#daryl series

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

I just wanted to say that I'm already OBSESSED with your new series! I swear you one up yourself with every new bit of writing! thanks for sharing your gift with us!!

OH THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH YAAAAAAS and you're so welcome, my love! <3 thank you for being here and reading and messaging! (You can read Part 1 of my new Daryl Dixon x Reader series The Ghost here.)

[lunajay33]

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

[xwritingdixonx]

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."

"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."

[grimesrhees]

relief versus grief

twd 05x10 "them"

[mooxsully]

"She gets hurt. She dies. She catches a fever. She's taken out by a walker. She gets hit by lightning. Anything. Anything happens to her, I'll kill you."

Daryl Dixon, the man that you are😵‍💫🙇🏻‍♀️

[darylsfavoritegirl]

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

[wonwoosthetic]

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 :)

[darylmydix]

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.

playlist: keep holding on - avril lavigne | already gone - kelly clarkson | hanging on - emilee moore | through the trees - low shoulder | skin - zola jesus | obstacles - syd matters | home to you - fka twigs | words - skylar grey | two is better than one - boys like girls | back to december - taylor swift | how to save a life - the fray | for the love of a daughter - demi lovato | confessions of a broken heart (daughter to father) - lindsay lohan | all my dreaming - emma russack | souvenir - boygenius | heaven i know - gordi | afraid of nothing - sharon van etten | halley’s comet (outro)/halley’s comet (outro slowed) - billie eilish | santa monica dream - angus and julia stone | here with me - d4vd | dark side - kelly clarkson | rush - lewis capaldi | hold me while you wait - lewis capaldi | war of hearts - ruelle | medicine - daughter | reader’s theme song - leslie stevens.

©darylmydix. please do not repost.

000 | 001 | 002 | 003 | 004

[sturnsdc]

Cake

pair: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

synopsis: a secret relationship can be hard to maintain, especially if it’s kept secret out of fear of someone. 

Daryl finds himself in a dangerous situation when the truth is uncovered, and he must make a decision that will change everything.

did he make the right choice?

warnings: ANGST, typical TWD scenes, fools, violence, mentions of death, fight, abusive father is mentioned, slight fluff, somewhat obsessive behavior, happy ending, depressive thoughts (due to a breakup).

era: prison

words: 9,3k

A/N: i said i was inspired by “Cake,” but then i was also listening to the album “Silence Between Songs” by Madison Beer, and i got inspired by the songs “At Your Worst,” “Dangerous,” and “Spinnin”... so, yeah.

btw, i don’t know why, but i always end up writing some scene with Daryl’s father, and it’s always violent. I’m sorry.

dividers from: @cafekitsune ! ♡

main masterlist daryl masterlist

if both of them had to describe last night, they would say it was magnificent, even perfect. After being together for some time, they finally decided to take the next step, calmly and lovingly. Daryl felt loved in a completely different way, in a way he had never experienced before. He gave a significant part of his soul to Yn that night, and he knew she did the same.

however, when he woke up, Daryl’s thoughts shifted after a few minutes, and soon his mind started racing, filling him with doubts about his partner.

‘what if she regrets it?’  

‘what if it wasn’t as good for her?’

his eyes wandered over his now-exposed scars, and he could feel his entire body tense up.

‘what if this is weird for her?’  

‘what if she expected something else?’

his mind didn’t seem to want to give him peace, and Daryl began to grow more anxious with each passing second. He even felt tempted to get out of bed and get dressed, to at least avoid the embarrassment of being seen once again in one of his most vulnerable, and in his view, "disgusting" states. However, before he could act, a few kisses on his neck pulled him out of his thoughts, and as he looked down, he was met with a smile on his girlfriend’s face. That made him breathe a sigh of relief, although the doubts still lingered.

“hey, sleepyhead, how long have ya´ been awake?” the girl asked, snuggling into her boyfriend’s arms.

“jus´ a while. Ya wanna keep sleepin´?” he asked, trying to hide the trembling in his voice, caused by nervousness.

“no, but i wouldn’t mind stayin´ in bed with ya all day tho,” she confessed, still smiling, watching as her boyfriend blushed at her comment.

“gotta go home at some point,” he replied with reluctance, sighing afterward, and she nodded, feeling defeated.

“it was worth a shot,” she said, leaning in to kiss Daryl’s chest.

they stayed in bed for a few more minutes, in complete silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Yn could sense that something was wrong, the atmosphere felt a bit tense, and she swore she could hear Daryl’s thoughts forming, but nothing came out of his mouth.

“Dar,” she called out, catching his attention. He looked at her curiously. “´s everythin´ okay?”

the boy remained silent for a few seconds, considering his options, but the questions seemed louder and were all he could think about, so he decided to take a risk. He had to know the truth, even if it hurt him.

“we okay?” Yn didn’t expect that question, and she coughed, surprised and confused. “sorry, didn’t mean to—”

“we’re okay, Dar,” she replied firmly. “´s this about what happened last night?”

Daryl’s silence seemed to be the answer, and then she understood, so a small smile formed on her face. She tried to make her words sound as sweet and firm as possible, so they would reach him.

“i really loved what happened last night. Ya made me feel safe, loved, and wanted. I enjoyed every second with ya, and i would love to experience it again,” she confessed, feeling a bit embarrassed by how excited she sounded. Her face flushed at her own words.

“ya don’ regret it?” he murmured, and she quickly shook her head.

“never, i loved it,” her hand gently caressed his chest, sharing her body heat with him, relaxing him. “how did ya feel last night?”

“safe,” he answered. “ya always make me feel tha´ way, but it was different, don’ know,” he shrugged, and though his response was brief, she understood that he had enjoyed it too.

she observed him for a few moments, and out of embarrassment, he avoided her gaze.

“ya want breakfast?”

and so they ended up in the kitchen, both fully dressed now, more relaxed and finishing the breakfast they had prepared together.

“so now yer goin´ back home, right?” the girl asked, and he nodded in response. “see ya later at the lake?”

“sure, what time?” he asked, placing his now empty plate aside.

“around 3?” He nodded again, then got up to leave the dishes in the sink. “i’ll wash it, don’ worry.”

“ya sure? can help.”

“nah, i got it,” she said, so he shrugged.

she wrapped her arms around Daryl’s neck, their faces much closer now. He quickly placed his arms around her waist, and then she felt completely at peace, knowing this was where she belonged — in his arms.

they gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, not even needing to speak. It was something they both loved, the ability to understand each other in silence, sharing the calm and love they felt for one another.

but they wanted more, so soon their lips met in a kiss full of emotions; confessions; a secret love they wanted to keep for the rest of their lives; a shared dream.

they wanted to stay like that forever, but they had to pull apart, both now with small smiles on their faces.

“see ya at 3,” Daryl said, though inside, he knew he didn’t want to leave, that he’d rather stay there, in that same position, kissing his girlfriend again.

“sure babe,” she replied, but neither made any move to leave until Daryl finally did, letting go of her and walking to the door. “bye,” she said, still smiling as she watched him walk toward the door, opening it and holding it for him.

he stepped out, but turned to look at her one last time. She leaned against the door, and they exchanged one final glance, almost unable to believe how perfect life felt with each other. He then approached her again, giving her one last kiss before leaving.

what they didn’t know was that they were being watched by someone who shouldn’t have been returning home yet but had decided to, and now felt their blood boiling at what they had just seen.

by the time Daryl was nearing his house, he began to feel that something was wrong, as if something bad was about to happen, and suddenly, a wave of dread hit him when he stood at the front door. However, he went inside anyway, and the first thing he received after closing the door was his father’s fist crashing into his cheek, sending him reeling in shock.

Daryl growled, tasting the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth, but he knew this was just the beginning.

“wha´ have i taught ya yer whole life? huh? how many times have i told ya to stay away from whores?” Daryl froze on the floor upon hearing those words, and his father took advantage of that to start kicking him with all his might, over and over. “how many times have i told ya they’re all the same?” the boy couldn’t even defend himself, as the man didn’t even let him catch his breath. “ya know how they are, and yet ya chose to be with tha´ bitch! fer what!? to hook up with ´er and be like yer brother?” he stopped kicking him after the question, but his breathing was erratic, and he was ready to hit him again.

“she’s not like tha´…” Daryl responded with difficulty, coughing up blood from his mouth, staining the floor of the house. “she’s not…”

“liar!” then the man threw himself onto his son’s body, slamming his fists into his face again and again. “yer a fucking liar! ya’ become a pussy ´cause her!” his voice was filled with disappointment and anger. “yer gonna leave that bitch.” Daryl wanted to interrupt, wanted to defend himself and yell at him. He shook his head while blood poured from his mouth and his face grew numb. “yes, yer gonna. Yer gonna leave her, or ya know i’ll kill her. Ya know i can do it.” he stopped hitting him, bringing his face close to his son’s as he spoke in a threatening tone. “yer gonna leave that whore, ya can come up with whatever excuse ya wan´, i don’t give a damn, but yer gonna leave her, and if i ever see her again…” he paused, catching his breath. “if i ever see ´er again, her head will be hangin´ on yer damn door, do-you-understand?”

Daryl remained silent, feeling powerless, afraid, sad, and in pain. So much pain.

“do you understand!?” he flinched at the shout, but then nodded, making the man finally release him, leaving him lying on the floor, bleeding and with horrible marks on his body that would take time to fade.

his father then went to grab a beer from the fridge, placing it for a moment on his bloody knuckles before opening it, all without looking at his son again, who remained on the floor.

Daryl thought about his options, though he felt dizzy, and his body was growing colder and heavier.

he knew his father was a dangerous man; he had lived under the same roof his whole life, but he didn’t remember him threatening Merle in the same way, though he knew he was capable of carrying it out.

‘she shouldn’t suffer’ was all he could think, and the fear that something might happen to her consumed him. He couldn’t let her suffer, not because of his stupid father. However, Daryl knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t let him go easily, especially if she saw the state his father had left him in, so he had to think of a way to convince her to stay away, had to do something to make her not want to come near him again.

anyway... he would probably think about it later, as his body started to feel too heavy, and his eyes closed without him being able to stop it.

the last image in his mind before losing consciousness was of his girlfriend. The only person who had respected, accepted, and loved him despite all the bad things that came with him. The only one who wanted to see the good in him, even when he couldn’t.

she had always been there, and she knew the things his father did, which was why their relationship had remained a secret all this time. Now he would have to convince her to stay away, even though their last interaction had been an immense display of love, after having shared the best night of their lives.

that day, Daryl didn’t show up at the lake as they had agreed, which worried Yn. Her first instinct was to be concerned, immediately thinking that something could have gone wrong at his house. However, Daryl had made her promise not to come near that place, no matter what, so she decided to give him some space. ‘Maybe he’ll come to my house later,’ she tried to convince herself.

that day, she didn’t see him again, and the worry kept her from sleeping all night, even though she had to go back to school the next day.

it was hard to get up for school, considering how heavy her body felt from exhaustion. However, the desire to see Daryl and make sure he was okay was much stronger, so she forced herself to get up, taking a record-breaking shower and putting on the shirt her boyfriend had left a few weeks ago, which still had his scent, giving her comfort.

when she arrived at school, she started walking through the hallways looking for her boyfriend, but there was no trace of him anywhere. The same thing happened in the classes they were supposed to have together that day.

‘where is he?’ she asked herself over and over, checking the doors and windows of every classroom and hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the most unexpected places.

but he was nowhere to be found.

after school, she retraced their usual spots again and again, and the idea of going to his house became more and more tempting.

‘what if something happened to him?’ ‘what if his father did something?’ ‘or Merle?’ her mind wouldn’t let her rest, and the worry planted a painful weight in her chest. ‘what if he’s regretting it?’ her thoughts started to turn against her, and the anxiety began to overwhelm her even more than before.

this became her routine for a few more days, until she finally got tired of keeping that promise and decided to follow her gut. Before she could even consider it a few more times, her feet had already taken her to the entrance of the Dixon house, and she knocked on the door as calmly as she could.

she realized she wasn’t prepared when the door opened, revealing her boyfriend’s bruised face, who looked just as surprised to see her.

“wha´…?” but he didn’t finish the question, instead clearing his throat, his expression hardening instantly.

“i was worried. You hadn’t shown up, and i didn’t know if… ya were okay. Dar, what happened to ya?” she tried to approach him, her face filled with concern, but it soon turned to confusion when Daryl dodged her touch. “are you mad at me?”

“i told ya not to come here. Why couldn’t ya jus´ listen?” his tone was angry, and his gaze was cold, which caught her off guard.

“i was worried, i thought somethin´ really bad had happened, and the anxiety was killing me, ’m sorry.” she still tried to remain calm.

“ya couldn’t wait a little longer, could ya? always so damn clingy and anxious.” his venomous words struck a different kind of pain in her chest, wounding her.

“Dar, what do you mean?” she let out a nervous laugh, not understanding what was happening so suddenly.

“we had sex already, the hell ya want now?” he raised his voice, startling Yn.

“you think ’m here to have sex again?” now she sounded offended. “You disappeared fer days, Daryl! i thought somethin´ bad had happened to ya, and i held back fer days, and when i finally come to check on ya, i see yer bruised face, and i get this shitty attitude from ya. What the hell?” she waited for a response, but he stayed silent. “gonna tell me what this is all about?”

“ya shouldn’t have come,” he replied.

“cut that shit. What did i do to ya?” his evasive responses only fueled her anger and confusion.

“’m sick of this! yer so annoying. I just wanted some time fer myself, and ya weren’t supposed to come here!” he took a step forward, and she stepped back. “jus´ leave me the hell alone. Don’t wanna see yer stupid little face ´round here. ’m done with this.”

“what?” her eyes widened, and she felt frozen in place, unable to believe what she had just heard. “can i at least know what changed?” this time, her voice came out low and weak, her eyes fixed on his.

“just can’t do this anymore. I tried, but yer… too much.” before she could respond, he slammed the door in her face, leaving her standing there.

she could feel her heart breaking, and she even started to feel sick. She took a weak step forward, considering knocking again, but quickly dismissed the idea. She couldn’t bear another humiliation. Her heart couldn’t take it.

when she got home, still in shock from the recent events, it was time for dinner, but she couldn’t eat. Her stomach had completely shut down, so she decided the best thing to do was change her clothes and lie down in her bed. When she did, she didn’t even have the strength to pull the blanket over herself. Instead, she curled up in a fetal position, breathing shakily until everything hit her.

tears began to flow from her eyes, her body started to shake, and she realized how tense she was only when she tried to move her fingers, feeling the intense pain from clenching her fists tightly as she cried.

she had never felt like this before.

Daryl was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She adored the way his fangs showed every time he smiled, or the way his eyes seemed to light up whenever he looked at her. He was usually rough, but when he touched her, it felt like he did so with the utmost care, trying not to hurt her, even when he was just hugging her.

she couldn’t forget the afternoons when he watched her study for her exams, even kissing her when he got tired of congratulating her for answering correctly.

she couldn’t forget their dates at the lake, or the hunting practice in the woods.

she couldn’t forget the nights spent listening to music in his room, or the first time they both smoked.

she couldn’t forget the mornings spent watching TV while eating breakfast.

she couldn’t forget the first time he gave her flowers, telling her about their history and meaning, making it a tradition for both of them every month since that moment.

she couldn’t forget the first time she had her period, and Daryl had to learn every possible way to help her because he had promised not to let her suffer for anything.

she couldn’t forget the first time their bodies came together, sharing the most special night where she gave something she could never get back.

he had taken everything with him, including that night.

when Daryl walked back into his house that day, he ran into his father, who looked at him with the same contempt as always before sitting on the couch with another beer in hand and the TV on.

Daryl took a deep breath, trembling, and quickly locked himself in his room. That day, he felt something die inside him. He had always promised to keep her safe, that she wouldn't suffer again if he could prevent it. But he never expected that, in order to save her, he would have to hurt her himself.

the image of Yn’s face turning into an expression of pain and despair would haunt him for the rest of his days, but there was no turning back now, not anymore.

days passed, and when Yn returned to school, she looked destroyed, which caught the attention of everyone who knew her.

she was described as a kind soul, a gentle and selfless person, someone full of light despite all the crap she had been through. That’s why many were surprised when they saw her so close to the younger Dixon, someone who seemed to be the complete opposite of her. They couldn’t understand how someone like her ended up falling in love with someone like him, and many of her “friends” decided to turn their backs on her when she "didn’t understand" their warnings.

“he’s going to break your heart,” they told her over and over, but she would just frown and defend him to the end.

‘they were wrong, he wasn’t the problem,’ she thought day after day, even when her best friend tried to make her see that it wasn’t true.

setting foot on school grounds brought back a wave of sadness she had tried to avoid that morning, and soon she felt her eyes burning, eager to release the tears still stained with Daryl’s name. However, before she could turn and run home, her friend’s face appeared in her field of vision, clearly worried but ready to help.

for a while, every day was like that, and it only got worse when their eyes met in a hallway or when they had to share a class. Both had to muster the strength not to run into each other's arms and beg for forgiveness, and with every second apart, they felt a part of them breaking, unable to heal without the other’s presence.

months filled with pain, tears, and immense suffering that sometimes kept them prisoners in their beds, unable to get up and face reality. At least in their long, unhealthy hours of sleep, they could be together again.

it took Yn a year to go through the worst of it, even though she had already finished school. She couldn't even enjoy her graduation and fled the place shortly after receiving her diploma. Neither attended dances, celebrations, or events they might have at least considered if they had been together.

then it took her another year to try to piece together her heart, though the new parts weren't enough to make her feel whole, they made her feel stronger and more protected from her emotions.

during all that time, she was only able to talk to one person—Mel, her lifelong best friend—who offered her a new chance when they both applied to a university in Boston.

it was far, an opportunity to start fresh, without him.

‘sounds good, right?’ that’s what she tried to think, and that’s what led her to accept the offer and take the scholarship.

she was going to forget him completely.

well, at least that’s what she thought would happen, but every passing day, she realized how much it still affected her. At first, it was anger, and when she arrived and settled into her new home for the next five years, she was so excited about the idea of starting over that her mind decided that to maintain that peace, it would make Daryl Dixon her number one enemy. And for a few months, it worked—she regained her self-esteem and started to feel more confident in herself. But then, the first guy tried to get close to her, and that’s when everything started to fall apart.

she tried, she wanted to give each guy who seemed genuinely interested in her a chance, but she couldn’t even breathe near them without her mind searching for something in them that reminded her of what she felt with Dixon.

she grew frustrated every time she realized she didn’t feel safe with them, didn’t feel even half as loved and respected as she did with Dixon, and whenever she looked into their eyes, all she could see was either a purity she didn’t want and couldn’t accept, or a lust that made her feel disgusted and vulnerable.

they weren’t him, and that was something that made her angry.

during the three years she had spent in Boston, she never had an official relationship, and she never neglected her studies. She only made time for taking care of Madison, Mel’s daughter, who she cared for even more than her best friend did.

unfortunately, Mel gave in to the temptations of university life and let herself be swept away by momentary pleasures, having to deal with the next nine months of her second year of school while pregnant with a little girl whose father remained unknown. And when the baby was born, Mel continued her old ways, leaving Yn to raise her.

Yn tried again and again to make her see reason, especially when the baby began to speak and called her "mom" instead of her real mother. But Mel didn’t change, and even though their friendship became more distant, Yn could never leave the little girl uncared for.

however, despite everything that had happened over the last three years, when Mel suggested a weekend trip back home, she accepted almost without thinking, feeling her heartbeat quicken and something inside her light up like a flame.

so, the three of them made the trip back. But just when it seemed like they would finally make it home, things took an unexpected turn. The sick began to appear everywhere, ending the lives of many people... or not?

Yn didn’t understand anything; before her eyes, she could see death rising and walking, seeking new victims as if everything they once were vanished in seconds.

‘what the hell is happening?’

YN'S POV

Dear Diary,

a year and a half has passed, or at least i think so.

things have really changed since the last time i talked to you, about a year ago, right?

Mel 's dead.  

those walkers killed her, took her from the camp we had built, and almost took Madison the same way.

now we don’t have a place to live, and we go around together, trying to survive this disaster.

i still don’t know anything about Daryl. The last time i wrote to you, I think i mentioned that i looked for him from day one. I don’t even know why. I’m still mad at him, and i don’t think i could bear to see him, but something inside me wants to know he’s alive.

damn, he hurt me, and i still care about him—it's pathetic.

but i know he was made for this world, for this. I think even if everything got worse, he’d be the last man standing on earth.

still, i haven’t tried to look for him recently. I just focus on keeping Madison safe, fed, and teaching her as much as i can.

a while ago, she started calling me “mom” permanently. I’ve tried to correct her, but she won’t stop, she keeps calling me that.

would she be happy to know i’m taking care of her? i remember how she screamed while they killed her, begging me to save her because she didn’t deserve to die—especially not Madison.

i love that little girl. I’d give anything to keep her safe.

well, there’s not much ink left in this pen, so i guess it’s time to leave you. It was a good chat. Now we’re going to check out a store we found. Hopefully, when i open this thing again, i’ll have more to say than this.

bye, i guess.

i closed the notebook gently, placing it back in my backpack, which i slung over my shoulder as i stood up from the log i’d been sitting on. Beside me, Madison looked up at me, copying my actions as she got up from her own log. I extended my hand to her, which she quickly took, following me toward the store i had seen a few hours ago. I had kept an eye on it, making sure nothing was going in or out, and nothing was moving inside.

i put her behind me. She keeps watch—she’s very smart and observant, noticing things with impressive ease since what happened with Mel. Meanwhile, i took my gun, feeling the weight of my knives, ready to be used if anything went wrong.

we searched the place, and i stuffed as much as i could into my backpack, trying to make as little noise as possible and moving as quickly as my body allowed. Then Madi gently tugged on my shirt, catching my attention. When i looked at her, she pointed to the store’s entrance, where an unknown woman, armed and looking in all directions, had just walked in.

i considered my options, but she was blocking the exit, and another woman with a sword strapped to her back was following her.

i looked back at Madi, trying to explain in sign language that she needed to hide and that i would handle it. Mel and I had learned this form of communication in college, and now it’s what keeps us safe. Madi only understands the basics, but that’s enough.

Madi took the backpack and hid, and i tried to approach the women discreetly, but eventually one of them saw me and pointed her gun at me.

“what are you doing here?” she asked rudely, narrowing her eyes as she looked me up and down. I raised both hands, still holding my gun. “Drop it,” she ordered. I raised an eyebrow but complied, tossing it to the ground and kicking it toward them. The woman with the sword picked up the weapon, and then the other one spoke again, “i asked you what you’re doing here. We’ve been watching this place for a while.”

“apparently, not long enough,” i responded. “just came for supplies. We all need to survive these days, don’t ya think?” i said in a tone bordering on sarcasm, and neither of them spoke. They just exchanged glances. Then i heard the gun’s safety click off, and the other woman made a move to draw her sword.

“are you alone?” asked the one with the sword, to which i swallowed, feeling the familiar tension in my body, along with cold sweat and shortness of breath. “are you alone!?” she asked again, more harshly.

“mama!” Madison shouted, scared by what she was seeing, then ran to me, hugging my legs. “please, no!” i closed my eyes, sighing in defeat, realizing i could no longer hide her.

that’s when i heard the gun's safety click back on, and i opened my eyes to see both women lowering their weapons and looking at us with pity.

“what’s her name?” asked the woman holding the gun, looking at Madi attentively.

“Madison,” i croaked, still afraid.

“and you?” asked the one with the sword.

“’m YN,” i answered warily. But then both women crouched to Madison’s level, smiling at her.

“i’m Maggie, and this is Michonne,” said the woman with the gun in a much sweeter tone. “we’re not gonna hurt your mom.”

“ya won’t?” Madison blinked, and i could feel her relax a bit. I looked down at her, and she raised her head to look at me, as if asking whether we could trust them.

“will ya let us go?” i asked before Maggie could answer Madi’s question.

“are you alone?” she asked, this time looking at me, but unlike before, her gaze was honest, much softer. “Do you have a group?”

“nah,” i swallowed, feeling distrust flood through me. ‘What if they’re just pretending? They could easily catch us off guard and attack, or try to take Madi.’

“we have a group. We’re staying in a prison not far from here. Let us take you both there,” Maggie said as they both stood up. “we have a doctor, food, clothes for children, and we all sleep in the cells.”

“if it’s so perfect, why ´you here?” i asked, narrowing my eyes.

“cause we wanna give those people the best. The group is getting bigger, and we need to make sure everyone is okay,” Michonne replied.

“we have a council. They’ll decide if you can stay, but i’m sure they will. They wouldn’t let you go back to this. I give you my word,” Maggie said.

“and we can leave whenever we want?”

“yes, you can go if you choose to.”

“we just need you to answer three questions,” Maggie said, and Michonne nodded.

‘I hope I won’t regret this. I just want Madison to be safe.’

we've been in this place for a couple of hours, and i’ve already lost count of the people who have tried to talk to me or meet Madi. It's overwhelming. In all this time, i had forgotten what crowds feel like, the people enchanted by children, and the panic of losing sight of a child among everyone.

an old man made sure we were fine, and the committee accepted us much faster than i expected, especially when they asked about Madi and i told them our story.

people talk about themselves very easily, and that’s how i learned who is part of the original group and who arrived later. Most of them seem to come from an enemy group.

after settling into a cell, two women came in after asking me, and they were the most interested in talking to me. One is named Carol, she’s very pleasant and knows how to interact with Madi without making her uncomfortable. The other is Olivia, and she’s spent the last few minutes non-stop telling me that one of her heroes should be back soon, and that i’ll surely love him as soon as i see him.

she hasn’t even told me his name, she just keeps talking about how much this man has done for all of them, bringing food and being “a great protector.”

Carol hasn’t said a word about him, she just smiles and tries to change the subject, asking me questions to get to know me better, but without being... overwhelming.

then the sound of a motorcycle made several people move toward the entrance, including Olivia, who murmured something about that man.

‘Is he really that incredible?’ i wondered for a moment, but soon decided to ignore it, chatting with Carol about everything and nothing at the same time as i braided Madison's hair, who was sitting with her back to me.

“Carol is in that cell, sir,” i heard someone say in the distance, so i figured my conversation with the kind woman would soon end.

“woman, hell ya doin´..." a man entered the cell, and it was then that i felt like i was the teenager from a few years ago again.

he’s standing there, right in front of us, his wide blue eyes full of surprise.

i can feel myself stop breathing, and without realizing it, i let go of Madison’s hair, who turned to look at me in confusion.

“mom?” i heard her ask me, but her voice sounds... so distant, i can’t even focus much on it.

he’s right here, alive.

he looks older, and he’s growing his hair out. I remember when he used to complain about how tired he was of cutting his hair so often and how one day he’d stop obeying his father and let it grow, like some of the band members he used to like.

he’s more tanned, probably from all the hours outside. I used to make him wear sunscreen, and he pretended not to care, but i know he listened when i talked about its importance and what could happen to his skin.

he has a beard now; it barely grew when we were last together, but he shaved because he didn’t want to irritate my skin, even though i told him it was okay.

his eyes are unmistakable, i could recognize him by them alone. I know because i could spend hours just looking into his eyes, until he blushed and turned his face away.

his body is bigger now. He used to have muscles, but nothing like he does now. He looks even better, stronger.

then my mind starts to play tricks on me. I can remember the nights he’d knock on my window, hoping to sleep beside me because only then could he have a peaceful night. I can remember the dates, our first kiss, the first song we listened to together, the first time we shared a cigarette, the first time i heard him say my name, the first time he looked at me, the first time we went shopping together, the first time he cooked for me, the first time he taught me to hunt or use his crossbow. I can remember the words of love, the times he defended me, the times he gently pulled my arm to make it clear we’d do some class project together, and the times he’d pull me by the waist so i wouldn’t leave. I remember our first time, and the love i felt when he undressed in front of me, letting me see not just the nakedness of his body but also his soul.

“mom” before returning to reality at Madison’s call, i remembered the day of the breakup. The day my world crumbled because he looked at me like i was some kind of dessert he could consume before leaving, making me feel guilty and broken for the next few years. I remembered my pain, the times i couldn’t get out of bed, the times i wished it were all just a nightmare. “Mom!” And then the image cleared.

he’s here, the same Daryl Dixon who made my life a living hell from that day on.

“we're leaving,” i whispered, almost breathless, trying to think clearly but failing as i couldn’t string words together in my head.

‘I have to get out of here.’

DARYL’S POV

since that day, nothing has been the same. I had to stop myself from running to her every time i saw her at school, and the pain was so that i even considered dropping out, getting away, and disappearing from her life.

i could see the damage. Damn, i can still hear what they used to whisper about her every day, and i remember having to punch every idiot who thought they had the right to say something bad. She doesn’t know that, of course.

every day i remember how her eyes lost their light, like i had ripped her soul out with my words.

until the last day i saw her... she could never be the same. What my old man made me do killed both of us at the same time.

i found out she moved in with Mel, and i felt happy knowing she was achieving one of her goals. Besides… her best friend was going to take care of her. She did it for two years by keeping us apart.

i had to start working, at least to get a place to sleep, though it was really a shitty home, but it was what i could afford.

there were nights i cried thinking about her. Too many to give just one example. Sometimes i didn’t even have to wait until night. She was the only good thing in my life, and he ruined it, i ruined it by not being strong enough, by not being able to protect her like i promised i would.

i still see her in my dreams. She’s older, and we live together like we always should have. We talk about starting a family, moving, getting a dog, and living in peace. The worst part is waking up.

when all this shit started, i tried to find her, but with Merle, it was too complicated, and we had to join a group.

now i try to find her in every place we go, but there are no signs.

i wanna believe she’s still alive. She’s always been strong, much stronger than she thinks. That’s one thing we’ve always been different in. She wasn’t made for this, but she’s so smart she knows how to adapt, how to make plans and stay safe. She never needed me, but she doubted herself so much that she felt safer with me.

hell, if she only knew it was me who felt safe.

most of the group doesn’t know about her, only Rick and Carol, because those bastards know how to get information out of me. But even they don’t know what she looks like because they’ve never seen the only picture i keep of us, from when everything was okay.

that’s why i felt like i was going to faint when i opened the curtain of an empty cell and found Carol, a little girl… and her inside.

i could see the expression of surprise on her face, how she went through so many emotions in seconds while the little one tried to get her attention.

“mom,” i heard the girl call her over and over again.

‘Did she have a daughter?’ ‘When?’ so many questions started flooding my head, but i tried to come back to reality when the little one raised her voice, finally pulling YN out of her thoughts, though now she had an expression of pure pain.

“we’re leaving,” i heard her say, and then panic overwhelmed me.

“no,” i quickly responded, making all three of them turn to look at me. The little girl and Carol in confusion, but her… her gaze was unreadable, like she wanted to tear my head off and cry for the rest of the day at the same time. “i mean…”

“Madison, come with me for a moment? I want to introduce you to Judith,” Carol said to the girl, who looked at YN. She just nodded, now staring at the ground and not saying a word. Carol took the little one’s hand, and they both got up and walked out of the cell. The woman gave me a supportive look before leaving. 

NORMAL POV

both are trying to keep their composure, but the truth is they´re failing miserably. Still, can anyone blame them? they never believed this moment would finally come. All the situations they imagined, all the possible responses they once thought of, everything vanished the moment Daryl walked into that cell.

she couldn’t look at him, almost as if she was afraid to, and he... he couldn’t stop looking at her, fearing that if he stopped, she might disappear in front of him.

“we’re gonna leave, don’ worry,” she said in a low, trembling voice, loaded with the emotions she was trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress.

“ya don’ have to,” he replied softly. However, he received no response, so he tried again. “ya’ll be safe here, Yn…”

“shut up,” she quickly said, finally looking at him, her eyes wide and red. Hearing him say her name after so many years ignited a different flame inside her.

all the anger she had built up towards him, towards the things he said and made her feel, everything was coming back.

“we’ll be fine, we’ve always been,” she said, her voice filled with anger and frustration.

Daryl could feel the deep pain in his chest intensifying. It was as if all the worst scenarios he had imagined were coming true.

“listen, i really…”

“no,” she interrupted him, stepping back when he unconsciously took a step forward. “jus´ forget it, we’ll leave, and it’ll be easier that way.”

“don’ risk the kid over this.”

there were a few seconds of silence, and Yn’s eyes slowly filled with tears from all the overwhelming emotions.

“can’t be near ya, Daryl, i really can’t do it,” she confessed, almost whispering. “can’t be in the same place as the person who destroyed my entire world in a matter of minutes like nothin´ else mattered. You treated me like scraps of food you no longer wanted, like a piece of cake for… for your discard… and then you walked away. You know what it took to recover even a little of what you took? what it was fer to understand that ’m not just a piece of cake or somethin´ insignificant? damn it, Daryl! i can’t get back my last year of school, my graduation, the moments that should have been happy and memorable but instead were depressing, horrible, ´cause the pain was so intense i could barely stop crying. How ´you expect me to be near you when all i remember is the suffering you caused? how!?” she didn’t even realize when she started crying, but when she finished speaking, she felt her cheeks burning from the hot tears, her throat aching, her eyelashes wet, and her eyes irritated. Still, after releasing what she had been holding inside, she took a moment to think, using the silence of the man to do so.

she thought of Madison, the little girl who had been by her side just minutes ago in that place, settling into what could be a definitive, safe place full of more children of various ages, with animals and people interested in getting to know her. Then she sighed heavily, wiping away her tears and regaining her composure.

“i’ll think about staying, fer her, but please don’ come near either of us.”

Daryl couldn’t even speak; he felt he would break down in tears if he dared open his mouth. So he simply nodded slowly before turning around and leaving the cell as quickly as he could, allowing them both to catch their breath.

it definitely hadn’t gone as he had dreamed.

however, there was one detail that didn't leave Daryl's mind.

she was wearing his shirt, the one he had left at her house a couple of years ago.

weeks had passed, maybe months, and Daryl had honored her request to stay away from them, though that didn’t stop him from watching over them as best as he could. He always asked, always showed his concern, and that was something everyone in the group had noticed. But they also noticed the sadness in his eyes, different from what they had known before. Even his appearance seemed more unkempt than usual, and at times his attitude was more hostile.

Yn wasn’t much better, and her obvious avoidance of being near the archer only confirmed the group’s theories, though no one said anything. They feared losing the trust of either one.

she tried, but she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She would glance at him out of the corner of her eye, listen in on the conversations of the women who were in love just to learn a little more about him. Even the romantic dreams had returned, and she could tell they were affecting her when she woke up with her heart racing, as if they were still together, as if nothing had happened, only to come back to reality and feel all the frustration return, leaving her in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

now, in the current situation, we have a more dramatic scene unfolding.

Yn had gone on a supply run with Glenn, Rick, and Maggie. At first, everything was quite normal. Everyone followed Yn’s plan, as she was now in charge of planning most of the missions, sometimes joining them like today. However, there was something no one had considered this time: the structure was much older and more unstable than expected, and there were some intruders inside that weren’t visible from where they were investigating.

that’s when two walkers managed to corner the young woman. In a desperate attempt to draw one of her knives, she tripped, and one of them lunged at her, pinning her down and preventing her from using the hand with the weapon, while she desperately tried to keep its face away from her body with the other.

“help! help!” she screamed desperately, kicking and struggling to get the walker off her. But it seemed impossible. It was enormous.

her trapped arm began to go numb, and her body thrashed violently in an attempt to free herself, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

then she felt the walker stop moving, and some blood splattered on her face. Soon someone pulled the walker off her, and she saw Rick, panting. When she looked at the floor, she noticed the second walker was also down, apparently was unable to reach her because part of its clothing had gotten caught on a protruding nail in the doorframe.

“thank you,” she said, panting and still on the ground. But when she looked at Rick’s face, she noticed how it paled as he stared at her, more specifically at her abdomen. So she decided to look down too, and that’s when she noticed the new problem she was facing.

the side that had gone numb must have hit something as she fell to the ground, tearing her shirt and her skin, causing a worrying amount of blood to spill out, made worse by all the movement she had made to shake off the walker. Now she had a severe open wound, gushing blood, staining her side, leg, and the floor. It was a mess, and seeing it made the young woman start to panic. 

“no, no, Rick, i can’t die, not here, not like this. I need to see Madi, i have to get to Madi, to Daryl, i…” she began to say quickly, snapping Rick out of his shock. He shouted for the others and bent down to lift her. But the abrupt movement made her whimper, feeling how the wound seemed to stretch. “Stop, stop,” she sobbed, terrified and clutching the man’s clothes, now equally stained with blood.

when the others arrived, they had similar reactions, and soon they had to head toward the car they had come in. This time, Glenn was behind the wheel, Maggie next to him, and Rick and Yn in the back seat, trying to control the bleeding.

saying that many were horrified would be an understatement. Carol felt as if her soul had left her body and quickly covered Madison’s eyes, leading her away from the entrance where the girl had been excitedly waiting for the woman’s return.

however, nothing, nothing could have prepared them for how Daryl reacted upon seeing his best friend enter with Yn, bleeding in his arms. The man turned pale and ran to find Hershel, shouting his name desperately and helping him prepare the bed where they needed to lay her down.

the woman had arrived almost unconscious but finally passed out when her back touched the sheets. That’s when the old man took over treating the wound, and Daryl, without hesitation, offered to donate whatever blood was needed to save her. This is what brought us to the current situation, just a while after Hershel left the cell to inform the others. Daryl was looking at the photo he cherished so much, until he heard small footsteps approaching, and then a small figure appeared. Her face was tear-streaked, red, and she was pouting.

Madison.

the man swallowed hard, trying to think of how to handle the situation, but nothing came to mind.

“she dead?” the little girl asked, almost whispering. She took a few steps to stand next to the man, who was sitting in a chair by the bed.

“nah, she’ll be fine,” he nodded, though it seemed like he was trying to convince himself of that too.

then the girl did something unexpected: she threw herself into the man’s arms, crying uncontrollably again. Daryl felt his heart break at the sound of her sobs, but even so, it was hard for him to return the hug. It took him a few seconds to decide, but he finally let his hand stroke the little girl’s back, trying to comfort her.

when Hershel returned, the girl had to leave for a moment, but by the time the process was finished, and Yn was resting and out of danger, no one could get Daryl or the girl to move from the side of the bed.

it wasn’t until midday the next day that Daryl managed to get the girl to go outside for some fresh air and eat a decent lunch with Carol, but he had to promise her that he would stay to watch over Yn.

it’s not like he planned to leave anyway.

however, when Yn opened her eyes, she didn’t expect to be in an unfamiliar cell, much less in a bed, with Daryl Dixon sitting right beside her, looking at her in surprise.

“i thought i told ya to stay away,” the girl said, her voice hoarse but without a hint of anger.

“’m sorry, i got scared when they brought ya and…” he stopped talking, looking at her now-bandaged side and swallowing hard.

Yn looked as well, and then all the memories started flooding back, making her sigh deeply.

“that was close,” she said, fidgeting with her hands, avoiding his gaze.

“i thought ya were goin´ to die. I felt like i was goin´ to lose my mind.”

“why?” she frowned and turned to look at him.

“´cause no matter how many years pass, Yn, i’ll keep worryin´ like the first day, even if ya don’ wan´ me around,” he confessed with a bravery he didn’t even know he had.

he saw her eyes widen for a moment before returning to normal as she cleared her throat.

“you have no right to worry about me, not after…”

“i know what i did to ya, i know what i caused, and i can’t even forgive myself fer it, but please, listen to me now,” he pleaded, making her fall silent. He was tired of this situation and was going to speak once and for all. “that day, when i came home… he had seen it, he had seen our goodbye and how we treated each other.” He swallowed but kept looking at her. “he gave me a beating that knocked the shit out of me, ´n said he was goin´ to kill ya. He said so many things… and i promised to protect ya, Yn, i swore i´d do whatever it took to keep ya safe. And i had no way of doin´ it, but then ya came to my house, and don’ know, i took the chance to push ya away, even if ya had to hate me in the process,” he confessed, feeling a weight lift off him. “i never wanted to do what i did to ya, but i’d rather protect ya, and i can’t regret that.”

“Daryl, why didn’t you talk to me? we had been seeing each other in secret for a while, we could have hidden it more, we could have pretended…”

“nah, he would have killed ya. Tha´ day he was listenin´, and he made sure we didn’t get back together. He followed ya durin´ the first year and made sure i knew… i didn’t want him to hurt ya, but to do that, i had to hurt ya myself.”

they were both silent for a few minutes, but then she couldn't take it anymore.

ignoring the protests of her body, the girl stretched out and hugged the man beside her, surprising him. However, this time he responded quickly, inhaling her scent and merging into her warmth.

they were both home.

“i can’t forgive you so easily, ´cause i can’t forget the last years of my life, but i believe in your story… and i can try,” she whispered.

“thank you.”

“mom!?” both heard the little one, who joyfully threw herself at them, earning small laughs from the adults.

“hey, little one, be careful,” Yn said, pulling away from Daryl and letting the child lie down next to her, between the two adults, as the man remained seated by the bed. “have you met Daryl, Madi?”

“we talked a bit while ya were restin´,” the man said.

“well, Daryl, this is Madison, Mel’s daughter,” Yn said, unknowingly answering a question that had been on Dixon’s mind for a while. “Madi, this is Daryl, an old friend of mine,” she said this time, not taking her eyes off the man, who was looking at her as well.

it would take time for her to forgive him and move past what she had lived through. He needed to regain her trust and show her that he was worth the risk of trying.

and he is ready for that and more. He won’t let her go again.

YN's POV

Dear Diary,

it’s been a while since i last talked to you, huh?  

i think you’ll be glad to know that i kept my word, and this time i can say that things are better. Maybe better than ever.

we found a group; they’re good people with the same goal. I guess this is what it feels like to have a family.

he’s here too.  

he’s alive.

for a while, i didn’t want to know anything about him, i even thought about leaving with Madi.  

but i suppose it was inevitable.

he explained what really happened that day.  

i can’t help but think that maybe things would have been easier if he had just told me… but i can understand why he did what he did.

still, i was upset for a while, knowing that we could’ve found a solution that would have spared us so much suffering...

anyway, now we’re in the same place, and since Madi met him, she can hardly stay away from his side. She follows him everywhere, except when he goes on supply runs. She loves him, and i understand why.

he tries every day to earn my forgiveness; he works so hard, even though i’ve already told him the truth.

i’ve already forgiven him.

still, i’m scared of how much Madison cares for Daryl. I’m scared she’ll get too attached and start calling him… you know what, or that something will happen, and i’ll have to watch her suffer.

but i guess those fears won’t go away anytime soon.  

for now, i can tell you that we’re okay, safe with these people. Safe with him.

taglist: @jamiesturniolo

[ghostboneswrites2]

part one

obsession

series masterlist .. masterlist .. taglist

warnings - mentions and descriptions of violence and gore, mentions of racism (Merle), feelings of paranoia, profanity

idle hands

A man of few words often had little to say, but never had he truly been rendered speechless the way he was when you arrived at the quarry.

It wasn’t your best of days, but you were captivating nonetheless. Even when it was littered with abrasions and bruises, your face was just so perfectly framed by the mess of unkempt hair, and even though your eyes were dressed in dark bags and layers of terror, they were brilliant. Simply put, you were a disaster of the most beautiful kind, and Daryl knew the moment he laid eyes on you that he was wading upstream, knee-deep in shit’s creek.

That was back in the beginning, when walking corpses and unimaginable gore were still new territories for most people. You were shaken up from the events that led you to this new group of people in the first place. Back then, you were more human; still affected so deeply by loss. Watching your family die left you vulnerable, malleable, terrified. With the constant threat of pain and death looming over you, your mind was sharper. Constantly balancing along that thin line between fight or flight.

That day, though — the day you met him — you discovered a new fear response: fawn.

The second your eyes befell him, you froze. Your pupils wide, gulping dryly in the Georgian sun, time came to a stop as you took in the site. There was something unsettling about him. He didn’t just see you, he studied you. You could practically feel him soaking you in, memorizing every detail. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about him that made you squirm. Maybe it was his narrow slits where his eyes should have been, tracking your movements, or his large frame reminding you just how weak you really were in a man-eat-man world.

Luckily for you, he didn’t spend much time around camp. He was a hunter — fitting, you thought — and he was usually off in the trees somewhere.

Though, despite him being out of sight, he rarely left your mind at ease. His eyes left a lingering impression on your flesh. You could always feel the chill of his cool gaze tracing over you. As you worked around camp or tried to keep cool from the sun, you constantly glanced over at the forest in any direction. You felt as if he’d be standing there, watching you. You never saw him there at the edge of the woods like you anticipated, but you always wondered if he was still there, lurking deeper in the in the shadows, beyond your line of sight.

He quickly instilled a sense of paranoia in you. You always watched for him, always hoping he’d be there despite the sense of danger his presence alone caused you.

The others around the quarry began to worry for you. They noticed the way you’d shrink away when he walked past, they felt you physically recoil. The Dixons had a reputation. Whether it be back home where they wreaked havoc on the locals, or there at the quarry where those they terrified relied on them too much to get rid of them. They worried for someone like you, very clearly and quickly becoming the target of the younger, quieter Dixon.

You supposed it could have been worse — right? At least it wasn’t the asshole cop with a fetish for widows, or the older Dixon spouting racist idiocy at the drop of a hat. All things considered, you were fed, clothed, and you even had your own tent. Comparatively speaking, you were probably better off than most people in Georgia, or, maybe even the entire USA. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Y/N.” Shane interrupted your thoughts. “Ya got an extra pair of hands you could lend to the girls down by the water?”

You glanced down at the hands in question, folded idly on your lap as you rested for the first time in days. Since your arrival at camp, Shane had been very clear about having another mouth to feed, and how you needed to earn your keep. So, every day, you crawled out of your tent, stretched your aching muscles, and found a new task to occupy your time. Yesterday, it was sewing the holes in everyone’s clothes. The day before, it was repairing fishing lines. Before that, gathering wood and boiling water. You had hoped today would be the day you got to take a break, just like everyone else got a day to rest every now and then. Hell, even the Dixons didn’t hunt every single day.

“I guess.” You shrugged, groaning as you pushed yourself up to your feet and brushed the dust from your jeans.

“Guesswork ain’t puttin’ food in your belly.” Shane retorted. “Go on now.” He concluded with a pat on your shoulder. You clenched your jaw as his hand made contact with your shirt, struggling to contain the scowl that begged to show.

Down by the water, the ladies were chatting casually, dunking garments in and out of the water as they did. All of the women were there, save for Lori, who conveniently managed to evade laundry duty every time. You wondered if it had anything to do with the previously mentioned asshole cop and his fetish for widows.

“Shane sent you down?” Carol wondered, squinting up at you as she wiped sweat from her face.

“I told him we had it covered.” Andrea added.

“It’s okay.” You shrugged, sitting down on your knees at the edge of the water. “I had an extra pair of hands.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s instrument.” Jacqui said as she wrung out the shirt she had just washed.

“That is what they say.” Carol agreed.

“Please.” Andrea snorted. “That’s just a saying some old men made up so we wouldn’t play with ourselves.”

Everyone paused and looked at her then. She glanced around at everyone and shrugged.

“What?” She asked defensively. “It only takes a few minutes to realize we’re better off doing it ourselves.”

You all snickered at that, finding little reason to argue.

“That goes for a lot of things.” Jacqui said.

“Yup. Laundry, dishes, dinner… If you want it done right, you do it yourself.” Carol commented.

As the ladies carried on with their domestic complaints of men being useless in just about every job description that doesn’t include brute strength, your mind wandered elsewhere. Your eyes scanned over the water as you mindlessly scrubbed smelly jeans. Their voices became distant and distorted. Images of rotting teeth displayed behind your eyelids every time you blinked — tearing into your sister’s flesh, ripping her apart, eating her alive. If you listened closely, you could hear her scream. You could see your dad reach out for her, arm stretching into the horde of death. You could see them grab him too. You could feel their cold fingers wrap around his arm and pull him in. You could smell their blood.

“Y/N?” Amy snapped her fingers in front of your face. You blinked, realizing all five of them were watching you with worry. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Yeah, just… Tired.” You assured them.

“Well, no wonder.” Carol mumbled. “Been here eight days and haven’t taken not one break. You need rest.”

“Shane wants me to earn my keep.” You reminded her.

“You’ve been earning it just fine.” She argued. “You do more around here than he does for Pete’s sake. Just cause what we do doesn’t look hard doesn’t mean it’s not hard work.”

“Preaching to the choir.” Jacqui scoffed. “Women have been saying that since the beginning of time. The men protect and hunt, we do everything else. Everything.”

Between the six of you — Carol, Jacqui, Amy, Andrea, Mrs.Morales, and you — the laundry only took about an hour. None of you were complaining, as you’d all seen it take a full day before with less hands on deck. For a small camp of people who had to leave behind everything they’d ever worked toward, you all sure knew how to rack up some dirty laundry. Then again, with this heat, maybe you were glad that hygiene was still a priority.

You skipped lunch that day, as the pickings were slim as it was already and you figured the kids needed it more. You instead decided to retire to your tent for a quick nap before Shane came around again with some obscure task for you to complete.

Surprisingly, nobody bothered to wake you that afternoon, or that night. By the time you woke, most people were asleep. Someone had left you a tin can full of stew from dinner that night outside your tent. You figured it was Carol, as she was the most likely to care enough to do so. You scarfed down the cold leftovers viciously before you stumbled down to the quarry to wash up.

A lot of the women tended to bathe at the same time, as a way to look out for each other, but you’d overslept so you’d just have to make it quick.

Your clothes clung to your wet skin as you redressed yourself. You squeezed excess water out of your hair as you wandered back to camp. The night was quiet, except for Ed’s snoring. You wondered how the walkers hadn’t found you all here yet. You were sure his snores echoed all the way down to the city.

You took a seat on the steps of the RV, folding your hands together in your lap as you stared at the remaining embers of the campfire. It was a rule to keep flames low, even when it was cold. You sort of didn’t mind. The glowing ashes resembled twinkling stars if you squinted hard enough.

Your thoughts began to take over as they often did while you remained fixated on the remnants of a dead fire. A distant rustling caught your ear. You struggled to adjust your eyes to the dark, scanning in the direction of the noise until two figures emerged from the trees. Quickly you realized it was Daryl, sneaking off into the woods in the middle of the night. You weren’t sure if he noticed you there.

You wondered what he could have been doing. Surely hunting in the dark was no easy feat, so what was he up to? You glanced back down at your lap, where your hands sat idly, folded together.

“Idle hands are the devil’s instrument.” You whispered to yourself as you fingers twitched. You had a choice or make that night. Funny how those old sayings often rendered true. Had you not been sitting there with nothing else to do, maybe you wouldn’t have made the decision you made. Maybe things would have been different.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway @ophelialaufey @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfsalltheway

[theteasetwrites]

Begin Again

Chapter 4: L'élu

❧ Media: The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon ❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 1 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: violence, blood, death ❧ Word Count: 10k (sorry)

❧ In This Chapter: You and Daryl get to know the inhabitants of the abbey, as well as the truth behind Isabelle's intentions. Just when the two of you decide to leave, trouble from another group leads to limited options, and a possible way out.

❧ A/N: Well it looks like I finished this literally just in time for Season 2 lol. Also sorry this chapter is insanely long. And sorry I took so long to finish it. I don't know if there are many people who are reading this series lol but I sure do appreciate everyone reading it! I'm not sure how Season 2 is going to go with the sneak peeks we've been getting lately, but rest assured that (Y/N) will not be letting Isabelle anywhere near Daryl, that's for sure.

“Across the courtyard is where the sisters live,” said Isabelle, leading Daryl into the corridor with you following close behind, now dressed in a simple linen blouse that was a few sizes too big, tucked neatly into brown wool trousers. With a quick pause, she turned to Daryl as she led the two of you forward. “No men allowed.”

That interested you, because you’d seen a man. Well, a boy. 

“What about the little boy I saw?” you asked.

“Laurent grew up here. With us. He was orphaned.” She continued to speak something in French to another nun as the three of you passed through the hall and into a wider room. As the two of you crossed the threshold, a couple of passing nuns carrying baskets of linens hesitated, stepping back a bit as their widened eyes took in your unfamiliar figures. 

Before you could manually tug your facial muscles into a small smile, the nuns hurriedly scurried past, clearly not interested in pleasantries. Or perhaps it had been so long since the seemingly secluded cloister had visitors that they’d all but forgotten them. After all, you couldn’t really imagine many people happening to stumble upon the remains of this crumbling castle in the French countryside. You and Daryl, however, were an exception, to be sure.

“They’re afraid of you,” said Isabelle, a breathy laugh lilting her words. 

“We’ll be gone soon,” Daryl assured her. It assured you, too. 

Advancing into what seemed to be the foyer, your eyes were drawn to your left, where iron bars separated the grand entrance way from what appeared to be a small armory. Daryl followed closely behind as you entered, your eyes darting between neatly organized displays of rudimentary medieval weapons—from maces to spears to halberds. You’d seen well-stocked armories, one of which was in Alexandria. Even by Alexandria’s standards, this one was impressive.

“Medieval churches often had weapons rooms,” Isabelle said. “You needed them back then.”

You split from Daryl, each of you drawn like moths to flames to either side of the small room. You found yourself entranced by a display of war hammers, the silver of their heads dulled by a few layers of dust that must’ve accumulated over years of disuse. One in particular caught your attention—a smaller one, about the length of your arm, with a two-sided head, one side beveled and blunt, the other sharp and curved slightly. It reminded you of your ice axe, the scrappy hiking tool that you’d found in a sporting goods store in Georgia. That was so long ago now, but the thing somehow survived through it all, though in truth you no longer had any idea where it could be, after the mess of everything that went down before you landed here. 

“Makes sense.” The gravel of Daryl’s voice with its soft echo stirred you from your thoughts of distant memories, now clouded by seawater and sand. 

“We’ve trained ourselves to use them. Just in case.”

“Killer nuns, huh?” you replied, a hint of disbelief in your voice. 

“Well, we can defend ourselves if we need to.”

The nun met your gaze with a relaxed smile. In her eyes, that damned calm that you couldn’t get past. She was too inscrutable, too poised. She knew something, you just weren’t sure what. 

Behind you, you felt Daryl’s body brush past. Turning around, you saw what had entranced him—a wall of guns on display, each with a small silver plaque identifying the make and model (in French, of course). Even the guns had an antique look to them, with their stocks all made from a rich umber wood. A far cry from the militaristic automatic weapons that Daryl had been used to carrying over a year ago when he was a trooper for the Commonwealth, but he found a subtle artfulness to these machines, as if they were crafted by hand. The collection reminded him of the old guns his father kept laying around the house he’d grown up in rural northeast Georgia. He’d almost shot his own eye out with one when he was three years old, according to Merle, who had a much clearer memory of the event than the younger Dixon brother did. Nevertheless, he couldn’t forget that wood stock. Not any kind of pleasant memory, of course, but a memory nonetheless.

“Père Jean was a collector,” continued Isabelle. “His grandfather fought in the Maquis.”

Daryl’s finger trailed to a suspiciously empty space between the other weapons, where a pair of display hangers were waiting patiently without their rifle. 

“You’ve got one missin’,” he said. 

Isabelle replied calmly, “That’s the one I used.”

Your gaze flickered towards her, and when you caught a flash of her pale blue eyes already on you like a sniper’s crosshairs, you quickly snapped your attention away. Beside the firearms display was a door left ajar. The room it led into was smaller, with its own collection of antique tomes and trinkets. Your eyes were fixated on the bookshelf behind a mahogany desk, upon which sat a microscope and a small rack of glass vials. 

Approaching behind you, Isabelle’s voice continued. “That’s Père Jean’s office.”

You were beginning to wonder where this mysterious Père Jean was. Wherever he was, he certainly had an impressive library, just based on the sheer volume of leather-bound books packed tightly into the shelves. Despite your inability to read the French text, you were more interested in Père Jean’s books than you were in his guns. Daryl had more than once told you that guns were more useful in the outside world because you could use them to defend yourself. Well, he should’ve known better, as someone who had once been an accidental victim of your ability to use a rather large encyclopedia as a blunt force object.

As for Daryl, his practicality overcame the curiosity that befell you, for his eyes were immediately drawn to what appeared to be an old shortwave radio, not too unlike ones you’ve seen Eugene hauling around Alexandria back when he was setting up the radio system there. 

“You know how to use that radio?” he asked, pointing towards the contraption. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve managed to reach anyone on it.”

“Do you mind if I give it a try?” you asked. You didn’t want to brag, but you knew your way around a radio. Many nights spent trying to get a hold of Daryl through a crackling radio frequency during his particularly long hunts or his brief stint as the leader of the Sanctuary were very educational.

“Sure,” she replied. “Once you get better.”

There was another exchange of looks between you and Daryl, the latter of which was just starting to lose his patience. You could tell. The irritated twitch in his eye said it all.

Silence settled in for just a few moments, until you received the unspoken impression that Isabelle was ready for you to exit the room. You did so, but as soon as you heard the click of a key turning, you turned to catch the nun locking the door shut from the outside. Your eyes followed her hands as she clipped a rusty keychain onto the brown leather belt that cinched her waist.

“The last one was a Spaniard,” she continued. “A few months ago. He spoke a bit of English. I could try reaching him again.”

You kept your mouth shut, lest you say something snarky. 

“Your English is good,” remarked Daryl. 

“My parents worked for Médecins San Frontiéres. They traveled all over.”

How convenient, you thought. 

“Bosnia, Chechnya, Rwanda.” Perhaps it was the jealousy still souring your impression of the woman, but you couldn’t help an internal eye-roll. Of course this woman was beautiful and skilled and tough and intelligent and worldly, too. You hated her. Well, you didn’t, but you hated the idea of her. Too perfect. You knew it was petty. Still, as long as you kept your thoughts to yourself, you were sure you’d be able to warm up to her. Maybe. 

“My sister and I finished our schooling in Paris,” she added. 

“How’d you end up here?” Daryl asked. 

“A bunch of good decisions.” 

There was a familiarity to her words, but you couldn’t place it. Unbeknownst to you, you couldn’t place it because they were words Daryl had spoken to Isabelle earlier, only slightly altered. 

A bunch of bad decisions, he had said when she asked him the same question he now asked her. 

You looked between them, their stares lingering. You did not like it. Not one bit. Not because of jealousy, but because it was clear that whoever this woman was, she was capable of pulling strings—of manipulation. 

Well, maybe it was also jealousy. A bit.

The dusty, centuries-old air of the castle gave way to a fresh breeze winding through the covered walkways that surrounded the courtyard you’d seen earlier. Isabelle herded the two of you through the open corridor as the other nuns toiled in the garden. It was impressive, though more primitive than the ones you’d constructed back home. 

“Was this garden always here?” you asked. “I mean, before.” 

“Yes and no,” Isabelle answered. “The abbey was already being modernized by the time I came. Our hope was to convert the land into an agricultural property that would support us, fund our mission.”

“Looks like it’s working,” you said. “It’s impressive.”

Isabelle turned to smile at you. It seemed more natural this time, less forced than the previous ones. “It’s been enough to keep us going.”

Across the courtyard, you noticed the jerky movement of another nun, tilting her head to signal something to Isabelle, you presumed. She was an older woman with a black hood, as opposed to Isabelle’s white. She must’ve been a full-on mother superior, or whatever you’d call it. You weren’t entirely sure. Her face was serious, though, tinged with what you interpreted to be distrust, or even fear. No doubt it was related to the two weather-worn strangers the nun towed behind her. 

“Take a seat,” said Isabelle. “I’ll be right back.”

She left the two of you before a stone table, and just ahead of you, a familiar face approached: the young nun you’d first encountered when you awoke here. Sylvie, you recalled Isabelle calling her. She carried a tray of food with a jug of water, placing it on the table in front of you without so much as a second of eye contact. Perhaps she was wary of you, too. You didn’t blame her too much, considering how much you’d stressed her out upon your rude awakening. 

“Thank―uh… merci,” you said quietly, a tad insecure of the way the unfamiliar word sounded on your American tongue. Still, Sylvie seemed to respond to you with a slight lift of her head. She met your eyes with an anxious look in her wide eyes. Unsure of what else to do, you simply smiled. The nun did not smile back, only nodded her head in one quick, near imperceptible motion, and then turned sharply, walking away with quick steps. 

Daryl’s shoulder grazed yours as he leaned over the table to inspect the provisions: two crisp red apples, two bowls of stew, two hard boiled eggs nestled in tiny cups, four slices of homemade wheat bread (buttered), and two small glasses for water.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he took a piece of bread into his hands, breaking it apart and putting the other half back with its brethren. That was a habit of his―rationing even when he didn’t really need to.

“How is it?” you asked, watching him nearly finish the bread in two bites. 

His lips pursed as he chewed and nodded his head. “Good.”

“Better than mine?”

“Nah.”

You took the piece he’d left and took a small bite, savoring the taste. “Mm… You’re right. Mine is better.” 

With the tray of food in your possession, you sat together on the stone slab connecting two columns in the peristyle, facing each other as you leaned against the hard stone structures and savored the simple foods you’d been given. Once in a while, you’d look out into the courtyard, watching the nuns carry out their daily chores. You spied a goat or two, and a dozen or so chickens squawking about. The boy you’d seen earlier, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“I wonder why Isabelle’s so stingy with that radio,” you said. “You think she’s hiding something?”

“Maybe. Or she doesn’t want us to leave.”

“Maybe both.” Taking a bite of your apple, you couldn’t help but wonder just what kind of people you’d run into this time. “Ritual sacrifice,” you said. Daryl lifted his head from the bowl of soup he slurped from.

“What?” 

“Maybe they want to sacrifice us for some weird cult thing. Like an offering to God. You ever see The Wicker Man? What if human sacrifices are what keeps this garden so nice for harvest season?”

Daryl couldn’t quite tell if you were serious or not. After all, stranger things had happened to the two of you. 

“You’re jokin’, right?”

A smile slowly crept across your tired face. “I guess. Mostly. I just know there’s something up. I need to get to that radio, Daryl.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “Sooner the better.” He leaned in closer now, and you followed suit. His voice lowered to a whisper, he said, “The keys are on her belt. Maybe tonight we can…”

His voice trailed off into nothing as his eyes shifted to your left, focusing on something else. Despite your feeling that something was approaching, you kept your own focus on him. “Daryl?”

He leaned back quickly, putting distance between the two of you once again. Before you were even aware of the boy’s presence, he’d gingerly placed what looked to be a Rubik’s cube onto the stone bench. Like you’d just seen a giant spider, you stood up swiftly to distance yourself from the contraption. 

The boy, the same one you’d seen earlier, you presumed, didn’t hesitate to take your seat. He looked at Daryl expectantly. 

“Now you try,” said the boy. Laurent, you recalled.

Without the knight’s helmet obscuring his appearance, you took note of the long, slightly unkempt hair that reached his shoulders in dark waves. It reminded you of Daryl’s, put the boy himself seemed much too talkative and abrupt for further comparison between the two.

With a somewhat suspicious gaze, Daryl looked between the puzzle and the boy. It was solved, he noted. He could never figure these things out. Neither could you.

“My record is three minutes and twelve seconds,” Laurent continued proudly. He picked up the cube and held it out towards Daryl for further indication. Daryl took the cube in his own hand, tossed it around for a moment or two, then handed the thing back. 

“I’m not really good at shit like that,” he said. Perhaps being away from the children for the last month or so had deprived him of his usual sensibilities which prevented him from cursing in front of them. Daryl didn’t even notice he’d done it, but you did. Still, you were too confused by the precocious child’s sudden appearance to say anything.

“No? Oh. I’m quite good at… shitlikethat.” You cringed slightly at the boy repeating Daryl’s words, albeit sloppily and in a French accent. You just hoped he wouldn’t repeat it in front of the nuns. “Math problems, science, music, geography. Also, I know all the countries and capitals from back in the before time.”

An exhale escaped from your nose. “Wow.” Laurent’s alert face turned towards you, looking up at you with cunning, yet unassuming, brown eyes. “You learned all of that here?”

He smiled. “Père Jean taught me everything.”

“Well, he sounds like a smart man. I’d love to meet him.”

The boy’s face visibly darkened before he turned back to Daryl, who clearly was the object of his fascination. “Pardon my manners, monsieur. I’m Laurent. Pleased to make your acquaintance” Holding his hand out, Daryl took it, and the boy administered a single firm shake. 

“How many people do you think live within the boundaries of what was once France?” he asked Daryl. “Starting from sixty-seven million people before the fall, I speculate current French populace is fewer than two-hundred-thousand.”

“I was gonna say way less,” replied Daryl. 

“Much less. Do you know how long it would take to repopulate that many people?”

“No.”

Laurent paused, lowering his gaze to the ground. “Six generations. Perhaps seven. Hurts my stomach just thinking about it.”

“Yeah, the math sucks.”

Another pause, while you seemed to be a ghost in this conversation. You knew that the most likely explanation was that Laurent had probably not grown up knowing many other boys or men, so it made sense that he was eager to speak to Daryl. That, and there was always something about Daryl that children gravitated towards. You found it rather cute, even though most of the time he had no idea how to talk to children. There were even times when he was at a loss for words when speaking to Robin. 

“Do you have children, monsieur? A wife? Parents?”

Daryl’s eyes lifted towards you, his face questioning. You’d yet to discuss with each other the extent to which you’d inform these people of your lives back home. Isabelle already knew of your relationship to one another, but not about your children, or the others back home. She didn’t know about Alexandria. For now, you made up your mind that no one here needed to know of anything besides the fact that you and Daryl were married. 

“I’m his wife,” you said, catching the boy’s attention again. Holding out your hand, you offered a smile. “(Y/N).”

Laurent looked at you again as he shook your hand, much more delicately than he had with Daryl. He seemed more confident with the man, more eager to impress him. With you, he seemed… fragile. 

And now, with the boy’s full attention on you, you found yourself held hostage by his stare―dark and paralyzing. When he let go of your hand, his eyes seemed to fill with sadness, like a kind of grief. 

“You’re homesick,” he said to you. “I see it in your eyes.” 

The smile on your lips melted into a lukewarm puddle on your face. You always knew you tended to wear your emotions on your sleeve, but you’d never met a young child so perceptive. 

“You can tell that just from my eyes?”

“I feel things. In my stomach. I feel your sadness.” 

Breaking the silence that settled between you, a distant voice called out, “Laurent!” and some words in French you didn’t know.

After turning to see the nun calling to him, he turned back to you. “Time for poetry. Père Jean awaits.”

He began to walk away, his Rubik’s cube in hand, but he turned back once more, placing the puzzle on the bench beside Daryl. 

“Now you try,” he said again before finally taking his leave. 

Daryl’s movements were jittery with impatience as he wedged the knife in the doorjamb whilst jiggling the handle in different motions. Meanwhile, you stood watch a few yards away, just in case any passing nuns caught the two of you attempting to get into Père Jean’s study, where the radio sat in waiting. 

It was still daylight, which you found to be a hindrance, but you couldn’t wait much longer for nightfall. Time was something the two of you didn’t exactly have, not when it came to trying to get back home. 

“Clear,” you signed from across the small room that stored the nuns’ weapons. 

Daryl nodded in acknowledgement, then turned his focus back to his so far failed attempts to open the door without a key. With a huff, he continued with different techniques, all of which seemed fruitless. His face contorted in frustration, with impatience seeming to cloud his ability to devise a more clever method. The door simply wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he strained to get the knife to disturb the locking mechanism. 

Like goddamn Fort Knox, he thought to himself. 

And then, you’re hearing it before your mind or body can react. Daryl is frozen in momentary suspension. You can feel your heart pump faster and your blood quicken. Daryl’s eyes immediately search for you, then his mind races the same way it has a thousand times before as his hand curls tighter around the handle of the knife he purloined. And instinctually, you reach for a weapon that you do not have. 

The growl gets louder, but not closer. It’s not moving. It’s stationary, but taunted. Laurent’s voice is meandering under the guttural groans of the unseen creature. His voice isn’t frightened, though. It’s calm. At ease. 

You didn’t waste another second. 

But before your feet made any forward movement, you felt your right hand now gripping a cylindrical wooden handle. Daryl moved past you once he knew the weapon he’d given you was in your hand―the small warhammer you’d been fixated on earlier.

Following not too far behind Daryl, you rounded the corner out to the courtyard, where you saw Laurent. He was standing in front of an old wooden door with a square barred window. Between the rusty iron bars, a pale, decrepit hand stretched out towards the boy, who seemed all too calm. In Laurent’s hands, a book. It came together now—he was reading to the creature. 

Daryl hurried towards the boy, pulling him away by the shoulder. You stood back, tightening your grip on your weapon. The walker seemed contained, but it reached out with both hands now, growling and snarling at Daryl. 

“What the hell are you doin’?” asked Daryl.

“This is Pére Jean,” replied Laurent, as if it was obvious. “We are waiting for him to rise again.”

Daryl looked from the walker, to Laurent, to you. You could see in his eyes that his tolerance had just run out. Daryl had been prepared to put up with as much as he needed to if it meant getting the two of you back home, but this? 

Well, you and he had seen this kind of thing before, all the way back at the farm. Hershel had been keeping walkers in his barn, most of which had in life been his family or friends, in the hopes that one day there’d be a cure for this disease. He thought they were sick, not dead. Back then, it made a little more sense. It was the beginning, and people were coping with this terrible new world in any way they could. 

Still, Daryl had no room for understanding back then, him being one of the first to lead the charge against exterminating the walkers in the barn. He certainly didn’t have it within him to understand it now, twelve years later, when all who were living should’ve known better. Even nuns.

“Laurent.” Isabelle’s voice echoed softly, but urgently, through the courtyard. She came toward the boy as she spoke to him in French. You figured she dismissed him, because soon he was walking away. Now, her eyes turned to you, then Daryl. 

There was no unsettling calm there now, no more pretense. In this moment, despite your disgust, you felt that this was the sincerest form of her you had seen yet. There was fear in her eyes. Not of you, not of Daryl, and not of the walker. Something else entirely. For the first time since you’d been here, you felt sympathy for her, though you could not place why.

“Let me explain,” she said, but Daryl was already turning, making his way back into the abbey. You followed closely, but with an odd sense of guilt in the pit of your stomach. You pushed it away. Intuition would have to be put on the back burner. Survival was more important.

“You got a lot of witchy shit goin’ on around here.” Daryl pushed open the doors to the room where he’d awoken. Though you followed him, your feet froze in place. Isabelle caught up to him, her face as white as the cloth shrouding her. “Dead priest in a closet and a creepy kid? No thanks.”

You watched Daryl as he gathered his belongings. You felt an incessant pounding inside your head as thoughts ran wild and emotions flooded you. On one hand, you were more than happy to pack up your things and get out of here, but on the other, you wanted to know more about what was going on here. Perhaps it was that curiosity that often got you into trouble, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe seeing the nun’s facade crumble had made you more receptive to the idea of hearing her out. You weren’t sure why. You’d been more than ready to leave this place since the minute you opened your eyes this morning. 

“It’s not what you think,” she said. Her eyes flashed from him to you, as if pleading. There was so much desperation in her, so much that you felt it flooding into you. Whatever she wanted, it was serious. 

“Doesn’t matter what I think. We’re outta here.” Daryl yanked the nightshirt he’d awoken in and stuffed it into the backpack he’d found on the boat. Looking at you from across the room, his gaze was firm. Unyielding. “C’mon,” he said. “Get your stuff. We’re goin’. Now.”

Before you could respond, the doors behind you rattled shut. Isabelle stood in front of the closed doors, blocking your only exit. You knew that you could probably push past her smaller frame if you needed to, and Daryl most certainly could, but her desperation seemed strong enough to put up a fight. 

“You can’t leave. Not without us. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Isabelle’s eyes were locked onto Daryl as she spoke. You looked between the two of them, confused and getting increasingly irritated with Isabelle’s lack of detailed explanation. 

“Waiting for Daryl?” you asked. “What do you mean waiting for him?”

Isabelle’s gaze shifted towards you. “He’s the messenger.” Her eyes were wide and her voice firm with confidence in this statement, as if it meant anything to you or him. 

Daryl paused his hurried packing as he looked over to you. He was just as confused, and just as frustrated. 

“The messenger?” he repeated. 

“To deliver Laurent.”

You let out a huff. “Deliver him? Deliver him where?”

From her pocket she procured a folded piece of parchment. She hastily unfolded the paper as she approached Daryl. “He drew this.” With a low grumble, he took the picture into his hands. 

You side-stepped to place yourself next to Daryl, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of whatever madness Isabelle was ranting about. 

The parchment was faded and cracked, but the colored pencil outlined with graphite was new and crisp. The style was simple and childlike, of course, but clearly discernible. Depicted on the page was the body of a man engulfed in blue waves, with his head poking out and resting upon a yellow beach dotted with seashells. It looked as if he was washing onto the shore. The man sported sinuous hairs that reached his shoulder and a cross hatching of lines along his chin that you assumed represented facial hair. 

Had the situation been different, you might’ve found this amusing. After all, the man in the picture was vague looking enough to resemble any man with slightly long hair and a beard. It could’ve been Jesus Christ himself, but Daryl? You would have laughed if you weren’t so conflicted about what to think. Was Isabelle just plain out of her right mind, or was this going to lead to an opportunity to get the two of you home? 

Daryl, however, didn’t have as much of a nuanced reaction as you did. “Yeah, he should stick to math.”

“So, you think this guy in Laurent’s picture… is Daryl?”

Isabelle seemed to ignore your line of questioning, as if it was obvious. “Three weeks ago. Before you came.”

Daryl lifted a black wool coat over his shoulders. “He drew a guy on a beach. So what?”

Once again, Isabelle’s eyes were focused on Daryl. Whatever part you had in this, if any at all, was apparently nowhere near as important as his. You might’ve been slightly offended if you weren’t confused. 

“I saw you fight the Guerrières,” she replied. “I know you can get him there safely.”

You inserted yourself once again, practically jumping in between Isabelle and Daryl. “Get him where?” you asked, or rather, demanded. 

Daryl held up his hand as if to signal her to stop. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Daryl said, his voice bordering on exhausted now, as if he was tired of even entertaining this. Daryl turned to you now as he slung one strap of his pack over his shoulder. “(Y/N),” he said, “get your stuff. Seriously.”

Despite your bewilderment laced with a heavy dose of irritation, you couldn’t help but be entranced by the nun’s words. Your curiosity, once again, had gotten the better of you. “Hold on, I want to hear this,” you said, half out of hope that perhaps it could somehow lead you to getting home, and half out of sheer entertainment value. 

Daryl huffed as he shook his head, not ready to argue with you, but ready to move out of this stuffy room and get going, with you kicking and screaming if he had to. 

“Our leader is a Buddhist monk,” Isabelle continued. “He came through on a pilgrimage some years ago. He recognized something in Laurent, an answer to a prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” you asked, but Isabelle once again did not directly indulge your curiosity. Meanwhile, Daryl pushed past you towards the door, though you and he both knew he wasn’t going anywhere without you. 

Isabelle followed Daryl, and you followed swiftly behind. She spoke rapidly, trying to get every last word of context out as if somehow that would persuade him. But you knew Daryl, and you knew that the only way of persuading him to do anything in this situation was if Isabelle offered him some sort of lead regarding your journey home. For your part, you hoped that encouraging her to ramble like her life depended on it would do just that. 

“L’Union has a base up north, a community that will raise and nurture him to be who he was born to be.”

“‘Who he was born to be?’” Daryl repeated, opening the doors into the corridor. 

“Six months ago, Lama Rinpoche said it was time,” she sputtered as she hurried to match Daryl’s longer strides. “Pére Jean was supposed to escort him, but… Well, you saw.”

“Yeah, I did. You got him locked up, thinkin’ the prayers and poetry are gonna fix him.” Daryl turned the corner, into the foyer, and then the armory. 

“Laurent is special,” continued Isabelle. “I think you see that.”

“Do I?”

“His mother died in childbirth,” Isabelle continued. You listened much more intently than Daryl seemed to, but she still spoke directly to him. “He shouldn’t have survived that. It’s a miracle he’s even alive. 

You stood cross-armed, leaning against the wall as you watched Daryl pick through the weapons. The first thing he grabbed was a simple wooden crossbow. It wasn’t at all like his, but the likelihood of ever seeing that crossbow again was next to nothing. He picked up bolts, too, and a morningstar. You never could figure out how to use that thing, despite how many times Daryl had attempted to show you. 

With the morningstar in his hand, he lifted it up to show it to Isabelle, while his eyes still focused on the rest of the weapons laid out before him. He was like a kid in a candy store, though much grumpier. 

“Can I borrow this?” he asked, though he didn’t seem keen on receiving an answer. 

“He’s shown abilities,” Isabelle continued, once again. “Perceptions. Compassion beyond any child.”

Daryl turned with his haul to focus his attention on the weapons behind him. Isabelle seemed to grow frustrated now too, but only just the slightest bit. That calm demeanor was hard to penetrate. 

“He sees into people,” she said more firmly now. You recalled how Laurent had taken one look at you and known exactly what you were feeling. Granted, the rational explanation was that he had known you and Daryl were far from home from talking to Isabelle prior, so it wouldn’t have been a stretch for him to assume that you were, indeed, homesick.

Of course, you thought Robin was very perceptive and emotionally intelligent, too. Robin was special to you, but all mothers believe their children to be special. It was nothing more than a simple personality trait, as far as you were concerned. 

“We used to have a kid like that in grade school,” Daryl remarked. “He used to get his ass kicked a lot.” Daryl unsheathed a dagger as he spoke, then held it up to Isabelle, once again feigning his need for permission. “I’m gonna borrow this too, all right?”

“He needs teaching. Guidance we cannot provide. He’ll be safer there, nurtured… Until he’s ready.”

In one last burst of energized curiosity, you stepped forward to garner Isabelle’s attention. “Ready for what?” you asked, and this time, if Isabelle wasn’t straightforward, you were sure you were about to scream. 

Isabelle’s gaze found you, her eyes ice cold and alert. Circles of pale blue encapsulated sharp black pupils that penetrated your own until you felt like you could see inside her mind if you tried hard enough. She seemed crazed, in a way, but also perfectly sane. Maybe it’s because what she was about to say would sound crazy to you, but to her, it was just logic. 

“To be the new Messiah.”

Your eyes blinked in quick succession, as if to somehow blink away whatever she had just said to you in complete seriousness. You had only mostly been joking with your theories about these nuns being religious wackos. In this particular instance, you hated being proven right. 

“To lead the revival of humanity,” Isabelle added. It did not make you feel any less creeped out.

“Yep,” you said. “We’re out of here.”

The next several moments were a blur, but you soon found yourself watching Daryl yank the keychain from the frantic nun’s belt. He turned towards the door to Pére Jean’s study while she continued to rant about Laurent’s destiny. You couldn’t catch exactly what she was saying as you pushed past her behind Daryl to hurry into the office, your sights set on that radio. 

“Don’t you see?” Isabelle continued, nearly out of breath at this point. “This is why you’re here. This is why you washed ashore. This is why I was on the road that day. This is why you were saved.”

Daryl ignored her, rummaging around the room for anything that might’ve been useful on your journey while you fiddled with a few of the buttons and dials. It didn’t seem to respond to your prodding. 

“Everything happens for a reason,” she added, paying no mind to you and focusing solely on Daryl. 

“Can you fire this thing up?” you asked.

She looked at you in slight confusion, as though she couldn’t fathom your inability to take what she said seriously. You knew she believed it with every fiber in her being, but that didn’t make it true.

“The tube broke a month ago.”

You paused your movements as you processed her words, bile rising up in your esophagus and burning your throat. As for Daryl, he turned with a sharpness that startled even you. 

“What?” he asked. 

Isabelle’s eyes sank so as not to capture the wrath of Daryl’s stare. “I’ve been trying to get a replacement,” she said, more quietly than before.

Your anger was quickly replaced with hopelessness as you stood up and sighed. Of course the one thing that might be of some immediate help in getting you home was not working. 

But Daryl’s anger was potent, more like a searing sting than a raging maelstrom. Still, the storm wasn’t far off. One more inconvenience might tip him over the edge. 

Daryl huffed a chuckle of disbelief, then pointed an accusatory finger at the nun. His voice lowered to a growl as he spoke. “You’ve been fuckin’ with us.”

Silence settled uncomfortably between the three of you. Looking between them, you felt the role of mediator begin to overcome you, whether you liked it or not. “Is there… Is there any way we could find a boat, or maybe some kind of settlement that has a boat? Someone who can get us home?”

You didn’t know what to make of Isabelle’s next period of silence. It was clear that she was thinking, but you could not make heads or tails of what. Perhaps she was thinking of a way for the two of you to get home, or perhaps she was concocting some kind of plan that would get the two of you to do whatever it was she wanted. You didn’t think she would let you go that easily, not with how passionately she spoke just moments ago.

“There’s a port up north that may still be active.”

Daryl jumped in before you could even respond. “Show me.” His arm raised towards the large map of France sprawled out on the wall. 

“Le Havre,” replied Isabelle, and your eyes darted to where she pointed: a star demarcating a city in the north of France, only a stretch of sea separating it from Britain. The city’s name was written in slanted letters that were bigger than the myriad smaller names surrounding it, but less prominent than the not-too-distant PARIS. It must’ve been a rather major city in its heyday.

“We’ve heard rumors of ships that come and go. But it’s just rumors.”

Turning to look at Daryl, you noticed his focus was fixed on the map. His eyes moved quickly over the lines that stretched across the colored surface like veins. His hand floated up to his chin absentmindedly as his mind processed a dozen or so thoughts. You watched his index finger rub against the skin just under his bottom lip, back and forth. You found yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to speak. 

Daryl’s thoughts collided into one, unified by a piece of red thread pinned to the map in a jagged line, surely demarcating some kind of important route. His finger wagged to trace the line in the air as he spoke, “What is this route that’s marked out right here?”

“That’s Pére Jean’s plan to get the boy up north,” replied Isabelle.

You moved closer, your eyes pinpointing various golden pushpins lodged into the thread, each matching up with a town or city noted on the map.

“What do these pins indicate?” you asked. 

“They’re stops,” she answered. “Places where we have friends who can help to connect us, radio frequencies.”

A swell of hope rose up in you as you turned to Daryl with wide, bright eyes. Daryl’s attention was caught by your hand squeezing his forearm, further indicating your renewed vigor. “We can take that route up to the port, honey.”

Isabelle seemed to catch onto your enthusiasm. “It’s a treacherous path north,” she said. “Hard to find your way.” The nun turned to you and Daryl with something almost smug in her voice as she spoke. “Harder if you don’t speak French.”

Your heart sank at her discouragement, but Daryl was unmoving. “Get your stuff,” he said to you. This time, you would do so.

In the room you’d awoken in, you scrambled to compile whatever scraps of clothing you’d picked up on the way here, and whatever was left of the clothes you washed up in. Pivoting your head in all sorts of directions, you searched for the large denim vest you’d been wearing. It was nearly brand new when you’d left home weeks ago, its faded Levi’s tag still hanging on by a thread before you yanked it off. Now, it was torn in more than a few places and stained by blood and oil and God only knew what else. 

But after a few more frantic turns, you spied it folded neatly on a chair across the room. It wasn’t the vest that mattered, though. It was the contents of its inner pocket. 

You hadn’t found yourself the time to check if the photos were still tucked in where they’d been before, but you figured now was as good a time as any. 

With a sigh of relief, you removed the Polaroids from the pocket, zipped up and sealed away from the sea water that had engulfed you in the chaos of that night. 

Some water had come through, but not enough to mar the image of Robin holding baby Westley in her arms, or Dog and Robin playing in a pile of leaves as Daryl watched in amusement. Every photograph revived another memory as you flipped through them, until the images were clouded by your tears. 

That was another reason you’d been dreading checking your pocket―the inevitable sadness that would overcome you if you saw what you’d so foolishly left behind. 

It hadn’t been for nothing, of course. You’d never leave home for nothing. It was for Michonne, for Rick. That was the point of all this, and look where it had gotten you. And there was so much to scold yourself for.

For letting Daryl go. 

For agreeing to go with him when he asked.

For wanting to be a better wife in the place of being a better mother.

Or at least, that’s what you saw it as now. Why couldn’t you let him go alone? After all, he’d gone out alone more times than you could count ever since the prison. You weren’t a stranger to the concept of Daryl leaving you for sometimes weeks at a time, but this time was different. Daryl had asked you to go. Wanted you to go. You’d joked that it was like a vacation, but it wasn’t. Both of you knew that. 

But a part of you was glad you’d gone. If Daryl had gotten into this mess himself, you knew yourself enough to know that you would’ve gone after him anyway, leaving the children in Alexandria no matter what. It was inevitable, you supposed. You hated it. The idea of them alone terrified you, though you hadn’t let yourself dwell on it much until now. 

And that’s when your breathing became rapid, your heart pounding while every hair on your body stood on end as you thought of every horrible thing that could possibly happen while you were gone. Each second you stood here was another moment in which the unthinkable could happen to everyone and everything you loved. Hot tears seemed to burn their way down your cheeks, despite how hard you tried to hold them back. A pointless endeavor.

Just as you began to let yourself cry, to let yourself fully feel the weight of what you’d let happen, you heard your name on Daryl’s voice, calling to you from outside. “Let’s go!” he called out.

You swiped your face with your sleeve, and swallowed the unborn tears. 

Outside, you lugged your bag over your shoulder to meet up with Daryl, who stood outside near the front gate. Isabelle stood facing him, while the other nuns, perhaps a dozen or so of them, scattered about as if to watch the outsiders leave. Entertainment, you supposed. Or maybe a way to make sure the two of you were really gone.

Laurent was there, too, and you heard him say something to Daryl, but by the time you made it within earshot, he was quiet. 

“It ain’t my problem,” Daryl said to Isabelle, and that was all you could catch of their conversation. 

The nun’s face looked dejected, hopeless. Though you’d felt mostly annoyed with the woman throughout your stay thus far, even though the reasons weren’t very justified, you couldn’t help but feel sympathy. Perhaps you had no idea what she was going through, nor she you, but at least you could understand her sadness, for whatever it was worth.

“Thank you,” you said, trying to make up for Daryl’s lack of manners. “For helping us.”

Isabelle smiled softly, but there was still a great sadness in her eyes. Daryl made his way towards the heavy wooden door that separated the abbey from the outside world, expecting you to follow.

“And, um… good luck. With everything.”

She only nodded in response, which you took as your signal to leave. 

A dirt road made by tire tracks in the ground led the two of you away from the abbey, into the surrounding woods. Maybe less than a mile or so had you walked in near silence, only the sound of gravel underfoot, until you spoke.

“You know, you could’ve at least said thank you.”

Daryl’s brows knit together as he looked at you. “What?”

“Back at the abbey. I don’t like the woman very much but she might’ve saved our lives, especially yours. She let us take weapons, food for the road…”

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “You on a high horse now?”

Smiling, you shook your head. “No, I just… I don’t know. They might be crazy but at least they helped us.”

“Yeah, helped us ‘cause they think I’m The Messenger.” Daryl’s voice rose as he mimicked Isabelle’s words. You snorted and lightly shoved his shoulder with yours.

“Mm, yeah. You notice how everyone there was super interested in you, but not in me?”

One corner of Daryl’s lips curled every so slightly as he looked at you with playful, but tired, eyes. “You jealous again?”

“No,” you laughed. “Well, I mean…”

Your voice trailed off as the sound of distant engines grew louder with each moment that passed. Daryl looked back towards the abbey, but it wasn’t coming from that direction. He turned the other way, and sure enough, it was coming closer—towards the two of you.

There were no words exchanged in this moment, only the feeling of Daryl’s hand grasping your wrist and pulling you to the side of the road, into the wild shrubbery. 

Peering through the gently rustling leaves, you watched as a caravan of vehicles zoomed past, heading towards the abbey. You recognized the military-grade jeeps, their insignia painted in white flashing by fast but just enough that you could recognize it from yesterday. It must’ve been the same group that had attacked you, and if it was, then that would undoubtedly spell trouble for the nuns.

Daryl’s eyes were locked onto the caravan until it disappeared into the overgrown woods that shrouded the walls of the abbey. His mind was at war within itself, thoughts of making a break for it with you and leaving the nuns to their fate battling with the moral dilemma that would inevitably haunt him if he did so. And then there was you, of course, who he knew would be against the idea, tempting as it was. 

But of course he couldn’t do that. The nuns were well-equipped thanks to the armory, but clearly not experienced in fighting living human beings with automatic weapons. Simple firearms and medieval weapons in the hands of even the most experienced fighter would still be challenged against such a militarized force. 

“They’re heading for the abbey,” you said quietly, your voice barely rising above the now distant grumbling of engines. “If we start back now, we can catch up to them before―”

“Nah,” he replied. He looked at you for a moment, watching your face go from confused to annoyed very quickly. “You stay here, I’ll go.”

After over ten years together, you’d think he’d understand that that simply wasn’t how this was going to work, but he had to try. 

You tilted your head in questioning. “You’re joking, right?”

He wasn’t.

After some whisper-bickering on the way back to the abbey, the two of you had come to an agreement that you’d wait just outside the front gate, ready to come to Daryl’s aid if he had been gone a suspiciously long time or if you heard something going awry. Daryl had managed to somehow convince you that only one of you going in made more sense than both of you risking your lives for the nuns, but you weren’t exactly happy about it. Any situation which alleviated Daryl’s stress was bound to send yours off the charts.

If you’d had a watch, you might’ve timed him, but alas. All you could do was count the seconds in your head, and keep your eyes and ears open. Leaning against the brick wall, you huffed out an exasperated breath as you squeezed the handle of your hammer with both hands. After a while, you had half a mind to go in there despite nothing particularly alarming happening, until the first gunshot. 

Meanwhile, Daryl kept his back pressed against the wall beside the door to the room he’d awakened in. His eyes were focused on the pointed end of the bayonet that slowly inched its way through the doorway, but not very far.

He lifted an axe he’d “borrowed” from the armory and brought it down swiftly upon the bayonet, disarming and momentarily startling the young man who’d held it. Daryl quickly pinned him against the door, then from the corner of his eye, another figure caught his attention. 

The man raised a handgun and pointed it in Daryl’s direction, but Daryl was quick enough to use the other man as a human shield, his back absorbing the bullets that were fired. Throwing the lifeless body to the side, Daryl lunged forwards to strike the man across the face and knock the gun loose from his hand. He threw another punch, this time propelling the man backwards until he landed upon a table. Daryl came forward to further incapacitate him, but he was able to kick Daryl back with great force.

Daryl stumbled back several feet, but did not fall. This man was strong, and wouldn’t go easily. That much was evident. 

Now with the upper man, the man forced Daryl against the wall, delivering several hits to his stomach before turning him and throwing him hard against the floor. A few particularly frustrated kicks were administered to his abdomen, accompanied by loud grunts to further illustrate the Frenchman’s frustration. 

Finally, the man let up, only to turn and retrieve his discarded handgun. 

In the courtyard, you rushed past a bloodied scene of several nuns’ bodies, as well as those of most of the men from the caravan, strewn over the stones of the pathway. With your axe held firmly, you called out to Daryl, looking wide-eyed around the once peaceful abbey. 

You did not find Daryl, but Isabelle, her flowing white figure turning to look at you as she processed the sound of your voice. You ran towards her, noticing the shock and distress upon her features. Coming closer, you took her wrist into a firm grasp, as if to not let her get away. 

“Where’s Daryl? Did you see him?”

She did not speak for a moment, only nodding rapidly as she began to awaken from her shocked stupor. 

“Yes… H-he went inside. This way.”

Daryl’s life flashed before his eyes, or so it seemed. Of course, that had happened many times before, but this time, he was sure it was the real thing as the Frenchman stood above him, the barrel of his gun perfectly aimed between Daryl’s widened eyes. In a knee-jerk reaction, he held up his hands as if to block the bullet, but it did not matter…

Rounding the corner and stumbling into the hall, you saw the scene for yourself. Without hesitation, you bolted towards the man, axe held high and all your strength channeled into that swing. 

Bringing down the axe, you hit the hand that held the gun, causing the man to grunt in pain. The blade might’ve been too dull to cause any irreversible damage, but it was enough to disarm him and to send him backwards, away from Daryl. 

The force of your attack sent even you spinning backwards, but you quickly oriented yourself with the intention of striking the man again, though he’d been quick enough to start making a run for the exit. 

Daryl wasted no time in retrieving the gun, coming back up to his feet after the wind had been knocked out of him and into another dimension. Aiming the gun, he shot. 

His aim, though, was less than stellar, given the state of his swimming head. The bullet struck the man only in the shoulder, sending him only slightly stumbling as he continued dashing towards the foyer. 

As you both followed behind, you were met with a still bewildered Isabelle and a frantic older nun, who practically threw herself in front of Daryl as he tried to aim the gun towards the escapee once more. 

“Please. Please. Please, please!” she repeated emphatically, her hands at one point grabbing Daryl with what little strength she had. “Show mercy!”

Daryl, of course, ignored these pleas. As far as he was concerned, these people were not deserving of something that even the most good-hearted of people were so rarely afforded in this world. He continued on to chase after the man, and you were set to follow, but suddenly, you saw the older nun begin to tremble, her legs seeming to fold underneath her. 

Isabelle moved quickly to stabilize her, but gravity was beckoning her weak body. You hesitated for a moment, fighting the urge to help the nun as well as the urge to follow Daryl and make sure he didn’t get himself in trouble again. Your heart, however, kept your eyes glued to Isabelle and the older woman as she struggled to keep her steady. 

Dropping your axe, you moved to the shaky nun’s other side to hold her weight, taking some burden off Isabelle. Looking around, your eyes fixed onto the nearest perch—the stone steps at the base of the staircase.

“There,” you said, nudging your head towards the stairs. “She needs to sit down.”

The two of you helped the nun to the steps, sitting her down gently between you. She naturally leaned herself against Isabelle, who wrapped her arm around her. You took a moment to look her over, noticing blood pooling in her abdomen. Isabelle moved her hand over the wound, but both of you knew there was nothing that could be done. It was too deep, and too much blood had already been lost. Even now, you could see the color of the older woman’s face, which once might’ve been so full of life, draining to a ghastly pallor. 

Still, you had to try. 

Taking off your jacket, you were about to press it to the wound, but the nun shook her head and looked at you, her eyes with a familiar dullness that you’d seen before in those near death.

“No,” she said. “It is my time… There is no use.”

Just then, Daryl returned, appearing slightly defeated after the man he’d given chase to had escaped. He came closer, kneeling next to you. The nun reached out a shaky hand towards him. He hesitated for just a moment, then reached his own hand out to meet hers. 

“You don’t believe,” she said. “Maybe you never saw a reason to. But one thing I know… reasons are everywhere.”

You watched night fall from your room, the same one you’d awoken in. Daryl had insisted you rest after burying the nuns that had fallen, of which only two remained: Isabelle, of course, and Sylvie. Laurent had been spared, too, much to your relief. But it seemed yours and Daryl’s fates were tied much closer to these new acquaintances than you’d realized. The events of that day had proven as much. 

As you watched the flame of a nearby candle dance with languid melancholy, the door to the room creaked open slowly. You turned on your side to face the door to be met with Daryl, his tired face illuminated by a gold flicker. He looked defeated, as he had been, but with a nearly imperceptible glimmer of hope in his eyes. You might not have noticed if you hadn’t seen it before, but you had, and it intrigued you.

“What is it?”

He sat on the edge of the small bed where you laid, his hand resting on your thigh over the threadbare blanket that covered you. He took a deep breath, which spoke of conflicted emotions, followed by his hoarse, tired voice.

“We’re takin’ them to the port.”

You sat up slightly, intrigued by this news. “We are?”

“Yeah… Figured we ain’t got much of a choice.”

You nodded, agreeing that taking Laurent to this “sanctuary” that Isabelle spoke of was probably your best bet for getting home, even if it wasn’t ideal to have to worry about three other people. 

“I guess it’s sort of a win-win situation. We help them get to where they want to go, and they help us get to where we want to go.” 

“Guess so.”

Silence settled in between you, its presence heavy and filled with words unspoken. You sat up fully, reaching out to touch his shoulders. They were as strong as always, but slumped over slightly. This all weighed so heavily on him, the responsibility. It always does. You knew that he’d never forgive himself, but you could try to reassure him, like you always did.

“None of this is your fault,” you said, knowing that it was what he needed to hear. You leaned closer, pressing yourself against his back and resting your chin upon his shoulder. Your arms wrap around his waist as tightly as they can. This might have been the most intimate you’ve been with him since washing ashore here. It was certainly the closest you’ve felt to him since.

And he felt an immense weight lift off his shoulders, one which he knows will inevitably return, but in this moment, it’s dissipated completely. His body sunk into your embrace, and the tightness in his chest is relieved by a long, deep breath. It’s not just your touch that eased his mind, but your words. Every part of him wanted to object because he knew deep down that it was his fault. It was hard for him to even imagine that it wasn’t. Still, to know that you didn’t blame him, that you still loved him… It made the load he will always carry feel lighter. 

“We will get home. I know it.” 

You punctuated your statement with a firm kiss to his cheek. His head turned slowly towards yours, his lips meeting yours in a more urgent kiss, one that felt like a promise. Daryl could always say more with his body than with his words, and that’s what he did now—he pulled you closer, now locked in his embrace. His mouth did not separate from yours even for a moment. There was devotion in his kiss, in his hands as they crept up your back and moved up and down in slow, firm caresses. Words couldn’t communicate what he told you with one embrace, but you knew that no matter what fate had in store for you, Daryl would rearrange the stars to change the course of destiny as long as it meant the two of you would make it home. Together.

When your lips separated, you were lost in his eyes, so familiar, like they were windows through which you could see Robin and Wes, waiting patiently in the living room for their parents’ return. If you looked long enough, you were sure you could see yourself and Daryl coming in through the front door to be greeted with open arms.

~

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Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

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…

[lunajay33]

Precious🩵

Summary: Reader gets separated from Daryl at the start and finds a farm with a wonderful family, she finds out she’s pregnant and one thing leads to another and a new group settles onto the farm

•Masterlist•

I waited for Daryl at our little house in the small town we grew up in, I had been gone to the city for the day when everything happened, I was able to find a car and drive back home praying that Daryl would be there waiting for me but I knew it would be a long shot, I waited for a few days until the food ran out and decided if I was ever going to find him again then I’ll have to go find him myself

So I pack up my bag with essentials, clothes, water, snacks that were left over and weapons for Daryl’s hunting collection, I drove for what felt like forever no signs of human life only blood and rotting corpses who some how took over the earth

I came to the interstate seeing the cars upon cars piled up blocking my way so I turned around hoping to find a back road to get around when I spotted a sign “Greene’s Farm” if the farm was still standing maybe it could have some food or more water, as I pulled up the drive way to a large white farm house people filtered out, it felt surreal to see people, live people

I got out of the car as the came down the stairs, it was an older man a girl around my age and a younger blonde, then what seemed to be an older couple and a younger boy

“How’d you find this place?” The man with the white hair asked

“I’ve been on the road looking for my husband, I got turned around in the road and saw your farm sign, I just need some rest” I say as I run my hand down my belly

When I went to the city when everything happened I found out I was pregnant and I was over the moon about finally starting a family with Daryl but now I’m scared, scared about delivery, this baby never meeting their wonderful father

The man noticed my movement and his harsher demeanor changed to one of pity

“Come dear we’ll get something set up for you”

They let me settle in the spare room after feeding me some eggs and fresh fruit, the house was cozy and they are lovely people but I can’t help that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling I always got when Daryl would be gone too long, he always soothed me even if he didn’t talk much he showed me comfort with actions of love and care

Whenever he scrounged up enough money he’d buy me little gifts, he got me a silver necklace with a bow on it which I never take off, I never got a wedding ring because I refused and said we should keep the money for the future and that I don’t need some diamond to show my love for him

“Knock knock” I look up to the doorway and see Maggie standing there with a wide smile

“Daddy wanted me to check on you, well both of you”

“Oh yes I think we’re okay, I only found out about two weeks ago”

“That’s when you first had symptoms?” She asked as she sat next to me on the bed

“Yeah, the nausea and a little bump”

“I’d say you’re about two months pregnant then, signs only show up later, does the father know?” I shock my head feeling my heart clench in pain

“I never got the chance, I don’t even know where he is but somehow in my heart I believe we will find our ways back to each other” she ran a comforting hand up my back and smiled

“You’ll find him sweetheart you never know what might happen!” She said before she left the room giving me space to finally rest

It’s been 2 months now on the farm and it was peaceful for some reason this farm has gone untouched from the world that’s filled with death, I haven’t stopped looking for Daryl, every other day I’d search farther and farther out but there was no sign, as I was walking back to the farm I saw two men and Otis running through the field, I got back to the house and Maggie told me of everything that was happening, Otis accidentally shot the boy who Hershel was working on now

I sat outside on the steps as the young boys father came out obviously in shock covered in blood, he sat next to me completely disheveled, I took a rag I had in my pocket and wiped some blood he smeared on his face

“Hershel is a good surgeon and a great man, your son is in good hands” my words seemed to calm him down and what he needed right now was a distraction it seems

“I remember when my wife found out she was pregnant with Carl, we were young but I was excited this little life was gonna be born, so how far along are you?”

“About 4 months now, I’m not sure if it’s a boy or girl, I got separated from the father when I found out but I’ve kept looking, I know he’s out there, he’s a stubborn man but god is he strong and pretty smart too”

“Yeah I know the type, got a man like that back in our group, we lost a little girl and he’s been looking for her day and night”

“Maggie should be back soon she must have found your group by now, it’ll be okay” almost as if she heard me I see her horse ride up the field with cars following, then I hear the rumble of a motorcycle and it brought back so many memories I had with Daryl, when he’d work on his bike I’d sit with him, when we’d go for a drive at night together, moments I kept dear to my heart, zoned out in nostalgic thought I didn’t notice the group coming to the steps

“Y/n?” The grumble to the voice that I fell in love with, I look up to see him standing there just as the day I last saw him still as handsome, I couldn’t stand up fast enough before I was pulled off the stairs and into his arms

“I can’t believe it’s you, I looked everywhere, I missed you so much Daryl” I cried into his shoulder as his group was most likely watching this moment unwind

“It’s me sunshine, I found ya” he pulled back and we just looked into each others eyes for some time before he looked me over stopping abruptly on my belly

He opened his mouth but he seemed to be at a lose for words

“It’s yours if that’s what you’re wondering?”

“My baby?” He asked placing his hands on either side of my bump

“Yeah our lil baby Dixon”

After everything settled down and people set up tents I decided to stay with Daryl since they were using my room for Carl, I was sitting across from him on my sleeping bag and he couldn’t take his eyes off my bump

“Do you want to feel?” He thought for a moment before he nodded, I lifted my ivory dress just above my belly feeling his warm hands caress my bare skin

“How did this happen?”

“Well remember that night you came back from the bar with Merle and I was wearing my pink sundress you love” realization dawned as a blush crossed his face

“Yeah that’s how it happened” I laugh missing how easily it is to embarrass him

“Where have you been?” I asked as we laid next to each other

“Found a camp outside of Atlanta with Merle, idiot went and got himself stuck on a roof don’t know where he is now, then we went to the CDC and that was a bust then that leads to now finally some sanity with ya”

“I’m just glad you didn’t get bite, the farms been secure so I haven’t had any troubles”

“And ya never have to with me ‘round”

It’s been 6 months and Daryl and I had a beautiful 1 month old baby girl, it was painful giving birth but with Daryl by my side it made it a bit easier, hopeful

She was a wonderful little thing, barely fussy, brown hair light blue eyes just like Daryl, and he was over the moon about her he praised me over and over for giving him such a gift he treasured

We were able to move into the house to make it more comfortable for the three of us, we named her Lily because Carl thought it suited her perfectly so we just went with it

I walked into the room seeing Daryl sat on the bed with her in his arms her little hands reaching to pull on his now grown out hair, I sat beside them curling up to Daryl’s side

“She loves you so much D”

“Not as much as I love her”

“You know I think she’s your favourite”

“Nah she loves us both sunshine, I love ya”

“I love you too Daryl, forever”

[taiturner]

Committing to a choice like this, after living how we did — free — I get it. It's hard. It's giving up everything, right up until your own life. But either your heart's beating, or it isn't. Your loved ones' hearts are beating, or they aren't. We take what they give us so that we can live.

the walking dead,  favorite episode(s) of every season season 7 ▶️ episode 8: hearts still beating

[bambidixon]

☹️ Dad! Daryl when his baby said 'I love you' for the first time, it definitely brought tears to his eyes. It happened quickly and unexpectedly, much like every other moment involving his child since birth. His baby took his face in their little hands, brought their noses together for a messy Eskimo kiss, mimicking what Daryl did every night before bedtime, and then said it. He's certain his heart stopped for a second before he returned the words, his voice dripping with emotion.

That night, he cried on your chest. He had never known such pure love before and wasn't sure he could be loved like that until now.

He finally knows what it's like to have a family and knows the unconditional love that comes with it.

[deansapplepie]

The Spitting Image Series Masterlist

Summary: Years passed since last time you saw your ex-boyfriend and father of your son. Fate decided the perfect moment for you to reconnect was after the end of the world.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f! Reader

Warnings: swearing, violence, walkers, mentions of injuries, a little angsty. Minors do not interact. (If I forgot anything let me know)

A/N: It was supposed to be a one shot, but it was getting too big and I wasn’t in the middle of it, so I’ll make a mini series of it.

The reader’s son is 17 yo, so if you don’t feel comfortable reading something self insert having a kid this age, it’s up to you.

Here I’m supposing Daryl is in the beginning of his 40s when they get to Alexandria to make sense the age of his son.

Also, I have no idea how are the laws in the U.S.A. To register your children, so if it’s not possible to register a kid with the name of the father without the father, let’s pretend in this universe it is.

Main Masterlist

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four (Coming soon)

Dividers by @cafekitsune