newest thing in this bar was you.

Daryl had only worked there less a year as a busser.

You'd heard of him and his brother around town. But Daryl being four years your elder [and Merle even older] you never knew them personally nor cared to.

The bar was in chaos after a football Sunday, Daryl and you left behind after hours to clean up.

There wasn't much said that night, Daryl busy in the back scrubbing glass after glass. You busy in the front counting cash, cleaning any drink you'd spilled in the rush of the night.

You'd knelt down on your knees to clean a beer spill beneath a table, knowing it would turn into a sticky mess if you didn't. "Hey, hey." Daryl interrupted you, grabbing your attention by gently grazing your shoulder with his fingertips. You looked to him, eyes furrowed from your spot on the ground. "I can get under there, don't worry 'bout it." He had even offered you a hand to stand back up.

Your first impression of Daryl was gentle and kind nothing like the cruel words he'd been called from the mouths of other townies. He spent the rest of the night interrupting you, refusing to allow you to do any hard labor; stating over and over that he'll "get it".

You were nothing more than coworkers at first. You began to tease him with flirty jokes and desirable glances throughout the busy nights. Leaving Daryl blushing and scurrying away to the back with his bin full of clanking beer glasses. You held conversations in the slow mornings having no other company besides him and a few retired men who wanted nothing more than to get away from their wives.

"I hope that love never finds me." You'd said to Daryl on one of those particular mornings. "What ya mean?" You were gazing at one of those men from your spot behind the bar, a regular who visited daily. "Spending their days here instead of home just to get away from their quote, pestering wives." You used air quotations, having heard the same story over and over again. "They loved each other once." You shook your head in disappointment. "Now all they can love is Budweiser and harassing bartenders."

Daryl watched the words flow from your lips so smoothly, trying to imagine how they'd feel on his own. "Ya know?" You grabbed Daryl's attention. "Yeah, yeah." You chuckled and shook your head, "You weren't listening."

A whiskey bottle and a pool table changed things that very night. Soon after it was as though you couldn't stray away from another, no matter how many times you said you couldn't do it again.

A closeness grew steadfastly.

You'd come to know every inch of him. And every second of his life. As he did you. He'd opened up to you about his mother's death and his complicated relationship with his brother. He'd say he hated them.. but felt an obligation to love them because they were merely family. His father on the other hand was dead to him, being the way he put it. You related on this certain despair, few blood relatives left for you. It was just your sister, you, and your uncle. Your uncle never married and never had children, having put too much of his devotion to the bar.

The loneliness the two of you shared was apparent, finding solitude in this newfound company of one another.

What you were doing didn't have a name. It wasn't in the rulebook of relationships. Maybe your loneliness made you desperate. Maybe it was nothing at all besides two horny twenty-something-year-olds craving the touch of another. But what you did know was that he filled a hole within you, a hole that had been carved when you'd lost your parents.

Your sister wasn't very fond of it. She'd tell you that you deserved to be loved openly and freely, not only within the sheets [or bent over a pool table.]

The days turned into weeks, then months, and then it was approaching a year.

A soft moan fell from your lips quickly being stifled by the lips of another. You ground your hips against his determinedly, chasing the high you so desperately craved. The liquor is your system making your head fuzzy, the words he gently spoke to you only adding to your daze.

He muttered words of encouragement through his own pleasure, edging you closer and closer. It hit you like a wave, abrupt and full of adrenaline. His own hitting him the same, head dropping into the crevice of your shoulder.

You could feel his heartbeat against your own. You drearily brushed his back with your fingertips, “Daryl?” You asked innocently. “Hm?” He didn’t move from his position. “You okay?”

Daryl began to kiss your neck tenderly, “Course m’okay.” The kisses didn't earn the reaction they typically did. He lifted from his position, seeing as your eyes stared up at your ceiling. "Are ya okay?" He repeated the question back to you. "Have you ever thought about leaving this place?"

Daryl shifted off of you alleviating his weight. "Like leavin' town? or leavin' Georgia?" You shifted in the bed, "Either." You lay on your stomach and propped your elbow up, looking at him. The room was dim but you still saw Daryl's face contort to a kind of discomfort.

"Where would ya go?"

"We can go anywhere." You made sure to include Daryl in this. Making sure he knew he wasn't trapped here. "But the Upper East Coast has some really good schools for culinary...I think I'd like to do that." Daryl reached over beginning to rub delicate circles on your bare back. This gave you a sense of reassurance. A gentle reminder that he wasn't mad at you for desiring such a thing.

"Could be nice. Ya know I love yer cooking." Daryl looked at you with a dreamy gaze. He didn't allow himself to relish in such fantasies often. Typically keeping a certain, expect the worst and you'll never be disappointed, headspace to himself.

But something felt different tonight. Perhaps it had been the gentle, I love you, you'd whispered against his lips earlier in the night. Or the way he’d said it back. When he’d brought himself to his knees for you as his lips were stamping kisses on the delicate skin of your inner thighs. Muttering those three words before slipping his tongue where you needed it.

Daryl was working pre-open shift at the bar; cleaning up various glasses and sweeping cigarette butts beneath every booth and table. He enjoyed mornings like this, they were quiet, the only company he had to endure was that of his own. Motorhead played quietly through the radio behind the bar. Daryl lost within the beat of the song, he'd completely missed you walking in the door.

"Hey D." His head whipped around. You smiled at him gently. He greeted you with an equally gentle good morning. "What are ya doin' here?" Though you'd disrupted his morning, he'd never complain. "I had to see you...I have to talk to you about something." The seriousness in your tone unsettled him. He turned the radio off and leaned his broom against the bar.

You could feel your heart beating against your chest making you feel as though you could vomit at any given second. Your mouth unintentionally hung slightly open as you grasped for words.

This only made Daryl more uneasy. He viewed you as a confident person, that spoke openly about anything. He rattled his mind for any possibility that could, quite literally, leave you speechless.

“Are you uh…pregnant?” Your eyes widened, “No! no.” You quickly rejected this giving him a moment of relief.

“So then what is it Y/n?” You fiddled with the ring on your right hand.

“Do ya not wanna do this anymore?” Daryl’s anxiety grew.

“Delilah is moving.” You blurted out quickly. “She wants to go live with that guy she met online...and I’m gonna go with her.”

Daryl shifted on his feet. “Where?”

“Massachusetts.” This made his heart plummet.

“Why?”

“I wanna go to school D.” Your words were meant to be firm but the unsteady tone of your voice made them sound nervous. Daryl’s silence unsettled you, he avoided your gaze, opting to look at the wood floor.

“There’s not much for me here.” A pitiful attempt to justify your decision.

“I’m here.”

You sighed deeply, averting your gaze to the floor, unable to look at the frown drawn on his face.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Your teary eyes looked to him for an answer. “Hm?…You think it’s easy for me to leave my home? To leave where my mom and dad are buried? To leave you?”

“So don’t go.” Daryls voice was only above a whisper.

“Come with me.” It wasn’t a question. You said it as though it was a statement, demanding him to follow. “What?”

It had been a thought in the back of your mind for days. You had been finding it difficult to plan your own future states away without him in it. “I’m asking you to come with me.” Knowing he had no words for you, you continued on. “I can't live with Delilah forever, we can find a place together...You can get a job anywhere up there. You’re great with your hands D, you can do anything.”

It seemed as though he debated your offering. "Come on." You tried to encourage him. "We talked about it months ago. What's changed since then?" You took a step closer trying to ignore the step he took back in return.

“I can’t just up and leave Y/n. I can’t leave Merle.”

The scoff that you gave in response irritated him, knowing your pronounced dislike for his elder brother. “Merle’s in jail, Daryl.” You said it as if he didn’t know. “You’re just gonna wait till Merle gets his shit together to start living your own life?” The conversation was quickly turning bitter.

Daryl swallowed his pride though an argument was never something he backed down from. “Gotta get back to cleanin’.” He stated dryly. You watched in shock as he grasped up the broom and turned his back to you.

“Wha-Daryl.” He ignored you, sweeping the emptied peanut shells into a small pile. “Daryl.” Again, nothing. “Daryl please.” You grazed his back with your fingertips, testing to see if he'd allow your touch. "Please talk to me.” You whispered once more as you wrapped your arms around his torso and laid your head on his back. He radiated a warmth all too familiar.

Daryl stopped his movements allowing his arms to fall loosely at his side. It felt as though he'd stop breathing for a second trying to hold back the sobs that heaved his chest. This shook your body with his. You only gripped your arms tighter and began dragging your hands up and down his chest almost as a way of comfort.

Daryl shoved your arms from him, spatting at you to get off. “Go on! Go on get!” He snapped in an instant. His words made you feel like a mangy dog begging for food. His eyes were still red from his tears, and the pale complexion of his cheeks was now red and inflamed. Daryl threw his arm to the door dramatically, “Leave just like everyone else!”

“That’s not fair! You can’t put that on me.”

“Why not? You ain’t making it any better!”

“I’m asking you to come with me!”

“Oh that’s just so nice of ya Y/n!”

Daryl took a step towards you.

“Here!” Daryl shoved the broom into your hands, leaving you bewildered. “Give it a little kiss and then beat me with it why don’t ya?!” He shouted sarcastically. “Oh my god, really?!” You threw the broom to the ground, wood clattering. “You’re ridiculous.” You spat in his face.

“How so huh?! That’s exactly what yer doin’!” Daryl’s face was mere inches from your own. Though his words were full of anger, it didn’t cover up his eyes full of tears.

“Wether I stay or go yer leavin’ anyway.” His voice broke. He quickly pulled away from you, unable to look at your pouting face any longer without he himself falling apart.

You had no words for him, knowing there was truth in what he said. The tears finally broke past your water line, "I'm sorry Daryl, I'm-" "Get out Y/n." His venomous tone seeped deep into your skin, unsettling you to your core. Daryl had always been gentle with you, he never dared to take a tone so cruel.

"Okay." You agreed trying to give him his space. You turned to the door, stopping before touching the handle. "I'll still be in town till next Monday." As you swung open the door, you looked to him, “I’ll see you soon D.” You left thinking you could circle to the conversation later in the day after he’d collected his thoughts.

You never did see him again. He'd disappeared after that day. You spent your remaining days in Georgia trying to hunt down the man you'd spent almost every day with for the past year and a half. You asked around but no one knew. You even went as far as talking to his dad. An hour of your life wasted, the air you breathed taken up by whiskey breath.

The phone call you made to Merle also proved futile. He'd asked you for money in his commissary in exchange for information. The phone call ended in a plethora of curse words.

Daryl had shown up back in town sometime after you'd gone, acting as if nothing had happened. He never returned back to work at the bar, having found work at a local body shop. He wouldn’t dare face your uncle. And he couldn’t return to the spot that reminded him so much of you. He forced himself to have no desire to hear anything about you nor return to any spots where you’d graced. But unfortunately for him, that was almost every where in a town as small as this one.

He never saw the bar again, opting to drive a town over to get drinks. He’d heard from other locals that the new bartender didn’t make drinks as good as yours anyway. He struggled to go to the local diner. With it being a place you frequently got breakfast together, especially after one of your long nights, having worked up such an appetite. Merle dragged him there when he was released as a celebration meal. He felt inclined to order your favorite dish just to feel a bit closer to you. Biscuits and gravy with a side of over easy eggs and hashbrowns.

He continued to run from the grief of losing you until it crept up on him in the middle of the juice aisle of the grocery store, unable to buy the same orange juice brand he always had simply because it was your favorite too. Daryl found it difficult to go about his routines without your ghost grabbing him by his throat, dragging him down into a pit of regret.

Daryl never did escape that town. Not until the world forced him out of it on foot. And he never escaped Merle. Even when his blade ended his brother's life mercifully, he never felt as though he escaped his shadow.

The argument with Daryl raged on. Neither of you cared to hear the side of the other. At this moment both of you were right, both were justified in the stance they took. Despite the fact that there was a regret imbedded in both your hearts.

You were right for leaving even if every second of your life after was a well of loneliness.

He was right for staying even if every waking day in that town was misery.

"Where did you even fucking go?" You cursed.

"The hell you talking 'bout?" He cursed back.

"That day...you just fucking vanished." The volume in your tone diminished yet you still demanded an answer. "I- I stayed at the cabin." Daryl shamefully admitted.

Your eyebrows furrowed, "Cab-? Oh my god." You put your head in your hands, feeling a wave of frustration hit you. It sounded so ridiculous you almost laughed. It was the one place you failed to check. His grandfather's old hunting cabin. Technically abandoned yet still in his grandfathers name, it was a place Daryl ran to when he needed to escape, especially from the wrath of his father.

“M’sorry…it was just too much for me to see ya leave.”

“Oh please!" Your head shot up not in the mood for apologies. “You just didn’t want me to try to change your mind!” You argued. “You lived your life with Meryl just as you wanted it and I spent thirteen years waiting for someone who would never come.”

“What are ya talking about?” Daryl’s tone was nothing short of disbelief. “I never came? What about you huh? Ya never called, never wrote, never visited.” Daryl shouted. Your face scrunched in confusion, staring at him. “Ya just…” Daryl’s breath hitched as he could feel his chest begin to hurt. “Just walked out that day and never came back.” His voice cracked, attempting to blink away the tears in his eyes.

Your anger diminished though your heart still raced with adrenaline. “Daryl, what are you…?” Your confusion was too strong to find words. “What are you talking about?” The two of you stood opposite the other, equally confused.

“ I…I sent letters all the time. I sent postcards from anywhere I went. I sent Christmas cards and birthday cards with gifts and money…” You stuttered over your words, your hands frantically moving about. “I visited three times and made a fool of myself driving around town, asking people about you.” The frantic way you spoke made your chest heave.

Silence followed, each of you trying to digest the words of the other. “You know this.” You stated firmly. “Please tell me you know this.” The anger that once filled the room was replaced with sorrow. “No…never got no cards…ain’t nobody ever said anything to me about you visitin’.” Daryl responded.

You scoffed, muttering a quiet of course. The tears you had been trying to avoid, fought their way to your waterline. You weren’t sure why you had expected anything more from the people of that town; nor why you expected more from his father. The countless amount of letters you’d poured your heart into, thrown in the trash. And your money stolen; only to be used on liquor and cigarettes.

“Why did ya send me money?” Daryl asked abruptly, as if though it insulted him.

“Really? That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“Wouldn’t have taken your money Y/n.”

You bickered back and forth.

“This isn’t about the money, Daryl!” You snapped. Daryl was taken aback by your sudden outburst. You muttered a curse beneath your breath and stood from your chair; helping yourself to the bar cart. Opting to drown your frustration in liquor.

The whiskey poured into your glass smoothly.

Daryl sat silently in his chair. You had never yelled at him in such a manner before. “What happened to yer accent?" Daryl asked. You licked the liquor from your lips, turning to face him once again. "What?" He stood from his chair, meeting you at your level. "I only hear it when ya say certain words or when ya yell..." His words sounded as if he was hurt by this, “Ya don’t sound like I remember.”

You stumbled over your words for an excuse but found none. "It just faded after time, I guess."

You were growing tired of arguing with him, suddenly becoming conscious of how long you'd been in this room. "I have to go." You grabbed for your jacket on the table. "Come on, don't." Daryl stepped in your way, blocking your path.

This only frustrated you more. "Daryl, I've been here long enough." You were pleading with him to let you go, becoming overwhelmed with your own emotions.

You began bickering over each other, words blending together all at once.

"We used to dance together. You and I." The abrupt sentence stopped the bickering. Your bottom lip quivered, teary eyes looking up at him. "In the bar late at night, once everyone had gone and the only thing they played on the radio was old love songs." It was a memory Daryl had tried to forget. A feeling he'd shoved so far down within himself that only you could pull it back to the surface.

If he dwelled on it long enough he could still feel your body pressed against his, head resting on his shoulder. The way your arms grasped onto the other, softly swaying to the music that hummed statically through the radio.

"We could've had something together Daryl." The tears brushed against your lashes, rolling down your cheeks. "But you didn't want it." You finally snuck around him, snatching your jacket from the table.

"That ain't true." His voice broke.

A frustrated sigh left you, "It doesn't matter now, it's too late." You angrily shoved your arms into the sleeves of your jacket.

"Y/n." Daryl reaches for you.

You ripped your arm away from him at the feeling of his fingertips brushing against the skin of your hand. "It's too late Daryl." Once your coat was on, you made for the door. No hesitation to leave him behind this time.

The sound of your boots against the wood floors echoed through the building, followed by the slam of the door. He stood there aimlessly, his eyes mapping out where you'd once stood.

Sleep didn't grace Daryl for those two days. He laid awake, tossing and turning, you on his mind. His daily tasks at the sanctuary were interrupted constantly by his own anxiety, leaving him irritable and antsy.

Daryl wondered what you were doing at any given moment. He wondered if you were thinking of him just as much. Spitefully hoping you were just as restless as him. Hoping the mere thought of him ruined your day and left you sleepless. But when his spite wore away he found himself in a pit of despair.

On the third day, he made sure to be in Hilltop on wait for your [potential] arrival.

The thought that you might not actually come made him sick. Every hour that passed left him more and more hopeless.

Daryl, please go rest. Rick tried to coax him, knowing he'd been up before the crack of dawn. But he wouldn't, refusing to leave the spot on the porch he'd made his own.

A low rumble vibrated Daryl's eardrums. The recognizable hum of a bike. Of multiple bikes even. Then came the heavy tires of a truck, bumping along the dirt road, causing its chains to smack against the metal exterior.

The metal gates rolled open smoothly just in time for the vehicles to pass through.

You rolled the busted black pickup truck to a stop. The two bikers returned, putting their kickstands into the hardened ground. The white cargo van behind you came to a halt, the words 'Tony's Bakery and Deli' still painted on its side in red cursive.

The bed of the truck you drove was covered with a blue tarpe, the ropes wrapped around the top kept the tarpe from flying away.

Daryl watched you hop out of the truck, a sly smile poking at your cheeks. There was a different essence to you. Your presence itself felt lighter like a weight had been lifted. Rick and Maggie were first to greet you bringing a group with them to begin unloading.

Daryl couldn't keep himself from the crowd, strolling over to begin helping. He watched as you immediately jumped into guidance, instructing everyone on what was what and where to put it. You'd pulled down the bed of the truck, hoping atop to begin passing out the milk crates of food.

Daryl had never seen you work like this. But he couldn't be more proud. You caught his eye from your stance atop the bed of the truck. You gave him a small wave that he returned. A heat rushed through him. That's when he averted his eyes, turning his attention to work of his own.

The door of the cargo truck was slid open, metal slapping at the top. Daryl was first to gladly climb into the back, passing down boxes to the people beneath, proudly taking on the weight of the cargo.

The people from your community that you brought as helping hands collaborated with the people of the Hilltop. They worked together unloading the trucks, dividing things into piles by community. Conversations were going on between many people, and the hum of delightful chatter filled the cold air.

"I've given what I could for each community, I hope it'll be enough to at least make things comfortable for a little bit." You stood with Rick, taking a break having been unpacking for well over an hour. “It's more than enough Y/n. Thank you."

You smiled to yourself, trying not to feel guilty about how much you enjoyed the praise for yourself. "We can continue conversations of reconstructions later on. We have plenty of ex-construction workers, and carpenters, and well just men who can't wait to get their hands dirty again." A soft laugh came after your words, Rick chuckling as well.

The feeling of someone approaching broke the conversation. You turned your head, grateful it was who you'd hoped.

Rick glanced between the two of you, quietly walking away.

"Ya look nice." Daryl complimented. You glance down at yourself, cocking an eyebrow at him. The same leather jacket you wore days before fitting your figure again, black leather gloves covering your hands, a thick brown plaid scarf wrapped around your neck. "I've looked better."

Daryl swallowed harshly, unsure of how to continue. "I have something for you." You continued for him. You nudged your head in the direction of your truck, insinuating for him to follow.

"This is for you." You pulled a piece of clothing from the front seat of the car, closing it after. "It's uhh.." You presented the clothing to him. a black leather poncho with a hood, a soft brown fur lining it. "A lady at the community makes them." The poncho passed from your hands to his. Daryl looked at you flustered unsure of what to say. "Come on, let's try it." A hopeful smile beamed on your features. He reluctantly slipped the poncho over his head, the soft interior brushing against his face. "Hmm...it's nice."

Yeah, you whispered.

"It's uhm, it's..." Before you could explain yourself, you took a step closer, finding yourself adjusting the garment as it was meant to be.

"There we go." You pointed to the car window where Daryl could see his reflection. "It gets colds up here for a southern boy, gotta keep you warm." You joked. Your hand rested on his arm longer than intended but you couldn't seem to remove it.

Though the thick material of the poncho blocked your true touch, Daryl could still feel it. It radiated a warmth through the material.

When your eyes met his in the reflection of the window, Daryl saw a lifetime with you flash before him. A lifetime he could have never known. You didn't pull your gaze. Thirteen years of longing looked back at you, a certain sorrow burrowed beneath those eyes. Your heartbeat quickened and the smile slowly faded. You swiftly removed your hand, taking a step away.

"Thank you."

"Course."

You nervously played with the material of your glove. With the large scarf around your neck, you felt like a turtle sheepishly pulling itself back into its shell. "Ya wanna go sit somewhere with me?" A sigh of relief left you. "I'd love that."

Daryl had guided you to a wooden bench by the building, still in eyesight of the unloading cargo. You watched Rick with his clipboard and pen taking inventory. You sat atop the bench, planting your feet where someone would typically sit. You stretched your back, a small crack following due to sitting for a consistent four-hour drive.

"I packed some of that soap you used to like, the pine one? IrishSprings...I would suggest claiming it before anyone else does." Daryl nodded with appreciation. "Thank you for doing this." You were no fool to the topic Daryl and you were gently dancing around. "I forgive you." The forgiveness spewed uncontrollably from your lips.

Daryl didn't give you a response to this, not because he didn't want to. But because it was so sudden it startled him. "I've spent a lot of years being alone and angry. And I..." You paused, "I don't wanna be like that anymore especially not towards you."

"I forgive ya too, Y/n." A deep shaky breath shook your body, finally hearing the words you'd longed for come from his lips. "And I'm proud of ya." You laughed at this. It was the only way to avoid tears. "Really. I am. Ya got out, you were a chef. You started a whole goddamn community. You got everything ya wanted." Your glossy eyes met his. "Well, I didn't get everything." You nudged his knee with your own.

The blue of his eyes didn't shine the way it used to.

He broke your gaze, looking down at his feet. “We’re you ever ah..with, you know someone else?” Daryl asked the question he’d been itching to ask. His possessive nature desired to hear a no. But he couldn’t be so selfish.

“I slept with people but nothing ever serious.” You admitted truthfully. No man or woman ever filled the hole he left behind. Everyone you ever met you compared to him in some way. No one had his charm. They never understood you the way he did. Never touched you the way he had. You eventually gave up trying to find something else, opting to throw yourself into work; figuring you couldn’t care for relationships if you were too busy in your career.

“Did you?” You turned the question to him. “No.” He scoffed sarcastically as if it was ridiculous of you to even suggest such a thing.

You felt ashamed to admit that his answer slightly pleased you. “I hate when you do that.” You commented with a shake of your head. “Do what?” Daryl replied gently. “Put yourself down so much…You’re handsome, D…Always have been. Anyone after me would’ve been more than lucky.”

Daryl was unable to articulate a reply to such a statement. You turned your head towards him, “Don’t look so surprised.” You cheekily teased.

You’d sat on the bench until your bum had fallen asleep and gone numb. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have plenty to catch up on. He’d lost Merle just as you’d lost Delilah. He asked you questions about work and what it was like to be a chef; you’d shown him all the little scars you’d acquired on your hands from your knife.

You could’ve sat there and talked to him until the sun set and rose the next day.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Rick interrupted.

“That’s okay.” You dismissed, standing from the bench, trying to ignore the numbness in your limbs. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just wanted to come tell you that we’re all wrapped up.”

The horn of a car caught your attention and interrupted Rick. One of your men reached into the truck and his free arm waved you over indicating they were ready to go.

"It probably is best if we start heading out." A deep sigh followed your words. "Ya just got here." Daryl responded quickly. An airy chuckle left you at his hastiness. "It's been a long morning. We've been up since before the sun prepping everything and then the drive..." Your words trailed off watching Daryl's face droop into a frown.

Daryl nodded his head in understanding, preparing himself for yet another goodbye. "You're welcome to stay." Rick offered. "I mean we could use the help distributing everything to the other communities...I'm sure everyone would love to meet ya and say thank you." Rick looked at you sincerely. "We can make room for everyone to sleep tonight."

You could sense Daryl's eyes looking to you for an answer, practically pleading for you to say yes. "I- I don't.." You looked over your shoulder at your group. "They'd worry back at home too much. It was only meant to be a day trip." Dary's disappointment was apparent. "Well, you're welcome anytime," Rick muttered another thank you before making his exit.

You avoided Daryl's eyes, not needing to feel more guilt for your answer. "I'll be around, there's still so much to do here and in Alexandria." Your words were an attempt to mend the wound you'd created.

"Are you okay with seeing me again? And again...? And again...?" You were picking fun at him, a teasing tone in your voice. He couldn't hide the smile that poked his cheeks, "Course I am."

"Good." A cheeky smile formed on your own face. Hearing the sounds of engines beginning to rumble brought you back to reality. “I’ll see you soon, D." You gently touched his arm before turning away.

Daryl shoved his hands under the poncho into the front pockets of his pants, his gaze following every step you took.

You looked back to him, tasting the words on your tongue, the same way they tasted thirteen years ago. Come with me. But you wouldn't, the fear of being rejected yet again silences you. Go. Daryl formed the word bittersweetly, nudging his head. He gave you the permission you needed to turn away.

Daryl didn't move from the spot he stood. Even as everyone else's attention turned away, it was his love for you that kept his feet glued in the dirt. His eyes didn't leave until the last inch of the gate had been closed.

A lump formed in your throat. You threw on the brave face of what you thought a leader should be, forcefully swallowing it down. But the sorrow that made your heart empty only grew the farther the car drove. Hot silent tears rolled down your cheeks. You sniffled the snot that dared leak from your nose, forcing it down the back of your throat. This made you feel sick, wanting to throw up the mucus.

You kept yourself in this continuous loop for miles, your free hand clutching at your stomach as you whimpered like a wounded animal. You thought that if you kept on the feeling would eventually go away. But still, it persisted.

Daryl made his journey to Alexandria, offering his hand in aid to deliver the supplies. He'd returned back to what was his home in the community, though he couldn't recall the last time he'd stayed here.

No sleep would greet him that night, he was sure of it. He had too many thoughts of you floating aimlessly in his mind to lay to rest. He sat solemnly at his kitchen table, fiddling with making new arrows for his bow.

Your feet guided you swiftly through the unfamiliar streets of Alexandria, following the directions Rick had given you at the gates. You repeated them to yourself over and over. Make a right, pass two houses, make a left, house on the corner.

You saw the house in the distance, Daryl's bike parked in the large driveway. The adrenaline pumping through your veins voided any anxieties.

You gently knocked on the door and awaited a response. You looked around the exterior trying to see any signs of life. The subtle orange glow of flames could be seen through the sheer curtains. Impulsively you grabbed the door handle allowing yourself entry.

Daryl stood up in an instant on high alert at the sound of the door. When your figure came into view through the darkness of the hallway, his tensed shoulders dropped. The only light was that of the various candles he'd lit amongst the kitchen.

"Y/n?" Daryl tossed the rag he'd cleaned his hands with on the kitchen table. "What are ya doin' here?" Your cheeks were puffy and cold from being in the harsh winter air for so long. The tip of your nose was frozen, completely cold to the touch.

"I turned back. I went to Hilltop but Maggie sent me here.” You stutter over your words, “I had to see you." You walked closer to him slightly out of breath from your brisk walk over. Daryl's heart pounded against his chest. The warm glow within the darkness gleamed against your glassy eyes.

"I always told myself that if I ever saw you again, I wouldn't leave. That...I'd figure something out to make this work."

Your lips formed together but you were reluctant to continue.

"I wou-"

"Wha-"

You cut each other off, words piling up together.

"M'sorry." Daryl apologized, gesturing for you to continue.

"I know I said it was too late but...I would like so much for us to have a second chance."

Daryl swallowed harshly. Your expression goes from seeking to wary in a second at his silence. "I would like that too." You allowed yourself to breathe, a chuckle of relief leaving you.

You stepped toward him, practically collapsing into his arms. A sense of relief washed over you. You moved your arms to place them around him. Daryl had grown more broad than you'd seen him last, filling your outstretched arms so perfectly. You felt whole once again.

Daryl felt his body melt into yours. The tension he’d felt so heavily on his shoulders diminished. You welcomed nothing but the silence and the warmth of his body. It was as though neither of you could pull away, melting into one.

Daryl only pulled away to look at you when he felt your chest vibrate, examining if it was from laughter or tears. It was a mixture of both. He gently brushed your hair from your face, "What's wrong?"

You felt foolish for your disarray of emotions, wiping at a tear that tickled your cheek.

"You smell of pine."

Music played through the radio behind the bar, the radio station you’d flicked on was currently on a Fleetwood Mac streak. You were behind the bar with your notepad, taking inventory of the bottles for the week. Daryl was sitting at a nearby booth, polishing up whiskey glasses.

“We’re gonna try something new and start to slow things down for any of those late-night lovers out there.” The radio host announced after the last song came to an end.

You cocked an eyebrow at Daryl, who returned your confused expression. “Well, that’s new.” You laughed making your way from behind the counter.

Daryl hummed an agreement.

You listened intensively trying pinpoint the familiar tune that began to play. You smiled to yourself, Put Your Head On My Shoulder, began. It was a clique song that anyone and their mother would recognize but you couldn’t deny the catchiness of it. From your seat across Daryl, he watched you gently mouthing the words. You were too busy going over your notes to see him stealing looks at you.

Daryl smiled to himself. The dim lighting of the bar cast a shadow on your features. The scowl on your brows showed your deep concentration. Daryl admired the way your nose was casted perfectly to fit your face. He traced the outline of your lips as they moved with the lyrics. He swooned at the thought of you being no one else’s but his.

“Do you wanna dance together?” Daryl raised an eyebrow at you. “What?” You placed your notepad on the table, an amused look on your face. “I don’t know how to do that.” You chuckled, standing from the booth. “You don’t have to do much.” The song on the radio faded into, When a Man Loves a Women.

You held out a hand to him, edging him to follow. He reluctantly did so, calling you crazy.

You were unsure yourself how to dance. But something compelled you to try.

You placed your feet in front of his. You instructed his movements, directing him to hold your right hand up and place his other on your waist. You did so as if you had any idea what you were doing. You were merely repeating the stance you'd seen in so many movies. "Now just kinda sway."

Daryl awkwardly moved his body. You giggled to yourself, "You look stiff as a board." You teased.

"You kinda gotta move your feet too, like this."

The wood floors creaked beneath your moving feet. Daryl felt the way your hips glided beneath his hand. Daryl seemed to ease into the unfamiliar rhythm of this dance. He was unsure if this was really a "dance" but wether it was or wasn't, it didn't matter. Because it was yours and his.

Your chest began to feel heavy, an overwhelming sense of emotion hurdling toward you. With a heavy heart, you moved closer and took your chance to rest your head on his shoulder. He welcomed this, resting his own atop yours. Being so close to him now you relished in his scent. "You smell nice..." You complimented. The sweet smell of pine greeted you on his skin.

You couldn't complain about the fresh scent but you'd grown used to his scent typically being cigarette smoke and whatever soap was on sale at the market.

"Thanks...got a new soap 'n took a bath."

"A bath?" Your laugh vibrated Daryl's chest. You pulled your head from his shoulder meeting his eyes with a joyful gleam. "Yeah so?"

Your bodies swaying to the rhythm of the song didn't falter. "Was it a bubble bath?" You sniffed him again, "With some very manly scented bath salts?" Daryl rolled his eyes at your jest. "Yer not funny." The smile creeping on his face said otherwise. You found yourself lying on his shoulder again, the scent of pine greeting you once more.

The songs continued on the radio but no matter how many came and went, you couldn't seem to unlock your arms from him. You'd fall asleep right there if humanly possible. "Is it okay if I say I love you?" Your voice was meek like a timid mouse. Daryl placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"It's okay."

Daryl and you had eleven years together almost making up for the thirteen missed. You'd "married" in the Spring of the second year when Daryl surprised you with a flower field he'd come across while hunting; a ring for you safely hidden in his back pocket. It was a gold ring with three lavender-colored gemstones, and tiny pearls scattered around the stones imbedded in the band. He'd chosen a basic gold band for himself. The antique store had the set priced at $3,150 [before tax]. But it was his for free.

You met your demise on a sunny day in what was presumed to be March; when the sun shines warmth but the wind still provides a shiver. It would've been only days after your forty-seventh birthday.

We'll find each other again. You'd reassured him through your own pain.

People told him he was lucky to have been there to hold you a final time. But he didn't feel lucky. And he felt even less when he had to put that blade in your skull, preventing you from turning.

Daryl would never find another and he never left the home you'd built together. But this time, instead of running from the memory of you, he was able to embrace it. He'd read through the recipes you'd written and even tried to cook some. Though they never tasted how he remembered. You had something special in your cooking, a taste he could never replicate. I pour all my love for you into it, You'd joke when he'd ask.

He wore your ring on his pinky every day and wore nothing but black clothing as if always in mourning for you.

He never deemed himself someone who walked toward death but some days he found himself welcoming it, desiring nothing more than to be with you again.

Daryl knew he'd spend the rest of his time on this morbid earth in torment until he was to see you again.

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 8 months ago

Text

Words: 5,355

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Reader pronouns: she/her

Era: the Whisperers

Warnings: language, blood and gore, injury, typical TWD violence

Summary: Hilltop must cope with the disastrous events outside the walls and Michonne asks Daryl to try and find the mystery woman who saved him and Dog to find out what she knows about the people she calls 'The Shepherds'.

A/N: This is the second part of a series! Find the first part linked below!

Previous Part

“Daryl!” Tara was running up to him and quickly grabbed him into a hug before he’d hardly passed through the gate. The hug was tight and long and Daryl pulled back abruptly to look at her with a question on his face. “We thought you were dead,” she said grimly. It was then that he noticed how pale she looked and that there were dark circles beneath her eyes.

He gulped. “The others. Did they make it back?”

Tara was about to answer when Carol was there also throwing her arms around him, her expression equally grim. When she pulled back, her pale blue eyes were teary. “Did she tell you?” Carol asked. Tara ducked her head.

Daryl’s stomach clenched into a tight knot. “Tell me what?”

“It’s Jesus,” Tara barely managed. “He was killed out there.”

Daryl’s heart dropped into his gut. “Walkers?”

Tara shook her head. “No. Something else.”

Daryl’s hand strayed over to the side of his vest and he felt the bulk of the skin mask there. He withdrew it and held it up, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “One of these fuckers?” he asked, throwing it down on the ground. Dog nosed and pawed at it before bristling.

Tara and Carol stared down at it for a long moment until Tara nodded. “Yeah. One of those, .”

“Yeah, I had my own damn run-in with ‘em. Almost took me and Dog out.” Daryl caught sight of movement over her shoulder and looked up as Michonne stepped out with several strangers at her side.

“You better come in and tell us what happened,” Tara said.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was seated on the edge of his chair. Carol had thrust a big glass of water into his hand and set a tray of food down in front of him. It sat untouched, except for the egg that Daryl had fed to dog.

“Next thing I know, a damn rope ladder dropped down out of the tree. And I didn’t have much choice,” Daryl drawled, turning the glass absently in his hands.

“A ladder?” Aaron asked, incredulous. Daryl nodded.

“Mhm. S’gonna sound nuts but—there was this—this woman. She had platforms built up in this huge oak. I didn’t see anythin’ except the lowest one which was empty, but I think she was livin’ up there. She saved me and Dog by droppin’ that damn ladder down and shootin’ all those walkers and skin freaks besides….”

“You’re telling us a woman living in a tree saved you?” Carol said.

“I said I knew it sounded nuts,” Daryl drawled, sitting heavily back in his chair. “Ain’t even the half of it. I watched her climb up a damn tree branch like it was a set of stairs. No hand or foot-holds, nothin’. She sheltered us there overnight during the storm and then in the mornin’, she came down and gave me food and a thermos full of hot tea,” he said, casting a glance around to read all the perplexed faces.

Michonne’s gaze was intense on his face. “Did she try to question you? About where you came from? About the settlements, our group?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. And she wouldn’t even tell me her name… But she guessed that I had people. And—” he hesitated, thinking about whether or not he should convey that he thought you’d been watching the area and certainly had seen him, but likely others from Hilltop as well. But Carol made the decision for him.

“Wait—your knife,” she said suddenly, the realization striking her. “Was this the same area?”

“What about your knife?” Tara asked, confused. Michonne only seemed more rigid, on edge.

Daryl quickly relayed what had happened in the previous days, about losing his knife and then finding it when he returned to look for it, hanging up and presented for the person who had dropped it. “The arrow it was hanging up on was identical to the ones she used to kill the walkers and the people wearin’ those masks. It had to be her. It wasn’t exactly the same place where I lost my knife but the distance ain’t far.”

“So, she’s been watching the whole area,” Michonne said. “You’re sure she didn’t ask you anything about—”

“No,” Daryl interrupted. “In fact, she seemed pissed off ‘bout the whole thing. Told me off for endin’ up at ‘her tree,’ like I’d had a fuckin’ choice. Said she was gonna have to move. She seemed—I think she knew more ‘bout these Whisperers than she said. She called them ‘The Shepherds’ and told me they walk with the dead. She said they can control them somehow. I tried to ask her more about ‘em but she would hardly talk.”

“How do we know she isn’t one of them?” Michonne said.

Daryl shook his head. “Why would she risk revealin’ herself to me and kill all those walkers and Skin freaks if she was one of them? That dun make any damn sense. No,” he shook his head. “No, she wasn’t with them. If she was, I’d be dead.”

Michonne’s face was stony. “I think we need to find her, question her. If she knows more, she needs to tell us.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “And what if she won’t? We gonna make her?” He looked around at the other stony faces in the room. “My gut says she ain’t the enemy here,” he said emphatically. “She just wanted to be left alone.”

“So do we. But if there’s a threat, it’s better that we know everything we can about it. Jesus is dead. We need to know before someone else dies.” Daryl sighed and his eyes closed for a moment, a grimace passing his face as he thought about Jesus. “’M sorry I wasn’t there with ya’ll,” he gulped in a failed attempt to clear the lump in his throat. “Maybe if I was, if I had been then—”

“We all know the risks of going outside the walls,” Aaron interrupted. “Jesus knew them too. And he made his own decisions like the rest of us. He died making sure the rest of us got away.”

There was a heavy silence for a long moment.

“Look, I can probably get us back to the area Dog and I were at. We can try to talk to her if, and tha’s a big if, we can find her,” Daryl said. “But I ain’t gonna be in on any kinda plan to hurt her in order to make her talk to us. Not after she saved me and Dog. She didn’t have to, and for some damn reason she did. I ain’t repayin’ her for that with anythin’ but askin’ nicely.”

Michonne sighed and straightened up. “Fine. It’s a start.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Michonne and Daryl were on edge as they moved through the forest, constantly stopping to listen, straining their hearing, checking behind them. Jesus’ death sat heavy on Daryl’s chest like a concrete block, making moving and even breathing harder than normal. It was a tremendous loss and Hilltop was reeling from it. Tara would do what she could to step up in his place, but there was no replacing him.

Finally, Daryl picked up some tracks that were clearly from part of the large herd that had trapped him and Dog, and not long after they began following them he thought the area looked familiar. His eyes searched the trees. He remembered the silhouette of the large trunk of the oak as the lightning had flashed and tried to hold it in his mind’s eye as he tracked, checking every large tree against this mental image. They never would have found it if it weren’t for the walker tracks…

“This is it,” he said suddenly, putting his hand out to touch the tree and revolving in place. “Yeah. This is the one but—” Something on the ground nearby caught his eyes and he paced over to it as Dog pawed at the corner; a large sheet of plywood. It was far too clean to have been laying on the ground for long and Daryl knew what it meant. You had moved.

Michonne stood beside him, looking down at the find. Daryl stood again and shook his head. “She’s gone,” he asserted.

Michonne glanced up at the canopy overhead. “We have to be sure. Boost me up,” she said, approaching the trunk again.

Daryl joined her and boosted her over his head. She struggled to find a hold for a moment and then her weight left his shoulders. She climbed higher until Daryl could no longer see her among the leaves and branches. “Anythin’?” he called up, as loudly as he dared.

“There are some—some supports left but… nothing else,” she called down. Eventually, her feet reemerged and then she dropped down lightly to the ground.

“She wasn’t kiddin’,” Daryl drawled. “Said she was gonna have to move,” he said.

Michonne hummed an acknowledgement but was distracted, scrutinizing the ground. “You said she had at least a couple levels up there?”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, glancing back up toward the tree. “I only ever saw the first one, but she climbed higher up.”

“Maybe you can find her tracks again. She would have been moving all her things, maybe multiple trips,” she said hopefully.

Daryl ran a hand back through his hair thoughtfully. “Yeah, maybe… I can try, but with all the rain we had overnight, just one set of tracks might’ve already been washed out. Only reason we even got here was followin’ the trampled ground from that herd. Besides, I have a feelin’ she’s good at leavin’ no trace. I mean, she didn’t even leave the bodies here,” Daryl commented, gesturing to the area around the base of the trunk.

“Yeah,” Michonne sighed. “I’m just worried… If there are more of these people out here, we need to know everything we can about them. Alexandria needs to know, and Hilltop too. The Kingdom…” She broke off, thinking back to their last war and hoping there wouldn’t be another.

“I know,” Daryl agreed. “’M worried too.” He paused, wondering if the others had been able to retrieve Jesus’ body yet. “We can at least look around a bit. Maybe we’ll get lucky,” he said.

It was maybe twenty minutes later as they searched the ground for a trace of the mysterious woman when they did, in fact, get lucky. A small group of walkers, maybe six or seven, moved toward them out of the trees. Daryl and Michonne exchanged a glance, both drawing their weapons.

“Let’s see if any of these fucks are the fully conscious kind,” Daryl growled. “Watch their hands.”

“If we find one, keep them alive if you can,” Michonne growled, flicking her sword. “We need to question them.”

The first two fell as regular walkers but the third screamed as Daryl’s bolt pierced its leg. It was immediately fallen upon by others and quickly died under clawing hands and snapping teeth, a dark pool of crimson blooming beneath the bodies. Daryl noticed two more of the figures stumbling toward him suddenly reversing their direction to move away from the feeding zombies. Behind him, Michonne was putting down more of the dead.

One of the figures trying to turn away from the carnage pulled a knife from his sleeve and lunged, but fell quickly with Daryl’s bolt in his head. At the sight of that, the final figure dropped to their knees and pleaded for their life, throwing their knife aside as both Daryl and Michonne advanced on them. Daryl ripped the mask from their face and looked down in surprise at a young teenager, by his guess no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. She trembled and cried behind Michonne’s blade.

More walkers were inbound, and a hasty decision had to be made. They needed answers more than they needed anything, and someone had to be held responsible for Jesus’ death. “We ain’t got time. We’ll take her with us.”

As they hurried away from another approaching herd, a raven called a raspy croak overhead and Daryl saw it streaking away into the woods.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m telling you, man. Your pipes and my accompaniment… we’re gonna be a two-man band at that festival,” Luke said, nearly bouncing on his toes. Alden couldn’t help but laugh. Despite how worried they were about all the others, Luke was a jovial traveling companion. Most of Luke’s group had gone outside the walls and had not yet returned, and the two of them felt unable to just sit around and wait... Surely, something had happened and their friends needed help.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Alden said. “You haven’t even heard me yet. For all you know, I’m terrible,” he joked.

“No, no, no… I don’t think so,” Luke smiled. “I’ve got a good feeling about this collaboration!” He glanced ahead. “There’s another one of Yumiko’s arrows,” he remarked, nodding toward a tree up ahead, an arrow shaft clearly visible protruding from the trunk. The two men moved closer but stopped short when they caught sight of a figure up ahead, a lone walker. Both of them readied their weapons. “I’ll get it,” Luke said, his weapon in hand.

But the ambling walker was suddenly… not. It froze. It stood completely still. Luke and Alden stopped too. They exchanged a perplexed glance. “That’s… weird,” Luke commented softly. He was about to ask if Alden had ever seen a walker not moving before.

Then, a stick broke to their left. Another figure appeared. Another crack on their right, then behind… More figures emerged through the brush and they all stood still. It was then that they realized the first was holding a bundle of arrows, the same ones Luke had assumed were Yumiko’s. They’d walked right into a trap and they were surrounded. There was no escape.

With no other options, Luke and Alden were forced to drop their weapons. Held in place by several men, the initial figure approached, masked in a sickening skin with scraggly white-blond hair. When she spoke, her voice was soft but dangerous.

“Bind their hands. Gag their mouths,” she urged, swaying slightly on her feet. “We keep them alive until we know about the girl. I’m going to see the others. I’ll return. Do not let them escape or your blood will be spilled.” Her tone was commanding but also matter-of-fact.

“Yes, Alpha,” the other masked figures replied. Alden and Luke watched as she disappeared into the trees again. They were bound and gagged and shoved to the forest floor to sit uncomfortably against a couple trees, able to only exchange fearful glances.

Dusk fell and the shadows lengthened. They were watched through the eyes of grotesque masks as the figures paced around them keeping guard. Their hands and fingers were cold from the tightness of their bonds and their shoulders ached and burned.

Two of the figures stopped next to each other and whispered for a moment before one of them disappeared farther into the brush. Bathroom break, Luke thought wryly. And despite his fear, he registered his need to do the same soon, but he didn’t dare make a sound. He glanced toward Alden who seemed to be staring straight ahead into the gathering darkness. Luke tried to work his hands up and down, trying to loosen the bindings on his wrists, but they were too tight. The backs of his hands burned from the friction. He let out a heavy exhale and tried to stay calm. Maybe the others were still out here… or maybe they were now looking for him and Alden. If they could just stay alive long enough, surely they’d—

Swoosh and then a dull thunk.

A muffled sound of surprise escaped him and Alden at the same time. Luke recoiled farther into the tree behind him as he watched the masked Whisperer who’d been guarding them drop to the ground with a thick arrow shaft in their head. It was tipped with inky black feathers.

He and Alden looked at each other with wide, shocked eyes. What the hell?

There was a rushing sound as the other guard returned through the brush. Before they could even reach the body of the fallen, they too were struck with a deadly shot in their forehead. Luke’s chest was heaving with confusion and fear. Alden was trying to push himself forward so he could get onto his knees and perhaps stand up. Suddenly, a strong hand gripped his shoulder and began to hiss in his ear.

“Move again and I’ll stick a knife in your knee.” Alden retracted from the breath on his ear and the bony fingers gripping him. “What—no!” the voice gasped. They had noticed the bodies.

They pulled a knife and straightened up, glancing around frantically, baring their teeth inside the mask like an animal. They grabbed Alden’s hair and pulled him to his feet, placing their blade at his neck. “Come out! Come outtttt! Or I’ll slit this one’s throat!” Somehow their voice still had the raspy quality of a whisper but it seemed to echo in the trees. A thick silence fell. For a moment, the was neither call of a bird or hum of an insect. The wind in the treetops was still. The trees seemed to be listening. The leaves held their breath. Then, in the distance, Luke and Alden heard the flap of wings and the rush of air beneath them clearly as if magnified by the silence that had fallen over the woods. The throaty croak of a raven called three times.

Swoosh and thunk. The figure’s grip on Alden disappeared and he jerked backwards away from it as it fell with another black-feathered arrow. This one, however, had struck in the neck, too low for an instant kill. The figure writhed and rasped in agony on the ground, the echoes of their cries bouncing off the tree and sounding deafening in the previous calm.

That’s when you dropped down from your perch in the trees above. Luke and Alden watched in shock as a figure, cloaked and hooded in black with a bow in one hand, produced a knife in the other and swiftly stabbed the struggling Whisperer in the base of the skull, silencing and stilling them.

You quickly threw back your hood and looked at Alden first, heading toward him and untying and pulling the gag down from his mouth. He gasped in hurried breaths. You could feel him shaking as you cut and untied the cord around his wrists. Luke looked on, dumbstruck. Alden rubbed his wrists and glanced around, expecting more of those masked freaks to step out from the trees at any moment.

The same thing was clearly on your mind as you rushed to Luke, saying, “That last one was loud. You better get out of here before more show up.”

You cut Luke’s bonds and he pulled the gag down out of his mouth, his jaw dropping open as he turned to stare at you, still dumbfounded. “Who—who the hell are you?” he asked, watching you quickly collect your arrows. They made sickening squelching noises as you pulled them from the skulls of the fallen Whisperers.

You ignored the question and hastily wiped the gore off the arrow heads onto your pants, glancing around anxiously. Stowing your arrows, you looked back at Alden. “You need to go,” you said again.

“Go where?” Alden said. “We don’t even know where we are.”

A raven called again overhead and then in a dark blur came fluttering down to hover over you. Looking up, you held your hand out and it dropped something into your palm before taking off again with a peculiar bubbling sound. Alden and Luke exchanged yet another mystified look.

“Great,” you murmured to yourself, tossing what the bird had dropped into your palm down onto the ground. It was an ear, clearly from a walker. “There are more dead coming. Probably with Shepherds.” You spun your knife skillfully in your hand and glanced at the two men. “I can get you to the old highway, but that’s as far as I go. Come on.”

“Shepherds?” Luke repeated, but you simply plunged off into the trees, drawing your dark hood over your head again.

“Wait—” Alden urged, hurrying after you. Luke was on his heels. “Wait! You aren’t even gonna tell us your name?”

“No,” you said in a hushed voice, “and be quiet.”

Luke took a succession of quick steps to come to your other side. “Listen, uh—you just might’ve saved our lives back there. I’m Luke. This is Alden,” he said. “That’s—that’s a neat trick you’ve got there with your—your crow pal,” he said, laughing nervously. He could feel the adrenaline and endorphins rushing through him, making him anxious and jittery.

“Raven,” you corrected him with a mere sideways glance.

“Oh. Right. Raven,” Luke said. “Sorry.”

You charged ahead into the brush again and the two men struggled to keep up. It seemed that walking through this landscape and the dense vegetation, rife with obstacles, was second-nature to you.

The feeling was still coming back into his fingers, but Alden looked around for a makeshift weapon. He seized a dried pine limb with a sharp, broken end and tested its strength over his knee. Good enough. Luke followed his lead and selected a sturdy branch as well.

You’d barely been leading them toward the highway for more than two minutes when you heard another sound overhead; a shrill alarm call from your raven that you knew all too well. You froze. Luke nearly ran into your back from the sudden stop. You strained your hearing for a long moment… There. You heard rustling to your left and growling. “More here.” you said. “The dead and maybe Shepherds. Get ready,” you said.

You readied an arrow on your bow and charged forward toward the sound, crouching behind a fallen tree to conceal yourself until the moment was right. Alden and Luke followed more clumsily and far less silently.

Peering between the branches, you finally saw them approaching. Alpha was at the lead, followed by maybe six or seven others. She was unmistakable in her gruesome mask with scraggly pale hair. The rest of them? Dead or living, you couldn’t be sure. You pulled in a slow breath, stood, and bent your bow. Alpha was obstructed behind a large pine trunk. The first arrow dropped a figure to the ground and several of the dead stumbled over it before bending to feed. Alpha and two Whisperers wearing masks withdrew knives. Her followers huddled around her. You bent your bow again and let an arrow fly. It struck one of the living in the chest and they screamed as they fell in a heap. Alpha turned and thrust her knife into their throat, silencing them. She stared into the dark trees ahead, swaying slightly on her feet, her large blade glinting in the low light.

She gestured to the other Whisperer and they began to move forward again. You were readying another arrow when there was the distinct sound of many moving through brush to the left. Alden turned and saw more dead inbound. “Fuck,” you swore under your breath. You had to take your eyes off Alpha and fired a shot at the walker in the lead. More stumbled forward… many more. “Get ready,” you said again to Luke and Alden. As you glanced back toward the other group, there was no sign of Alpha. You fired shot after shot into the advancing dead, not missing your mark once, but finally, when you reached back for another arrow, your hand grasped at air. Your quiver was empty. You withdrew your knife again and nodded to the men. Alden leapt forward and thrust the sharp end of his pine branch into the face of the walker in the lead. “Watch their hands!” you cautioned the men, thrusting your knife into the forehead of another. Luke swung his branch like a baseball bat and knocked another to the ground before smashing it’s head in with the blunt end.

You were about to lunge again at a snarling dead one when another behind it suddenly stepped forward with a blade raised. You ducked their thrust and kicked hard at the side of their leg. They crumpled to the ground with a cry and the dead fell on them. You stabbed your knife into two more of the dead, wincing as a spray of blood landed across your neck as you withdrew. Alden and Luke were both still fighting behind you. You turned to join them but were caught off guard when someone kicked you hard in the center of your back. You fell forward onto the cushion of pine needles and your knife tumbled away into the litter.

Hurriedly rolling over you saw Alpha standing over you, one of her followers at her side. She cocked her head and you saw her smiling behind the mask. “Looks like you dropped your knife. That’s a shame,” she said, her voice sweet like poisoned honey.

You scrambled back on your hands, glancing over your shoulder, hoping to see your knife reflecting the moonlight, but it was too dark. The shadows swallowed nearly everything. Your right hand groped for a stick, anything, to wield as she advanced on you slowly, calmly.

Your fingers hit something cold and hard; a stone. You grasped it, your chest heaving.

You jumped to your feet and waited for the right moment. Alpha and her follower were still fixed on you, but behind them you saw Alden put down the last walker. Luke nudged him and the two of them began sneaking up behind your adversaries.

Suddenly, Alpha sprung toward you with her knife. You reflexively jumped back and it barely missed your stomach. She swept it toward you again and you dodged, but she was relentless. You threw up an arm to block another quick attack and felt the blade cut deeply into your forearm. You let out a cry of pain and stumbled to the side, away from her.

“Hey!” Alden yelled, raising his pine branch.

Alpha didn’t even turn to look, her eyes still fixed on you. “Take care of those two. This one is mine,” she growled. Her follower spun to face the men and was soon engaged in fighting with them. Alpha continued to advance and you stepped back slowly, the stone still in your hand. You could feel the warm wetness of blood running down your arm and soaking your sleeve. Alpha lunged again, raising her knife and you deflected the blow to the side, taking the opportunity to smash the side of her face with the stone, knocking her to the ground but smashing the tip one of your own fingers at the same time. She fell sideways and was stunned for a moment as you straightened up, staggering backwards. You felt your boot hit something and you looked down to see your knife underfoot.

“Yes,” you gasped, reaching down. You fingers closed around the handle and then—something sharp and cold pierced your side and sunk in. You let out a pained gasp, all the breath leaving your body in a rush of air. You were suddenly on the flat of your back again and looked down to see her knife sticking out of your right side. She’d thrown it as you bent to retrieve your own.

You heard her laughing and looked up to see her stumbling toward you, still somewhat unsteady after the blow from the stone but determined. She was within two feet of you when a streak blacker than night hit her in the head from behind and clawed at her mask. There was a raucous screeching and flapping as your raven divebombed her and struck her on the head. The shiny black peak pecked into her mask, reaching her face with the sharp bill.

While she was distracted by your bird, you gritted your teeth and stood with a tremendous effort, the knife still protruding from your side. As soon as you were on your feet, your raven disappeared again into the trees. Behind Alpha, you saw that Alden and Luke had dealt with the final Whisperer and were both advancing on her from behind and you smiled through your pain. She didn’t have a weapon now and it was three against one, despite the knife in your side. “You’re surrounded,” you said. You adjusted your grip on your own knife. The handle was slippery from the blood running down your arm. You blinked to clear the slight blur in your vision.

Alpha glanced back over her shoulder briefly before meeting your eyes again. You were hunched over from the pain and she simply smiled. “You’re dead,” she said softly. “And I’d really like to have my knife back.”

“Fuck you,” you growled, suddenly throwing the stone from your non-dominant hand and hitting her hard in the chest. She gasped and staggered back slightly and you rushed forward, raising your knife, aiming for her chest. But you were weak from the pain in your side and she grabbed your wrist as you tried to bring down the blade. The two of you struggled with it overhead. You cried out as the effort sent white-hot jagged bolts of pain through your body. Alpha was stronger than you in that moment and she redirected your struggle down to her side. She thrust a knee up into your stomach hard, paralyzing your lungs and stunning you. You still had hold of your knife but before you could respond, you felt another searing, blinding bolt of pain as she gripped the handle of her own knife and tugged it, ripped it from your body. You fell forward onto your hands and knees and then pressed a hand over the wound on your side. You felt that your clothing as soaked with blood and your hand came away wet and sticky, the crimson appearing black in the low light. Where were Alden and Luke? Why weren’t they helping you? Your gaze lifted to see that they were fighting with another wave of the dead that had wandered in while you were all distracted.

You gasped again as Alpha kicked her boot into your ribs and sent you rolling to the side. You came to rest on your back, trying to pull in air. You looked up to see her rushing you and you summoned the last bit of fight and effort you had and threw all your bodyweight behind your knife and sunk it into her thigh before she could bring hers down on you.

She let out a scream of agony followed by a low growl, whirling and staggering back. The look she gave you through her mask was utter contempt and rage. You tried in vain to get your muscles to hold your weight, to get up, to do something…. But they wouldn’t cooperate. Alpha was standing over you again, limping on her injured leg. The last thing you saw was her boot aiming for your face. You managed to turn your head to the side just before it connected but then everything went black…

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