#merle chirps

[ossia-ombreggiata]

finished a +7k words fic in exactly a week. what has jackwald done to me

[eggubato]

a month and 12k words later, i hereby announce the first draft of the jackwald fic i was working on to be DONE i am (almost) free to draw again

[lunajay33]

Suppose to be You

•🖤🍑🏹🧟‍♀️•

Summary: You’re Shane’s girlfriend but when the apocalypse hits you find him changing and find yourself leaning more towards the only person who gives you the time of day, also you’re Rick’s younger sister

Pairing: Shane x f!reader, Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Warning: Shane’s a cheater obvi, harsh words, Merle

•Masterlist•

I first met Shane when my older brother Rick first started bringing him around the house, I never thought much of him but as we got older he started flirting and we only started dating when I turned 22, about a year ago, it’s been fun but then I lost my brother and then the world got taken over by walkers and that leads to now, camped out in a quarry on the outskirts of Atlanta

We took my sister in law, Lori and my nephew with us but after being here for a while Shane’s been treating me differently, like I’m just a burden to him

Sitting around the fire I’m sat across from Shane as he’s right next to Lori, I understand him wanting to console her her husband died, but he was my brother and I’m Shane’s girlfriend I just thought he’d try to console me even just a little

“You alright sweetie?” Dale asks from next to me

“Oh I’m fine thanks for asking though” I smile trying to brush it off but inside I’m hurting deeply like I’m loosing everything

“I think I’m just gonna head to bed early” I say standing up to leave, all Shane did was glance at me before his eyes went back to the fire, Carl got up and gave me a quick hug

“Night auntie y/n” he smiles, he’s always been the sweetest kid

“Night honey” I walk away as the cool of the night started to envelope me, instead of going back to the tent I went down to the quarry shore, I knew how to take care of myself around walkers I just need to be alone

I sat down feeling all the pressure weighing down on my chest, I lost my brother, then the world ends and now my boyfriend treats me like garbage, what else do I have…….whats the point

Finally letting the tears fall I let it all out before I hear branched snapping behind me, I turn nervously wiping the tears away sighing in relief when I realize it’s just Daryl Dixon, thankfully not accompanied by his ass of a brother Merle

“What’re ya doin down here alone” he asks his eyes squinted at me but for some reason he didn’t make me nervous

“Ummm just needed to get away, what’re you doing down here?”

“Just came back from a hunt saw ya down here……wanted ta check on ya”

My heart skipped a beat, something I haven’t felt in a long time now

“Come on let’s get ya ta bed” he huffed motioning back towards the path, it was a silent walk up to the camp but it was a comfortable silence

I got to mine and Shane’s tent when I hear his fast heavy footsteps heading our way

“The hell are you doing alone with Daryl Dixon” he groans gripping my arm and roughly pulling me away from Daryl

“Shane that hurts, he was just keeping me company” I look back at Daryl and I swear if looks could kill Shane would definitely be dead on the ground

“Get lost Dixon, go back to your dick of a brother” Daryl’s eyes landed on mine and I could see them soften before he left, the further the got the more I wanted to run to him instead of being near the person I should be safe with

“The hell were you thinking”

“Like you’d care” I sigh looking down to the ground

“What’re you talking about you’re my girlfriend of course I care”

“I can’t do this right now Shane I just wanna go to bed, I think I’m gonna stay with Carl tonight, Lori can stay with you bet she’ll love that” I brush him off and walk past him to the smaller tent Carl and Lori stayed in, thankfully they were still out so I could just finally have a moment of peace

How could I feel more peace and safety around a redneck man that I barely know, than my boyfriend I’ve known almost my whole life

I quickly drifted off to sleep welcoming the darkness

•

I woke up early the next morning to the subtle chirping of birds, I quietly left the tent trying not to wake up a still sleeping Carl

Looking around there wasn’t anyone up yet so I went at sat at the camp fire that still had some embers burning

“Hey, what’re ya doing up so early” I hear next to me seeing it’s Daryl again, usually he’d have a snippy attitude with the others in the camp but lately he’s been nice to me and I honestly didn’t care why I just needed someone to cheer me up

“Just couldn’t sleep much I guess, I’ve got a lot on my mind” I say poking at the fire

“Here” he grunted handing me a granola bar he must’ve gotten from his stash

“Thanks”

Then he was gone dissapearing through the thick tree line most likely going for a hunt again

Slowly people started to filter out of their tents and start getting ready for the day, I see Shane making his way towards me with his typical scowl that he never use to use towards me, I look away and turn my back to him

“Have you calmed down since last night” I scoff looking up at him as he towered over me trying to scare me asserting his dominance

“Just leave me alone, you only act like I matter when someone else is giving me attention, tell me do you even love me anymore?” He paused for a moment before answering

“Of course you just gotta stop being selfish I’m trying to console a grieving widow”

“Yeah well he was my brother Shane, did you forget that, just get away from me” I brush past him going towards the trees for some peace and quiet but when I’m deeper in the woods I feel him behind me squeezing my shoulder and he pushes me against a tree

“Shane what are you doing let me go”

“You better watch your mouth don’t forget who saved you when all this started” now he’s trying to guilt trip me

“I could’ve made it on my own, I probably would’ve been happier alone” he raised his hand before a bow zipped between us landing on the tree next to us

“You touch her like that again don’t think I would beat your ass down” Daryl growled coming closer taking my hand and putting me behind him as he stared down Shane

“You think you could take me Dixon, you may be a filthy redneck but don’t think I won’t take YOU”

“Shane just go away, why don’t you go check on poor Lori” I say holding onto Daryl’s arm tighter out of fear, a fear I’ve never felt around Shane before

He huffed before tromping off back towards the camp, when he was far enough away I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as I let all the emotions flood me

“God Daryl I’m so sorry to get you mixed in this, I don’t…..I don’t know why he’s like this, he never us to treat me like this and I’m…..I’m scared to be around him now” he takes both my shoulders in his hands and makes me face him gently

“It ain’t yer fault peach, I’ve been around my share of angry men and he’s a ticking time bomb, ya can’t be stay around him”

“If you can’t tell I don’t have no where else to go” my chest felt like it had a thousand bricks on it

“Ya can stay next ta me, we got an extra tent”

“Are you sure, what about Merle won’t he be mad”

“I can deal with that grump, come on let’s get ya settled” I’ve never heard Daryl speak so much but I can’t complain he’s like my saviour right now

•

We got the little tent sat up next to him that was a bit further away from the others but I didn’t care much, the further I am from Shane the better

“Thanks for all this Daryl” I say as we both finally settle down around the fire he sat up since night was falling

“Look at this, my lil bro got himself some tail” Daryl was cut of before he could speak by Merle’s grating voice as he plopped down across from us at the fire

“Merle give it up”

“She staying here now, good ta know we got some action right next door” he grins that sends unsettling chills down my spine

“I’m not doing that Merle for the thousandth time, I just needed some space”

“Finally figured out yer cop boyfriend is cheatin on ya?” My heart stopped, suddenly everything made sense, why he always stayed with Lori, why they’d both dissapear at the same time, why Lori could barely look me in the eyes

“Oh my god I feel so stupid how did I not notice I must look so pathetic to everyone” I groan as I drop my head in my hands

“He dont deserve ya, he’s the pathetic one” Daryl said softly as I heard Merle’s steps retreating into his tent, Daryl must’ve shooed him off

“You know why my brother first got shot I was a mess, couldn’t leave his side I was always so filled with anxiety I was basically wasting away but one day Shane convinced me to take a day to myself so I did, I went home and cleaned up and everything, the next thing I know Shane is busting in dragging me to the truck telling me everyone is dropping like flies and my brothers dead, then suddenly he treats me like a piece of trash, only Lori mattered, and…..he almost hit me today, that’s not the man I knew something’s wrong with him, sure he’s always been a bit hot tempered but this is different and all I can think about is……what is he comes after me again but no one’s there to help me” I sigh finally letting everything off my chest

“Ya ain’t goin no where alone anymore, I’ll protect ya” he said gently placing a hand on my back for a moment before it was gone again

“I can’t ask that of you, I’m not your problem”

“Believe it or not, yer the only person in this camp that doesn’t drive me up the wall, I’d like ta keep ya around a lil longer” he smiled as his words cheered me up a bit, I’ve never seen him genuinely smile and it’s making me feel all light headed

“Let’s head to bed……it’s been a long day” I stand up heading to my little tent as he did his next to mine

“Night D”

“Night Peach” his gaze stayed on me for a moment longer before he entered his tent, only making me think what life would be like if I had met Daryl first maybe I’d me happier

•

Part.2<-

[dixons-sunshine]

Thinkin’ about a lil fluffy blurb of the young!daryl au about the morning after their first time. I just think he’d be so nervous but inside so happy, like he just feels so loved🥺

I wanna give him a hug and a smooch

The Morning After | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: The morning after you had your first time with Daryl, you could clearly see the apprehension and fear in his eyes, the self deprecating thoughts that you would regret it. Not about to have the perfect man think that you regretted him, you took it upon yourself to reassure him how much you loved him, even if those words weren't spoken yet.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre apocalypse.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of Daryl's scars, suggestive themes.

Word count: 1.3k.

A/n: Don't know how to feel about this, to be totally honest with you. I feel like my writing has really been lacking lately, but maybe working on that series idea will help me out a little. Anyways, I hope you like this!

The morning sun was shining brightly through the curtains in your small room. The birds were chirping merrily outside your window and the sound of the children's bright laughter could be heard clearly, the weekend brightening every school goer's moods. The sound of people conversing with each other could also distinctly be heard, and for once, it seemed as if the world's troubles melted away, and everyone was at peace, even if only for a little while.

Daryl Dixon would describe peace as the feeling of having you pressed tightly against his side, your head resting on his bare chest as you slept peacefully. Daryl listened to the steady rhythm of your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest bringing a sense of calm to the young man. He felt a sense of pride knowing that you trusted him enough to sleep so peacefully, completely unaware of your surroundings. You trusted him to keep you safe while you were in your most vulnerable state, and that made a small smile spread across his face.

Although your relationship was relatively new, just recently surpassing the six month mark, Daryl felt more at peace than he ever had when the two of you were merely best friends. And after the night prior, when the two of you had finally crossed the threshold and given your most sacred parts of yourselves to one another, your relationship had taken a turn—for the better or for the worse, Daryl couldn't be sure of until you woke up.

Daryl sighed as he caressed your bare arm softly, his fingers following an invisible path that only his eyes could see. Although Daryl had no regrets for what happened the night before, he had no idea whether or not you'd share that same sentiment. He knew that he was inexperienced and that he hadn't performed as well as someone knowledgeable about it, but he hoped he did okay.

You seemed to have enjoyed it, but Merle had told him before that women could fake it enough to convince the man that they had finished, so he couldn't be sure. And if you did fake it, what would he do about it? He couldn't be mad, but he would be a little hurt. Would he confront you about it? Would he just go home and try to play it cool? He didn't know.

Daryl was startled when he felt the press of something warm against his chest. Gazing down, he locked eyes with you, and he was relatively surprised to be met with that warm, beautiful smile of yours.

You laughed quietly and continued to press soft, gentle kisses all along his chest, being extra gentle whenever you came across one of his scars. Your kisses soon trailed all the way up to his neck, up to his jaw, his cheek, before you stopped right when you got to his mouth. You let your mouth hover slightly above his, your lips barely grazing against each other, giving him the chance to back away if he didn't want to share a kiss with you.

Daryl slowly leaned forward until his lips pressed against yours fully, his hand trailing up your arm and to the back of your neck. The kiss ended too soon for his liking, with you pulling away first to lean your forehead against his.

You smiled fondly at him. “Good morning, handsome.”

Daryl chuckled. “G'mornin', beautiful,” Daryl greeted you, his morning voice raspy and hotter than he knew, making your breath hitch at the seductive sound. “Ya sleep okay?”

Pulling yourself together, you shook the intrusive thoughts from your mind and nodded. “Better than I have in a long time,” you confirmed, letting your fingers gently trail down his chest. “I didn't know that having sex could tire someone out that much.”

Daryl hummed in agreement. “Yeah,” he mumbled, his mind wandering back to his previous thoughts before you woke up. Did you regret it? Would you kick him to the curb after that one night?

Perceptive as ever, you instantly noticed the shift in his mood. Why didn't he look as relaxed as you felt? Then, as if being struck by lightning, you remembered what had happened once before. You were transported back to the day when the two of you had originally almost slept together, and you remembered what Daryl had told you. You remembered his insecurities, and it all made sense.

Not wanting to scare him off by addressing his insecurities head on, knowing that he'd feel uncomfortable if you did that, you instead took his face into your hands and pressed your lips against his for a firm kiss. Your thumbs gently caressed his cheeks, and you smiled against his lips when you felt Daryl's arms wrap around your waist, subconsciously helping you straddle his lap while he moved into a seated position.

You pulled away from the kiss, gazing deeply into his ocean coloured eyes. “Last night was incredible,” you began, smiling at him fondly. “You were incredible.”

Daryl blushed and tried to duck his head in embarrassment, but your hands on his face stopped him. He looked at you, a shy smile spreading across his face. “Yeah?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding for emphasis. “It was amazing. I've never felt that good in my life. You were like a Greek god last night. I don't think you've ever looked hotter, and that's saying a lot, because your sleeveless shirts make you look hot as fuck.”

“Stop,” Daryl mumbled, but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips at your words.

“I'm serious!” you laughed lightly. “Seriously, Dar, you were amazing last night. I have absolutely no complaints.”

“Yer sure?” Daryl questioned, looking at you unsurely. “Ya dun' have any regrets or anythin'?”

You shook your head. “No. If anything, I regret not doing this sooner.”

Daryl chuckled, leaning forward to press a tender kiss against your forehead. “Yer too nice to me. If ya have any regrets—”

“I don't,” you cut him off, cupping his face in your hands again. “Daryl Dixon, we've been over this once before. When it comes to you, I regret nothing. I don't regret becoming your friend all those years ago, I don't regret agreeing to be your girlfriend, and I certainly don't regret last night. It was amazing, you were amazing, and I'll definitely be doing this again. That is, if you want to, of course. I'd never force you to do anything you don't want to.”

“Are ya kiddin'?” Daryl asked rhetorically. “'Course I wanna do this again. Las' nigh' was amazin' to me.”

“Then it's settled,” you told him with a sense of finality in your voice. “You never have to worry when it comes to me. If you do anything that makes me uncomfortable, you know I'd tell you. Now tell those voices in your head to fuck off.”

Daryl chuckled and nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Good.” You leaned forward and pressed another kiss to his lips before getting off his lap, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching down to grab your shirt. “I'm gonna make us some breakfast. Get dressed and join me, handsome.”

“Ya gon' make bacon?” Daryl questioned, silently mourning the loss of the sight of your bare body as it disappeared beneath your shirt.

“Of course,” you confirmed.

“Then I'll be righ' there, sunshine.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

tp!daryl x young reader, young Daryl Dixon, pre apocalypse, fluff

warnings: none except Daryl is kind of an ass at first

The night air hung thick and humid, clinging to the inside of Daryl’s truck. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance, their rhythm competing with the faint rattle of the truck’s idling engine. He leaned his chin on his hand, fingers scratching idly at his scruff as he stared at the empty stretch of road ahead.

“Goodnight,” the girl said, her voice pitched just a little too sweet, teetering on the edge of something expectant. Hopeful.

Her name was… Tessa? No, Tanya. Maybe. Wait, Tina? Hell, he couldn’t remember anymore. Not that it mattered.

“Night,” he muttered, the word coming out low, almost like an afterthought.

Still waiting. Still expectant.

Daryl’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver from the road. He let the silence stretch between them, filling the cab like the humid summer air, heavy and suffocating. Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Why wasn’t she leaving?

She adjusted her purse on her lap, the clink of the metal clasp annoyingly loud in the quiet cab. He didn’t look at her, didn’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her eyes. Maybe if he stayed still long enough, she’d take the hint.

“You sure you don’t wanna come in?” she asked, her voice soft, but with an edge of insistence that grated against his nerves.

His eyes flicked to her, just briefly, before settling back on the road. “Nah,” he said, voice flat, as though the single syllable could put an end to the conversation.

She stayed there, unmoving, her nails tapping against her purse now, a nervous little rhythm that set his teeth on edge.

“Alright,” she said finally, though her tone carried more disappointment than acceptance. She shifted, one hand reaching for the door handle, but she didn’t open it. Instead, she paused, turning back to him. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Daryl huffed, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ain’t got much to say.”

That clearly wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her face fell, the sweetness in her expression fading into something colder.

“Well, thanks for the ride, I guess,” she said, her words clipped now. She shoved the door open, stepping out onto the gravel driveway with a sharp click of her heels.

“Yeah,” he grunted, already reaching to shift the truck into gear. He didn't let her get another word in, already backing out of her driveway onto the road, eager to get away.

The road stretched ahead of him, endless and empty, the faint glow of the late night store's neon signs flashing by him through town. He turned the radio on, letting the static fill the cab before switching it off again. He was on edge.

It was late—closer to midnight than not—and he wasn’t sure where he was headed. He just knew he couldn’t go back to the trailer yet, not with Merle’s drunken yelling waiting for him. He needed space, air, something to quiet the restless energy clawing at his chest.

Before he realized it, his truck was pulling onto your street.

---

The sound of tires crunching over gravel pulled your attention from the book in your lap. You glanced up from the porch steps, squinting as headlights washed over you, the faint rumble of an old truck engine breaking the quiet of the night.

You didn’t have to see who it was to know.

The truck rolled to a stop, the engine idling as the driver’s side door creaked open. Daryl climbed out, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he looked at you.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough.

You shrugged, closing the book and setting it aside. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Figured you might wanna get outta here for a bit.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head at him. “What, and ride around in that death trap of yours?”

He snorted, shaking his head as he turned back toward the truck. “C’mon. Ain’t gonna ask twice.”

You didn’t hesitate, grabbing your jacket from the porch and jogging down the steps. The cab smelled faintly of gasoline and old leather as you slid into the passenger seat, the bench warm from where someone might've been sitting earlier.

“Where we goin’?” you asked, buckling your seatbelt as he shifted into gear.

“Dunno. wanna stop at Sevs?” he muttered, his eyes on the road as the truck rattled to life.

--

The neon lights of the 7-Eleven cast a hazy glow over the parking lot, the hum of the buzzing sign filling the quiet as the two of you pushed open the glass door.

You bee-lined for the slurpees, the bright red syrup swirling into a cup as you filled it to the brim. Daryl followed behind, snagging a pack of jerky and a bag of chips before nodding toward the counter.

“Let’s go,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door.

The truck cab was quiet as you climbed back inside, the faint crinkle of the jerky bag filling the space as Daryl tore it open. You leaned back against the seat, sipping your slurpee as the engine purred beneath you.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an edge to it—like something unsaid was lingering in the air. You drove for awhile like that, listening to music, aimlessly turning down different roads in the quiet night. The truck rolled to a stop at a red light, its glow casting the cab in deep crimson. The roads were empty, no one else around this late. The hum of the engine filled the silence, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“How was your date?” you asked finally, your voice casual as you stared out the windshield. The question had been boggling your mind since you got in the truck with him earlier.

Daryl froze for half a second, his fingers tightening around the jerky bag before he scoffed. “Pfft...Borin’.”

A flicker of something you couldn’t name stirred in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral, snuffing the feeling out and taking another sip of your slurpee.

“Did you talk to her, or did you just grunt the whole time?” you teased, turning to glance at him.

His eyes rolled, the movement slow and deliberate, the red light casting his dark blue irises in shadow. “’Course I talked to ‘er.”

“Hi and bye don’t count,” you said, a small laugh escaping despite yourself.

His lips twitched again, the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “I talked to ‘er, alright?” he repeated, the words low, rough, almost playful.

You leaned back against the seat, the slurpee cup cool against your hands as you studied him. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the traffic light ahead like it held some kind of answer.

“Guess she wasn’t your type,” you said softly, the words barely above a murmur.

Daryl’s hand stilled, his fingers curling against the wheel as he finally turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable at first, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something that made your heart stutter.

“Nah,” he said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “She wasn’t.”

The air between you shifted, thickened, and you suddenly became hyper-aware of how close you were in the cramped cab. The light remained red, casting its glow over his face, highlighting the faint scruff along his jaw and the way his lips pressed together like he was holding something back.

Your pulse quickened as his eyes lingered on yours, the weight of his gaze making it hard to breathe. “What?” you asked, your voice softer, unsure.

---

The moment your eyes flicked toward him, framed by the crimson glow of the light, Daryl felt like his chest might cave in. He’d been fighting it for too long—the way you got under his skin, the way every word you said felt like it meant something, even when it shouldn’t.

But now, sitting in the truck, roads empty around him, it was like the world had narrowed to just you. The way you were looking at him, quiet, expectant—he couldn’t take it. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t desperate, but it hit him all at once. If he didn’t do something now, he might never get the chance.

His throat felt tight, his hands itching where they gripped the wheel. He wasn’t sure what was going through his head—if it was bold or just plain stupid—but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when you were this close.

His hand moved first, almost of its own accord, coming up to cup your cheek. Rough and calloused, his thumb brushed over your skin, and the softness of it nearly undid him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. You just… stayed. Watching him. Waiting for him.

Now or never.

His lips met yours, soft at first, just barely there, like he was trying to figure out if he was even allowed to do this. Every nerve in his body screamed to hold back, to keep it slow, but it was impossible—not when you leaned into him, not when your lips parted against his like you’d been waiting just as long as he had.

This was what he wanted.

The thought hit him hard, rattling around his head like a loose screw. It wasn’t just the kiss—not the heat of your lips against his or the way your hand found his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt like you couldn’t let go. It was all of it. You. The way you fit here beside him, the way you always knew what to say, even when it pissed him off. The way you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t some broken-down mess of a kid.

His grip tightened as the kiss deepened, his other hand finding your jaw, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. He’d waited too long for this, longer than he wanted to admit, and now that it was happening, he didn’t know how to stop.

He pulled back for a breath, his eyes scanning you. He couldn’t look away, not now, not ever. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his voice came out low, rough, as he whispered, “Ain’t no one like ya.”

The words weren’t planned, but they felt right, felt true in a way that made his chest ache. His thumb traced the corner of your lips, lingering, memorizing. He was certain now.

Before he could say anything else, you surged forward, your hands threading into his hair and pulling him closer. The heat of you pressed against him, the way your lips moved against his—like you’d been holding back too, like this was something you needed as much as he did.

He groaned softly, the sound low and guttural, and it only made you pull him closer. His hands moved to your waist, gripping firmly, grounding himself in the feel of you. It was frantic now, messy, but he couldn’t care less. You were here, in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

The kiss deepened again, hungrier now, more desperate. His hand slipped under the edge of your jacket, his fingers pressing into the small of your back like he was trying to pull you even closer. He couldn’t get enough—didn’t know if he ever would.

And then the horn blared.

The sharp, jarring sound ripped him out of the moment, and he jerked back, panting, his mind struggling to catch up. The light had turned green, and the car behind him was blaring their horn like their life depended on it.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he turned back to the wheel. He slammed his hand against it, leaning out the window to yell, “I’m goin’, alright?!” His middle finger shot up for good measure, and he hit the gas, the truck lurching forward.

His chest still heaved as he gripped the wheel tightly, the tension in the cab almost unbearable. You laughed softly, the sound breathless and light, and it made his ears burn. He glanced at you, his lips quirking just slightly, though his grip on the wheel remained firm.

The road stretched out ahead, but something between you had changed. He could feel it in the air, in the way his heart refused to settle, in the way he could still taste you on his lips.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

It felt so real.

What - Yearning. Daryl misses you and your family so badly that it seems his imagination is dreaming you up to keep him from going crazy

When - big time jump to when Daryl finds himself in France (spinoff season 1, episode 2)

Where - the school in France

Pronouns - she/her (howdy, wife reader!)

TWs - language, reference to child loss, self-loathing, sappiness (it's fanfiction, y'all XD ) and Daryl gets a little...'excited' (mild instance of sexual arousal between a married couple)

Perspective - Daryl 3rd person POV

References - some are yet unpublished because this is a significant time skip, which means a few little surprises. Others can be found throughout the series!

Series? - the Slowpoke Series! It's a fun, slow time that sticks to canon to help maintain immersion (as much as you can with adding an oc lol) ;)

Can I read this chapter if I haven't started any part of the Slowpoke Series yet? - definitely

----------------------------

----------------------------

“It's so good to hold you again, sugar.”

Those words, that voice, made him relax into the bed. She was there again! He’d last imagined her when he was being tended to by those nuns, so it was only, what, a handful of days ago?

Wasn’t enough for him, he missed her so much.

“Dare, I want them all. Full stop, every last one.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I knew you’d say that.”

“As if you aren’t wantin’ to take at least a handful. All those kids with just an old woman to care for them…well, now she’s dead, but…” She sighed and held him tighter. “Lou reminds me of Enid. Don’t you think they look similar? M’sorry her name had to be Lou. A lot of things over here are making you homesick, ain’t they? And that poor boy in Maine, named TJ, too.”

He pulled her closer, doing his best to not wake himself up so Y/N would stay with him. He wished that kid, with same name as his oldest, has just gone back to his girlfriend like he'd told him to.

“Our own Louise lights a candle with me for you every day. Those nuns would be proud.”

He swore to himself that whenever these dreams happen, there’s got to be some way it isn’t just all in his head. It was way too real.

It felt so, so real.

But that Louise was lighting candles for him, he knew because Carol told him when she spoke to him briefly over the radio in Maine...

“Did Carol also mention that Lydia’s been drawing you? Or did I write part that in the letter?”

“The letter. Carol and I didn't have much time to say anything.” Y/N wrote him a long, long letter. One part mentioned how both Lydia and Glenn took to getting nightmares again after he left. At Maggie’s suggestion, Lydia had been drawing his picture. Apparently it helps her feel safer.

RJ had been 'retreating more than usual,' also. Adam was acting out, too, so she wrote. If Daryl was figuring it right, the boys losing another father figure probably hadn’t helped.

“Dare, he’s three. Three-year-olds don’t only act out with foster parents, Adam would be doin’ the same with Alden. And RJ is without Michonne right now. That's the greater culprit.”

His wife also wrote how Coco just started calling her ‘mama,’ and correcting her to say ‘auntie’ wasn’t working yet. She chalked it up to her being a motherly figure and the baby assuming all caring ladies were ‘mama.’ He wondered if Gabe knew yet. Ain’t like Y/N hasn’t been a mama to that little girl since Rosita died. Actually, nah, Gabe obviously knew; Y/N would’ve (legit) run to him immediately and told him what was up.

The faces of all their kids ran through his mind over and over, Lydia and Judith and RJ included. Then his wife’s face. Carl. Adam. Hershel. Gracie. Coco. Carol. Ezekiel. Maggie. Rosita. Aaron. Jesus. Jerry. Rick. Merle. T-Dog.

“Oo, I want to be here when T-Dog visits. Has he ever visited?” Y/N chirped.

He wished. “Once. I just think about him a lot.”

“Bummer. He must have been so thrilled when we actually did name our first after him, without you even tellin’ me nothing about how he’d teased you on it! Say, what about Uncle Jesse? Does he visit? He must’ve been happy TJ’s middle name is for him!”

He shook his head. You even visited me before I was smart enough to fall for you. When I fell down the ridge. It was you and Merle.

A sneezing from one of the kids in another part of the building resounded four times. It woke him briefly.

He closed his eyes, focused…

It was okay, Y/N was there. Daryl breathed a sigh of relief.

“I am a mite surprised you didn’t take the floor anyway,” Y/N admitted, peeking over his side to look at where the nun Isabelle was laying down next to him. “Or share with Laurent so the two sisters could share.”

“Neither of them trust me enough for me to share a room with the boy. And she sounded like she didn’t want me on the floor. Must be that I’m gettin’ too old." All I feel these days is tired and sore. "Hell, I don’t think I could get up if I slept on the floor.”

Angel, I ain’t the same without you, I’m a fucking mess. Look at the shit show that I’ve made of things.

His wife whispered, “Hey. You know I can hear that, I’m from your imagination.”

“Y/N, I miss you so fucking much.” Baby, I’m so goddamned far from you all and I don’t know how I’m gonna get out this time.

“No cusses in front of the kids, Daryl,” She cupped her belly, the one he was imagining she might have again. Carol, when she spoke to him, used what little time there was to mention how Y/N was avoiding taking a test because she missed him too much. Y/N didn’t say nothing about it in her letter she'd packed in there during one of his home visits.

How’s that for a reason to hate yourself?

“You should,” shot back another familiar voice. “Leaving your own kin, leaving your woman. Ain’t you learned nothing, boy? Didn’t think you was that much of a deadbeat but here’s proof the apple didn’t fall far from the tree."

Merle.

Damn, it’d been ages!

"Yup. Nanu nanu," his brother mocked, waving his metal stump and glaring. "Here you are, in the white flag capital of the world, surrounded by Euro kooks instead of your own blood.”

“Oh, Daryl, don’t imagine him as cruel again!" Y/N cooed. "Let us both love you if you’re gonna go about having us here.”

Daryl breathed slowly so he wouldn’t wake up. When he felt level enough, he answered, “I don’t have much control over what y’all say.”

“I thought you had some control over it.” Y/N gently pushed his hair off his face. He loved it when she did that. Delicately, she examined the new scar gracing his forehead.

“I blame that old coot what you let whup you on the head as to why you’re seeing things,” his brother crooned.

His wife nodded. “Another concussion, you poor man. But this isn’t a hallucination, it’s just a dream. It’s that good kind of dream where you’re not fully awake but not fully asleep.” She trailed her hand along his forearm.

“Y/N, you’re too good for this sad sack.”

She fired back faster than Daryl knew his imagination could go. “Merle. You love your brother to death and you’re happy he got hisself a wife and family.” Y/N had pushed herself up to sitting in order to scold him. “Tell me you don’t swell with pride seein’ him be a good father and good husband. The cycle stopped with him, and you’re proud of it.”

Daryl, a hand protectively around his wife’s side, was busy trying to figure out what Merle was even doing, whittling?

Ah, he was eating an peach with the knife attached to his metal stump.

Weird, he thought ghosts didn’t eat.

“Maybe I ain’t a real ghost, retard,” was a blunt comeback. “Maybe I’m just a poor copy you conjured up in that concussed little head of yours.” Merle then turned to Y/N. “As for you, kitten, he left you and your brats! Left you when you was up the duff, left you when you don’t even got all your legs no more! How’s he supposed to protect you when he’s out here?”

“Merle William Dixon! I ain’t ‘kitten’ and those ‘brats’ are your nieces and nephews, dick. Noah’s middle name is even for you, so you best watch your mouth, hear?”

Merle smirked and sliced off another wedge from the peach. “There’s my sister-in-law. I had to make sure your square self at least still had that fire in ya.” He offered her a slice, but she crossed her arms.

The expression on her face was so disappointed it made Daryl’s chest tug.

His brother duly inclined his head in apology and raised his hands in surrender. “You’re right, ma’am. Y’all are doing a good job on them brats. And this sumbitch ain’t nothing like our old man, so there’s something.” Merle chopped another piece of fruit. “And it’s always a pleasure to roll with a fellow amputee, Y/N. Not many can relate to how trippy the phantom limb bullshit can get.”

She tilted her head in agreement, rubbed the spot above her prosthetic calf, and settled back down next to her husband with a big sigh. “I do wish Daryl imagined you in a kinder light, Merle, but, either way, I’m happy he watched Mork & Mindy because it got him thinkin’ about you — and now you’re here for him!” Her hand grazed along her bump. “And, you meant to say to him that I was possibly pregnant.”

“Dunno about that, sister, you’ve always seem to know when you been knocked up.”

“That ain’t incorrect,” she confessed, curling in on herself. “Even if I was, it’s possible we had a loss again, Merle. Whether early or late this time.”

“Another reason he shouldn’t be screwin’ around out here.” Merle next words sliced him as if his heart were the peach in his hands. “I'm angry for your own good, lady. What if you had to handle another kid's death, this time on your own?”

The bad memories crashed down like waves threatening to drown him in grief and guilt. He wanted to pummel his brother in the hopes Merle would best him and make him pay for leaving her.

But Merle wasn't actually there. Neither was Y/N. It was pretend. Daryl was just beating himself up in his head, and failing even at that.

Y/N said the words as Daryl thought them: “Why are you twisting the knife?” She swallowed and covered her face with her hands. “Maybe, this mission is w-worth the sacrifice of, of us not havin’ him here right now.”

No. It’s not.

I know you said that before I left to make it hurt less, but it’s not. Listen to your stutter, you know it ain’t.

I should be back there with you, not constantly leaving for weeks at a time. I'm supposed to be home now. I'd told Carol when I reached her on the radio back in Maine that I'd be there in a about a week, which is what she would've told you. This whole thing is horseshit!

“Darlin’, think on happier things or you’ll upset yourself awake or into another nightmare,” Y/N soothed. "You almost woke from anger at Merle just there, which is really just anger at yourself." Her fingers laced into his where his hand rested on her belly. His wish was that his dream would include feeling the baby move. He loved that feeling. Except, he must’ve been waking up because his dream wasn’t letting him feel her hand or her belly very much when he tried. Still, it felt real enough. He’d take what he could get.

“Might could be fun to think back on how beautiful it was making them, if indeed we made another one.” She walked two fingers along his bicep. “Would’ve happened on or around the last night before you left. Or,” she mused, then started to giggle. At that moment, he could even imagine the vibrations of her laughter as if she were really, actually laying beside him. It felt so real! “I wouldn’t be surprised if made them on the day itself, that was soo — oh man, hold up!” She pulled away from him and eyed his crotch in suspicion. “No sex dreams allowed, there’s a bride of Christ in the room! Keep that thing down, deal?”

He almost laughed out loud, and possibly in real life. So long as he didn’t wake up, he didn’t care if he laughed in his sleep. The reactions, the tone, it was all just like his Y/N. And he could hope they had another kid. He’d take as many as came along.

Aw, shit, how far would she even be along, if this one made it? How long had he been away?

“Goddamn, y’all, is this some kinda kink you got?” Merle cut in. “Me and the penguin are still here, you perverts.”

“Oh hush, neither of us are actually here. Him and me aren’t doing nothin’, he just got a little aroused,” Y/N countered. “And to answer your question about another baby, Daryl, I reckon you’ll find out when you come back.” She shrugged. “Unless you reach us on a radio? Eugene is diligent about it, especially now.”

That was another thing she wrote in her letter. Eugene and his radio.

The helplessness crashed back down on him. “I’m tryin’ babe.” He didn’t want to start crying. The nun was next to him and he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop crying once he started.

Merle jeered, “Try harder, Darylina.”

He was right, Daryl needed to. He needed to try harder! What kind of washed out fuck-up was he?

“Sweetheart,” his wife called softly. Her hand caressed his cheek. It felt so, so real. “Margaret — a woman who knows the pain of losing a husband — trusted this to you because you survive. And I trusted you to go, because you’ve got the brains, the balls, and the grit. You don’t die or get bit, Daryl, no. You always come home.”

Bullshit. Not this time.

“Not bullshit. Yes, this time.” She looked to the window. “Merle, back me up.”

“Based on your track record, she’s right, little brother.”

“You may not believe you can or will,” she lifted herself up on her hands and leaned forward to kiss him. It had to have been real. It felt so, so real. But he was not about to open his eyes to see if by some miracle it was. “Despite how you feel right now, my bet is you will get that happy ending. It ain’t coincidence that Laurent said so just like our Judith did! How’s that for a reason to hope?”

Shit, he was about to break down. “Y/N, maybe I don’t deserve that. You saw the shit-show what got me here.” And there came the tears. “I left you, that’s all there is to this. I don’t deserve you.”

“Oh, that word.” Y/N wasn’t a fan of the word ‘deserve.’ “On that topic, what an honest prayer you said to bless the food! So many times you used ‘deserve,’ ugh, but,” she paused, “God loves honesty like that. Very, very much.”

She kissed his eyelids where the tears were starting to slip out, kissed the scar that never seemed to fade, then settled back against the side of his chest and curled one leg around him. With her hand, she rubbed comforting circles along his torso. “And He don’t punish or withhold, that’s just our fallen world. His hand is always out for you,” she murmured. “Say, how long do you think you can keep up with imaginin’ my theology?”

“Angel, I’m already at my limit. That’s why part of me thinks you’ve gotta be here somehow, some parts of this feel so real. Smart stuff like this ain’t in my head.”

“TJ and Georgia would call out your self-hate if they could hear you. You’d owe them a lot of quarters. Hm, and euros, seeing as you're here.”

His chest tugged at their names. “How are they?”

TJ, their oldest besides Lydia, had long hair like the little French kid here. Just one other thing that ripped at Daryl’s heartstrings to make him ache so bad for home it shocked him that he wasn’t bleeding out.

“They’re as good as gold and better. Just like their father.” That phrase he knew was from his memory because she’d said it before. “All of us miss you like crazy. Postal level.”

You shouldn’t.

“Daryl.” Her hand gripped his. There’s no way it wasn’t real. It felt so real. “When I was broken after Carl's death, and I claimed the same stuff — that you should leave me and TJ, that you needed someone better, that your life would be better if we weren’t a part of it — how much did it rip you up? ’Cause even if I hadn’t told you this before, you would have to understand how it’s tearing my insides to shreds hearin’ you think the same.”

Calm. He had to stay calm or he’d be alone again.

“I’m right,” he whispered.

“I have to disagree.”

“I —” his voice went up. He switched tactics and spoke to his brother. “Merle, talk some sense into her. I failed. This is it, this is—”

“—You did screw shit up like a royal turd, but your lady would rip my danglers off if I went along with your pretty little pity party.”

Believe it or not, the tough love helped. Felt genuine, as if Merle really was shouting some sense into him. It felt so real.

He caught his wife giving Merle an air high-five. “Thank you, Merle.”

In hindsight, Daryl figured it must’ve be because Merle, in Daryl’s imagination, had to raise his metal arm to return the five. He taunted Y/N, “You’re welcome, peg-leg.”

Dream or not, Daryl was fixing to bark, but his wife playfully kicked her own prosthetic and taunted back, “Love you, gimpy.”

His brother was smug. “Square.”

As if Y/N hadn’t heard that before.“Trailer trash.”

As if Merle hadn’t heard that before. “Goody-two shoes.”

“Two shoes? Ahem,” Y/N drawled as prim and proper as a southern belle. “Did we not just establish how I only require but one shoe these days?”

Merle slapped his thigh and cackled like a hyena and Daryl couldn’t help but do the same. Y/N joked about her missing calf like she got paid for it, pirate jokes to no end.

Daryl hadn’t felt this light in months, not even close to it since leaving home.

…And to think, it was all a lie.

All fake.

They weren’t really there. Not his wife, not his dead brother. It was all in his head.

“Oh, my sweet mangy hick. Enough moping and angst, enjoy the moment! Merle and I really did a fair job on our banter just there. And you never know, Merle could really be here, seein’ as he’s dead.”

“Y/N, I even miss bickering with ya, goddamn,” he breathed.

“It is one of our love languages. That reminds me — you’re doing great with the French, Dare!”

She can’t be serious. Or, rather, he himself can’t be serious. “Babe, I ain’t spoken a word of it. The letters don’t matter half the time. I swear, these people sound drunk.”

Merle snickered, “Hell, even I speak better French than him. Voulez vous coucher av—”

“—Well, I meant like when you used the dictionary to translate that conjugated verb.” Her voice had gone down when she said this and it sounded, well…how it usually sounded when she was turned on. “If I were there, the part where I’d push your suspenders off your shoulders would drive me wild…”

Stay calm or you’ll wake up, Daryl.

And you realllly don’t want to start a sex dream with some other chick in the room. A nun!

“Get a room, horndogs. The word was ‘conjugated,’ not ‘conjugal,’” Merle spat. “This is why you got all them kids.”

His wife made one of her signature huffs, but didn’t say nothing back to Merle. Into Daryl’s ear, she sympathized, “Being horny is so annoyin’.”

Ha. Blushing even in his dreams. Part of him wondered if he was cracking up in his sleep, too, but either way, it felt good. Felt real. It felt so, so real. “I don’t even know what ‘conjugated’ means, Y/N.”

“Yes you do, otherwise I wouldn’t say it. I’m a figment of your imagination, remember?” Aw man, why’d she have to nuzzle him in the crook of his neck? He loved it when she did that. Mmm, hot damn it felt so real… “And you know that you doin’ something like conjugating a verb in another language would be sexy to me.”

“I told y’all jackrabbits to keep your britches on. Now, Daryl: ‘conjugate’ is when you make the verb agree grammatically with the subject. You’ve heard that word before,” Merle explained. Seemed out of character. And the room looked strange, there was—it was another room now?

Daryl’s thoughts turned to when Y/N and Rosita would speak Spanish. Listening as Judith helped TJ and RJ with phonics. Watching Georgia sing to baby Louise that song Siddiq had taught her in, what language was it?

“Hey. Dummy,” Merle scoffed. “You’re driftin’ off, sweet boy. Gotta stay a teensy bit lucid if you want us here.”

So that’s why the room had just looked different. He’d been slipping.

“I still don’t get how this happens, which is why I think you’re actually here,” Daryl said to both of them. “Merle, you’re probably in…somewhere in-between.”

“What, I don’t get to be in heaven yet? Y/N, you hearin’ this uppity sumbitch?”

“He still has trouble believing in such things, Merle, especially lately. I prayed for your soul, so I got hope.”

“Thank you, sister.”

“Anytime.” Y/N looked up at Daryl and smiled. “Then what about me, dude? I ain’t dead, pinky promise. So, how is it that I come to be here?”

Yeah, he’ll be as sappy as he wants with his wife of ten years. “Maybe you’re dreamin’ about me, too.”

Merle’s kissy noises were interrupted by Daryl firmly telling him to get out after which Y/N smooched him harder than she’d had in his imagination since he’d left America. The smell of her, the sounds she made, the way she would lift her head so he could bury his face in her neck, it all felt so real.

It was when she ran her hand lower down his abdomen and almost reached his you-know-what that it all stopped cold. “Sorry! Aw, shoot — Merle! Get back in here, quick, we got carried away! Well, t-technically it was all you, Dare, but — just, please don’t get a stiffy with a nun in the room!”

“Someone should put that on a shirt,” his brother called.

“Ew, no, Merle! Good Moses, maybe I really should ought to be there if you’re startin’ to imagine messed up t-shirt slogans.” She was only teasing. “Ooh, but if I were really there I could meet little Sister Sylvie! So far, I like her.”

“I knew you would.” Daryl grinned. “The way she is with the boy, she reminds me of you.”

If only you were really here, angel.

Wait, no, I don’t want you here because you wouldn’t be safe. I need you safe.

She brought his hand to her lips. “I know what you meant, sugar.”

Unexpectedly, the nun shifted on the bed, nearly jolting him fully awake.

Slow breaths. Keep your eyes shut, do not open them!

He kept them shut tight and pictured where Y/N had been to try and keep her there.

“What am I, chopped pig’s feet?” Merle grunted.

Daryl relaxed. Merle was still there, and he got back the feeling of Y/N beside him.

“You know,” his wife considered. While she was still there, he was having trouble visualizing her. Was he still close to waking up? “That Sister Isabelle is willin’ to risk sharing a room with a strange American says a lot about how much she’ll give to protect the boy and the others here.”

“Still damn weird she didn’t just share a room, the three of ’em.”

“It is. It’s really weird.” Y/N rested her forehead on his chest. He felt the warmth of her breathing against him. If he focused really hard, he could just about imagine the feel her heartbeat, too. “Maybe she’s fixing to be the first line of defense, with all them other kids livin’ here.”

“Still weird,” he grunted. “Hey, where’d my—” He looked around in his imagination at the room. “Where’d my brother go?”

“Maybe he wanted another peach. Or, maybe you're too close to wakin’ up. Be careful, darling.”

He breathed slowly and kept his eyes locked shut. His frustration was growing. It had felt so real, why was it going away?

Calm. Stay calm so she’ll stay.

“It was also unusual,” Y/N thought, “how Sister Izzy—”

“—Sister Izzy?”

He imagined that her mouth would have twisted in embarrassment. “Yes, I’d probably definitely give her that nickname. You sure know how to portray me realistically.” She started again, “It’s unusual how she didn’t accommodate for your maybe-not-wantin’-to-be-seen-in-the-tub-by-a-nun. By anyone, for that matter. Although,” she reconsidered, “they were nurses who had to change your undies and cauterize your wound, weren’t they?” When he pictured her bottom lip beginning to tremble, he held her closer. “Oh, I hate that they all died but for two! What has this world come to? Why would those men kill them?”

That was something.

The dream got easier to maintain. He felt the curve of her waist. The rise and fall of her chest. It felt real again. It felt so, so real.

Relieved, he didn’t know what to say at first other than, “The water was cloudy enough.” When he was getting treated, bathed, doctored, how hard he wished it was Y/N doing it. Another thing that made him ache, watching them nuns give him medical attention when for the past 12 years it’d almost always been his wife.

He breathed out heavily. “Dunno, when she was in there, it wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“The habit can have that effect on some. The crucifixes and religious artworks hopefully brought some peace, too.”

“Habit?”

“Nun outfit.”

He tried to hold her even tighter. The way it felt more real than before encouraged him, got him nearly falling off his seat with excitement that he got her back!

Except, the excitement turned into panic that he might lose this moment because he was so happy, as fake as it was.

And it sent him over the edge. Just like that, he was awake. Very awake. And alone. No Y/N, no Merle.

He blinked as the room came into focus.

None of it was real. He’d, he'd known that.

And now he was awake. Lying on some flat, shitty, tiny bed, an ocean away, in a country full of people he didn’t understand, that had walkers who burned you when they touched you, and soldiers who shot up a convent full of nuns who patched up strangers and were only trying to keep a little boy safe.

He didn’t even have his ring anymore. All he had was a snippet on a voice recorder that told the world his name and how badly he'd fucked up.

Daryl turned onto his side, the pain from his burned arm screaming at him, but he didn’t give one flying fuck. Y/N wasn’t there anymore because his stupid ass had woken up! He’d earned the pain, he needed it, he deserved it.

Quietly, he thought to hell with it and let himself weep. He was so fucking done with all this bullshit.

He wanted Y/N back. He wanted his kids back. The fuck kind of brainless jackass was he, leaving them for so long, so much? And for what?

To "see what's out there?"

As if he'd find people who had a cure?

To bring Rick and Mich home? If Rick is even alive, if Michonne is alive.

To transport some creepy French boy to a group of weirdos grasping at the hope of some imaginary friend in the sky who damns them if they don’t do all the rules in the world that He’d let go to shit as a punishment or test?

Really, was Daryl that much of a guilt-ridden jerk-off to still say yes to whatever Maggie asks him to do? It’s a hopeless fu—

“Daryl, I love you so much. Please don’t blaspheme.”

“Y/N?” I thought you was gone. No, you were gone, I woke up! “You’re back?” Holy shit, thank you. Thank you! Thank you, Whoever's up there.

That small, shy smile melted all the ice he’d just had in his heart. “Try not to wake all the way again?”

He didn’t waste any more time blubbering like an idiot, he reached for her and held on. It was still a dream, so he had to be careful to not get too excited or do anything too stimulating. And, don’t worry, he wasn’t about to willingly get a hard-on when there was a nun next to him.

He just needed to have Y/N in his arms again so he could make it through the next 5 minutes without going insane!

For 12 years, she’d been there, loving him in one way or another. For 10 years they’d been husband and wife. Without her, without their kids there, in that strange, foreign place, he was losing himself so quick it brought him to his knees with shame.

Her lips pulled away for a moment. “I wouldn’t agree that you’re losing yourself. I watched Shaney lose himself, it looked different. Daryl, I’m serious,” she insisted. “Listen: did you not save that dad and daughter even after they robbed you?”

Big whoop. “You know what those guerrilla shits would’ve done to her." The same thing that got done to you. "And those assholes would prolly have made the old man watch and killed me regardless.”

“Yeah, but you also went back to try and save that gaggle of nuns from those jar-head pieces of shit, that’s got to count for somethin’.” Wait, that was Merle’s voice. He was back, too?

Daryl looked over at the window to see his brother there once more. Merle winked. “My baby brother, the hero. Stay zen if you’re fixing to keep us here, now. Keep hittin’ that sweet spot between dreamland and the real world.”

Y/N beamed at Merle before turning back to Daryl. “And did you not help those children get the medicine, Dare? Heck, now they got access to that whole castle full of supplies and it’s so much more secure. Um, m-minus the moat full of dead ones.”

“I lied to those kids out my ass, Y/N. Lied and didn’t give a damn.”

“And you ensured none of them got hurt, then promptly admitted the lie with what I’d call purity of heart.”

“I cut that boy’s mule loose without a second thought. You see that? He loved that thing.”

“Better than to have failed to back up the cart in time, which would have happened and would have gotten all five of y’all eaten. And it was almost fast enough to escape by the looks of it. One dead mule to the benefit of four living souls is a good outcome.”

“What’d my sister-in-law say earlier?” Merle asked. “Brains, balls, and grit? Not to sound all mushy gushy, but she’s right.”

The memories of falling into that moat of walkers seized him, made him start to panic again. No brains, no balls, he almost died right in there—

“—Baby, shh,” Y/N hushed. Her arms tightly wrapped around him the way she would when his nightmares hit bad. “You survived. No bites. No burns. Not even a broken bone, I don’t know how you managed it again.” Her lips, her chest, her hands pressed against him. It felt so, so real. “But you always seem to.” She kissed him. “You’ve got brains.” Another kiss. “Balls.” A deeper kiss. “And grit. And you’re alive, sweetheart. There’s always hope as long as your heart is still beating.”

“How will I get out of this?”

“You’ll find a way,” she said with confidence. “You simply don’t know what the way is yet.”

“What do I do about the nuns?”

“Help them keep Laurent safe, of course — if you choose to do so.”

I don’t want to.

“You don’t have to,” she assured him.

I want to go home.

“And you will,” she assured him once again.

I don’t want to help them. I don’t want to. I don’t fucking want to!

…God damn it. “But I should.”

“You ain’t obligated,” Y/N responded, but with hesitation that time. “It is up to you.”

Merle was the one to point out, “It’s that conscience of yours, kid. Sometimes you just can’t help but help. I’ve been watchin’ you these past, what is it, 11 years since I got my crusty white ass killed?” He chuckled to himself as he shaved off the final bit of peach before flicking the pit away. “Can’t be too mad at it when it roped you a fine piece of ass to squeeze at night and how many kids because of it?”

“Merle,” Y/N warned.

Daryl could feel his anger rising.

“What, ain’t you relieved I can’t call you ‘sweet little virgin’ no more, son?” Merle kept egging on.

“Daryl, this isn’t really him. Don’t get angry or we’ll both disapp—”

“—So, my thinking is, Daryl, that you just won’t be able to help yourself from bringing that little sissy boy to them nutjobs —”

“Shut up!” Daryl burst out — and opened his eyes in real time. Again? Is he that much of an idiot?

His pulse was pounding. Dread and self-loathing flooded his mind, how stupid could he be?

Immediately, he squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate hope to get his wife and brother back. He focused, focused, focused, prayed, pretended, focused…

“Daryl,” came her voice.

He could hear Y/N, but not see her. It was clear that it was all him forcing the memory of her voice back. It was all in his head.

“Why bother caring that it’s in your head, sugar? Breathe slowly and focus on the feel of my body against yours. I don’t wanna leave you."

“Y/N, I need to get back,” he panted. “I can use their help to do that. Those religious people, the Union of Hope or whoever, Isabelle says they got a good radio. I need that to get back home.”

“Well, there you go! I trust you.”

He reached up to tangle his fingers where her hair would be. His imagination wasn’t letting it happen, so he focused with gratefulness that at least he could still hear her.

“Just don’t abuse their trust, and you’ll be alright,” she softly pleaded.

Don’t break their trust? “Angel, you don’t know what I did to end up in this mess.”

Of all the ways he could have daydreamed her reacting, it was that her laughter filled the room. “For the last time, my mangy hick, I am a figment of your imagination and quite literally know everythin’ inside that brain of yours. And I still love you despite that ‘shit-show’ what landed you here.”

He brought to mind the color of her eyes, wanting, wanting, begging for a miracle that would make her truly there with him so he could stare into them all night. “What would you say if I asked ‘that if I don’t find nothing, what good am I?’”

“Y/N, you can blame our raising for that shit right there,” his brother commented.

“You poor boys. Broken people sometimes make for broken kids.”

Gently, he started to perceive the way she would rub her cheek against his chest when she’d lay down with him. “Daryl? If I were here, I’d say things to try and make it stick in your head that your worth ain’t dependent on what you can offer.”

“What does it depend on, then?”

“Careful, you’re treading into religious waters now, and I ain’t sure you’ve got the bandwidth tonight. But God is involved,” she hinted.

This mess was hopeless, wasn’t it? No winning, no out, no happy ending.

“Angel, I can’t come home empty-handed.” He squeezed his eyes tighter and willed himself to not lose his cool yet again. “I can’t come home with no Rick or Michonne, no cure, no nothin’ but a burn, more nightmares, and more lives on my conscience.”

“You can,” she answered simply. “It ain’t all on you. No — please, don’t get any more upset or you’ll wake up again! Daryl, I’ve already slipped so far away!” He heard his wife begin to cry, but the sound went further and further from him. All he could see were the backs of his eyelids.

Still, he held on as best he could. “Please stay here, angel.”

“I-I would, sweetheart.”

“When I’m back, I won’t even want to leave the walls to hunt if it would mean not being next to you, d’you know that?”

“Let someone else hunt. You’ve done enough to last a lifetime.” Her voice was hoarse the way it had been when she’d said those same words to him about a year and a half ago. “More than enough. Oh Daryl, I’m so sorry we’re going.”

“Not yet, angel, please don’t!”

“Use all those things makin’ you homesick as reasons to hope. Do it for me, sugar. Get yourself home again. Don’t die, don’t get bit.”

“I won’t. I’ll get back to you. Tell the kids I love ’em?”

There was silence.

Stillness.

Daryl lay there, accepting that he couldn’t feel Y/N next to him anymore.

His throat tightened. “Angel?”

He doesn’t know why he bothered. She was gone, he knew it. He ran his finger where his ring should’ve been, if he hadn’t lost it.

“Angel,” he tried again.

Silence.

“Babe, please. Please.”

Silence.

“Y/N, please, one more time, angel.”

Silence.

The pain in him was hollow and cold.

Feeling small and helpless, he lifted his arms above his head and held back a wail of despair. He closed his eyes again and, in his head, he cried out in desperation, “Merle?”

At first, there was no answer. He hadn't expected one. Why should he?

But then he heard a quiet, low, “I’m still here.”

Merle spoke slowly and heavily, almost as if it hurt him to admit it. “I don’t think she’s gonna come back tonight, Daryl. You’ve already fallen out a few times. I ain’t gonna be here much longer, neither. You know that.”

Any strength he had left seeped out like a stab wound, leaving him crying like a child. “I can’t see you anymore.”

“I know, little brother.”

“It felt so real.”

“It sure as hell did. I think you needed it, even if it hurts like a bitch now.”

It had felt so, so real!

But it wasn’t. “I’m alone,” he choked out.

“Nothin’ you can’t handle.” For a moment Daryl could make out his brother’s face again. “You’re a tough sumbitch, so I’d advise you act like it. Quit blubberin’ like a baby and wipe the snot out your nose.”

Daryl sniffed and tried to get a grip.

“Good.” Merle’s voice began to echo. He was almost gone, too. “Now listen here: don’t die, don’t get bit. Get your ass back where you belong.”

The room came into view.

The echoing stopped.

The hollow, cold pain he’d felt at knowing they were gone there turned sharp and hot. Turns out, it was actually the throbbing in his arm. Daryl really had turned onto his side, which positioned his burned arm underneath him. He strained to get off it and flip onto his back.

You know what? The pain from his burned arm didn’t hold a candle to the ache in his chest.

Were those tears on his face, too? Guess he must’ve started crying for real in his sleep. Made sense considering how real it all felt. It all felt so real.

If only his pulse would stop racing, he felt sick.

He was getting damned old.

Instinctively, he tried to fiddle with his wedding band, which is when he recalled yet again how he’d lost it. Only a faint tan line remained.

He closed his eyes, exhausted, and chewed at his lip. Another tear or two escaped and ran hot down his cheek.

A strange part of him wished he hadn’t lied to Laurent about having a wife and family back home. At the time he said it so it wouldn't hurt as much, but…

“You deserve a happy ending, too,” the kid had told him. Just like his Judith had, when she saw how low and unworthy he begun to feel. She told her auntie Y/N, too, of course, not that his wife wasn’t unaware of how twisted his head had gotten into thinking he was no good. It didn’t feel twisted to him, it felt honest. He didn’t deserve them. They were too good.

His wife’s words to him played again in his mind. He may have just been making all that shit up in his brain, but he was only remembering a mix of real things that she’d told him before, over and over in the hopes his stupid ass would accept it one day.

“Despite how you feel right now, my vote is you will get that happy ending. It ain’t coincidence that Laurent said so just like our Judith did! How’s that for a reason to hope?”

He did need a reason. It was getting harder and harder to hold onto hope. Any hope.

So, maybe, a weird kid with long hair like TJ’s who drew a picture of some washed-up bum on a beach three weeks before Daryl showed up was reason enough to hope. He could grasp onto that.

If it would get him home, hell yeah, he could do that.

How the same weird kid told him what his niece had and what his wife had could be reason enough, too. He could grasp onto that as well, if it would get him home. He could do that for them.

Daryl ran his hand in slow, gentle circles along his stomach like Y/N would. Maybe he’d been doing this in his dream, which is why it felt so real.

It had all felt so, so real.

------------------------------------------

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[dvrylgal]

⋆༺𓆩 kehetu: chapter two 𓆪༻⋆

synopsis: the camp gets overrun thanks to the new sheriff in town... and you and daryl come to a shaky agreement over a newly infected member of the group.

cw: canon typical violence, gore, profanity, mature themes, cannibalism (zombies), zombies (obviously), racism (Merle), reader is black, reader is from jersey, reader is a mechanic, reader was raised native (ish), reader's a bit of an atheist

"Pass the goose, please," Sophia asked, politely.

"Here you go," Carol doted, plopping some more onto her plate.

"Man o' man, that's good," Shane nodded, approvingly. "Whew, I missed this."

"(y/n), this goose is delicious," Dale commended, taking a large bite of some breast meat. "I don't know how you do it."

"That's what I'm sayin'," Jacqui agreed, letting out a grunt of satisfaction as she licked her fingers. "Never woulda touched this stuff in the real world. But this is one of the best things I've ever eaten. How do you do it?"

You faintly grinned into the mouth of your beer bottle, taking a quick swig before putting it back down.

"Watch a few things, pick up a few tricks," you shrugged, adjusting the fire with your crowbar.

"Y'know, I've gotta ask you. It's been driving me crazy," Morales piped up, staring at your neck.

"What?" you asked, cocking a brow.

"That cross," he pointed.

You sat up a little straighter, fingers rising instinctively to fiddle with the golden chain.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Not to mean any disrespect... but you don't really come off as the religious type," he elaborated. "You Christian?"

"I've wondered this myself," Jacqui agreed.

You shook your head, leaning back. "No... m'not."

"Catholic?" Morales tried again.

"Nope."

"Orthodox?" Andrea chirped.

"Not the right cross for that," Dale corrected.

"No... m'not anything," you denied, glancing down at the ground. "S'just a necklace."

"Oh, come on," Morales scoffed with a chuckle. "It's gotta be something for you to be wearing it if you're not religious."

"Honey..." Miranda whispered. "Why don't we leave it be?"

"Memento?"

"Family member's?"

"Just thought it was pretty?"

"S'a gift..." you stated, carefully twisting it between your fingertips. "From Sister Martha."

At that, the group went silent, the crackle of the fire filling the empty, slightly uncomfortable space.

"When I was a kid, I ran with a bad crowd. Was always gettin' into shit with the cops, or gettin' in trouble at school... After a while, my folks got fed up. Sent me up the river to a boardin' school called Saint Eloise's... for wayward girls."

Glancing into the fire, you let out a dry chuckle, allowing the kindly face of your supervising nun to drift through your mind.

"You can guess my behavior didn't change much... and I made it about a solid year before they were ready to kick me out, too... But there was one woman that didn't give up on me."

Lifting up your cross, you looked at it proudly, swiping a reverent thumb over its face.

"She gave me this right before I left... said God would be with me and all that junk... But since then, I haven't had the heart to take it off."

Allowing silence to settle once again, you lifted your head, expecting to be met with judgmental looks.

But to your surprise, they were all filled with warmth and understanding.

"That's... sweet," Andrea smiled, kindly, just like a certain someone you knew. "Y'know, I think you're sweeter than you make yourself out to be."

You scoffed, letting out a stronger chuckle as you took another swig of your beer.

"Don't push it."

At that, the group broke out into laughter, amused.

"Hey!" Amy called, exiting the RV. "We're out of toilet paper?"

But as the others continued to joke, a walker emerged from the shadows, getting the jump on the poor girl and taking a large bite out of her forearm.

Taken by surprise, she let out a blood-curdling shriek, abruptly grabbing everyone's attention.

'Shit!'

The whole entire group screamed in terror, eyes widening as even more walkers began to appear, gnashing their teeth as the stalked forward.

Panic ripped through the camp like wildfire—bodies scrambling, children crying, tents tearing open.

Quickly, you snatched up your bow and quiver, slinging them over your shoulder before kicking up your crowbar and catching it.

"Lori, get him down!" Shane exclaimed, nodding to Carl as he aimed his shotgun.

She snatched him up without hesitation, and Shane fired, managing to take out two of them

While he defended the campfire, you ran to assist Amy, whacking out three biters on the way.

"No! No! Noo!" Andrea shrieked as she watched the undead devour her sister, taking chunks out of the young woman's throat and shoulder.

Rolling your lips, you wound up your swing, using your momentum to knock the walker's head clean off its neck.

But you didn't have time to celebrate, and allowed Andrea to rush to her sister's side as you ran off to assist the others.

Coming across a woman about to be snatched up, you quickly drew your revolver, shooting two out of the three biters in the head before stabbing the other.

"Thank you!" the woman sobbed, launching forward to cling to you.

"Don't thank me! Get to Shane and the others!" you barked, yanking her off and shoving her behind you as another five walkers emerged from the trees.

Running forward, you let out a traditional war whoop, charging toward them with murderous intent as you smashed in their faces.

It was a blood bath the way you tore through their numbers, ripping through them like a wild animal hellbent on its prey.

'Those fuckin' morons! That stupid wailin' car Glenn rode up here must've drove the biters north!'

"Everyone, work your way to the RV!" Shane shouted, his voice barely carrying over the screams of horror. "Morales! (y/n)! Work your way up here!"

"Fuckin' dammit!" you spat, taking out a walker's leg before drawing your revolver, shooting it in the face.

Working in tandem, you shifted to striking with your right and shooting with your left, the new efficiency allowing you to take out the undead quicker.

You were so preoccupied, you didn't even notice the rescue team that left for Merle had come back, guns blazing.

Instead, you focused on your own—and by your own, you meant yourself— continuing to slaughter all the surrounding corpses.

Letting out another war cry, you beat down three more walkers, now taking out your fury on the creatures.

It was all that new guy's fault...

The sheriff.

He rode in on his high horse—literally—walking around like his shit didn't stink and barking out orders like he was still a cop and this was still the real world.

And because of that people were dead.

People that wouldn't be coming back.

Oh, you were gonna tear him a goddamn new one...

As the dust settled, you finally allowed yourself to catch your breath, chest heaving as you looked down to realize you probably looked terrifying.

Dripping in walker blood... 

Crazed look in your eye... 

Crowbar drawn...

But you didn't give two shits.

What you did give a shit about, however, was the man in the sheriff's hat, standing among the other survivors in the dim light of the RV.

Rage flooded every cell in your body, and without hesitation, you stormed up the small hill, objective set in stone.

Nearly half your camp was gone.

Esteban. Clint. Maria.

Micheal. James. Louis.

Edna. Tucker. Ed.

They didn't deserve to die.

Not like this.

Materializing out of the darkness, you finally reached the group, winding up your arm as you approached Rick.

"(y/n)—"

You didn't let Dale finish his sentence, slamming your fist into Rick's cheek with a killer hook, sending the man straight to the ground.

"Whoa! Hey!"

"Whoa, whoa, come on!"

"Dad!"

"Rick!"

The men quickly scrambled to hold you back, despite your intense struggles.

"You fuckin' moron! It's barely been a goddamn day!" you shouted, completely livid. "A goddamn day since you fuckin' showed up!"

"Back up, (y/n)!" Shane barked, gun at the ready.

"None of this is on Rick!" Dale defended.

"Oh, yeah?! Who's bright idea was it to drive a wailin' sports car back to camp, eh?"

At that, the crowd went silent, but you pressed on.

"You've been survivin' for what? A few days? A week? And all of a sudden you think you know everything?" you spat. "People are dead! People that woulda survived had you not decided to play cop and cuff someone to a goddamn roof!"

You scoffed, incredulously, finally looking around to see that Merle wasn't even part of the surviving group.

"You didn't even bring the bastard back!"

"We got the guns..." T-Dog chimed.

"Yeah, with no one to use 'em! Now we got half the hands and twice the weight!"

You huffed, sharply shrugging off the hands of the others, before sizing up the sheriff with another glare.

His guilty expression only pissed you off more, and you knew you'd have to walk off soon before you got mad all over again.

"This blood's on your hands, officer... Your hands."

"Y'all can't be serious... Let that girl hamstring us?" Daryl scoffed, pointing at Andrea—who was still hunched over Amy's corpse. "The dead girl's a time bomb."

"What do you suggest?" Rick asked.

Daryl stepped forward, resting his crossbow on his shoulder.

"Take the shot," he made a shooting motion. "Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes at this distance."

"No," you denied, arms crossed over your chest.

"For God's sakes, let her be," Lori sighed, taking a seat on a stump.

Silently, Rick and Shane shared a look, before Daryl sucked his teeth and waved the rest of you off, leaving to assist the clean-up effort.

"C'mon, Jimbo, we got work to do."

At first light, you'd left to secure the perimeter, surveying the woods in every direction about half a kilometer out.

Luckily, there were only a few straggling walkers, which you dispatched of easily.

When you came back, it was around noon-time—if the sun was anything to go off of—and the camp was still hard at work mourning your dead.

Discreetly, you glanced at Andrea, a heavy feeling settling at the bottom of your chest.

Some... more than others.

"You reap what you sow!" Daryl suddenly barked, dropping another body in the human pile with Morales.

That pissed you off...

"Hey, do you ever shut the fuck up?!" you spat, brows furrowed as you turned toward him.

"Fuck you! Y'all left my brother for dead! You had this comin'!" he fired back.

"Fuck you! Your brother had it comin'!"

"Whatchu say to me?!"

"You heard me, asshole!"

"Hey, hey, hey! Cut it out, you two!" Shane ordered as you both began to charge for each other, he and Rick getting ready to hold you both back.

"A walker got him!" Jacqui exclaimed, stealing everyone's attention. "A walker bit Jim!"

At that, you and Daryl shared a look, him shifting a grip on his pickax and you drawing your hunting knife as you both moved toward the man.

"I'm okay... I'm ok—"

"Show it to us," Daryl ordered, nodding to the man's shirt.

Whipping around, Jim quickly picked up a shovel, holding it at the ready.

"Jim, put it down!" Shane exclaimed.

"Put it down, man!"

"Easy, Jim!"

"Grab him!"

Lunging forward, T-Dog grabbed his arms from behind, Daryl quickly moving to lift the man's shirt, where a bite mark sat nice and pretty on his stomach.

"I'm okay... I'm okay," Jim continued to mutter, seemingly more for himself than for you. "I'm okay... I'm okay... I'm okay."

Quickly, Shane and Rick pulled all the adults into a huddle, allowing Jim to sit next to the RV as you held a council deciding his fate.

"I say we put a pickax in his head," Daryl chimed, sharply. "An' the dead girl's, an' be done with it."

"S'that what you'd want if it were you?" Shane asked, raising a brow.

"Yeah, an' I'd thank ya while ya did it."

"Can't we just use a gun?" Carol asked, nervously.

"And have a repeat of last night?"

"I hate to say it—never thought I would—but I think Daryl's right," Dale sighed, somberly.

"I can make it quick," you suggested, genuinely. "Quick stab to the brain. He won't feel a thing. No need for a shot."

"Jim's not a monster," Rick stated, resting his hands on his hips. "Or some rabid dog."

"We're not suggesting—"

"He's sick. He's a sick man. We start down that road, where do we draw the line?"

"The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be," Daryl countered.

"What if we can get him help? I heard the C.D.C was workin' on a cure."

"Yeah, that was before the world went to shit," you scoffed.

"But what if it's still up and runnin'?"

"Man, that is a stretch right there," Shane shook his head.

"Why? If there's any government left, any structure at all, they'd protect the C.D.C at all costs, wouldn't they? I think it's our best shot. Shelter, protection—"

"Okay, Rick, you want those things, all right? I do, too, okay?" Shane sighed. "Now if they exist, they're at the army base. Fort Benning."

"That's a hundred miles in the opposite direction," Lori shook her head.

"That is right. But it's away from the Hot Zone. Now listen to me, if that place is operational, it'll be heavily armed. We'd be safe there."

"Military were on the front lines of this thing. They got overrun. We've all seen that," Rick denied. "The C.D.C is our best choice and Jim's only chance."

"You go lookin' for aspirin, do what you need to do," Daryl scoffed, turning around and running toward Jim, winding up his ax. "Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem!"

"Hey, hey, hey!"

Quickly, you moved to step in front of him, acting as a shield as Rick aimed his gun, stopping the man dead in his tracks.

"Look, asshole," you caved, arms outstretched to cover Jim at all angles. "I agree with ya. This problem's gotta be dealt with now... but this... is not the way."

Gazes meeting, you and Daryl exchanged another look, a flicker of something flashing behind his eyes.

"We can find another solution besides hackin' each other to pieces."

Calming down, his breath began to steady, his grip on the ax's handle loosening ever-so slightly.

"So just drop the weapon... and we'll figure out somethin' else."

He waited another moment, seeming to war with himself before finally letting out a frustrated huff, tossing the ax.

He grumbled, quickly swiping his nose before storming off.

"Whatever..."

[g00d--m0urning]

Unnamed Pt. 1 (Daryl Dixon x AFAB!reader)

Part two

This is my first time writing in a long ass time, so please, feel free to leave criticism.

word count: 3208

Summary: ex-cop!Reader's world is rocked thrice over when Daryl Dixon breaks up with them, they discover their pregnant and the world goes to shit in the span of a few months. A/N: this is gender neutral, no other pronouns but you/your used. Reader is obviously AFAB since they get pregnant. Also this first part is hella slow. Basically just getting background out of the way. No y/n used. (No smut, angst? IDFK)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being a cop whilst dating a criminal is… well, interesting, to say the least. And in both of your defenses, Daryl’s not, like, a murder or anything, just petty theft and trespassing and the occasional assault charge (they never go further than a slight fine, it’s a small town in Georgia, nobody gives two fucks). The problem is the eldest Dixon--Merle, the GD bane of your existence--the dumbass is constantly dragging Daryl into his shit (drugs, to be clear) and the youngest refuses to stop riding along with him. No matter how hard you try, therefore, it's a constant point in arguments; much like this one.

“You can tell him no!” you shout exasperatedly, for probably the millionth time tonight.

The ‘him’ in question is Merle Dixon, and the needed ‘no’ is Daryl refusing to ride along to one of his drug crusades. You weren’t even supposed to know about this run, Daryl kept that part of his life separate, per your request, keeping from having to turn either Dixon in, as your academy oath swore. However, the FBI had gotten wind of this trade--something about some cartel being included--and they started sniffing around in search of making a bust and you really didn’t need your boyfriend in federal prison for being associated with that.

“Nah, I can’t!” Daryl shouts right back, smacking his hand against the shitty, peeling folding table he calls a dining table.

This has been going on for probably almost an hour now; you push, he pulls and it just turns into a vicious circle. It had started as an earnest plea, asking him kindly not to go on this run and he just scoffed, continuing to scarf down the three-day-old leftovers you heated up. Now it’s this screaming match, one you’re both tired of. You go to open your mouth to ask why, but he raises a hand, cutting you off like he can read your mind (he can’t, you’ve just had this same argument so many times, you can predict the exact words to come out of each other’s mouth).

“He’s family, been there for me mah whole life,” he hasn’t, he’s been in and out of jail his whole life, but ok. “Least I can do ‘s be there for a simple run, done it a thousand times.”

You just groan in response, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pace, just trying to figure out what to say. How to change his mind. There’s a simple answer, you can’t; if there’s one thing you learnt almost immediately in this relationship is that once the Dixon mind is made up, it’s made up.

“What?” he barks, clearly annoyed by your annoyance.

“Nothing, D.” you mutter, shaking your head at this whole situation.

He huffs at that, knowing it’s not ‘nothing,’ but not wanting to know what it truly is, it’d just stoke the fire. Being the pouty baby he is, Daryl plops into a folding chair, the old hinges creaking at the intense weight add, crossing his arms over his chest. If you weren’t so mad, you’d find the scowl on his face and the way his muscles bulge attractive. A loaded silence falls over the two of you; the neighbor’s dog barks at something, presumably the car that can be heard driving across the old gravel road, a door slams, and cicadas chirp, having come back to enjoy the southern summer heat.

“You know what? No--” you set your hands on the table, putting a stop to your pacing as you look over at Daryl, something indiscernible clouding your face.

“What’re ya--” he starts, sitting up in the chair, cutting himself off as you butt in before he can finish.

“It’s not nothing, Dixon. This--” a quick gesture to the air between the two of you, “isn’t ‘nothing.’ You insisting on going on your idiot brother’s crusades isn’t ‘nothing.’ And I get that he’s family, I do, but you shouldn’t have to throw your life away to repay whatever debt you think you owe him for sticking around!”

You’re the one to get cut off this time, being silenced as he scoffs, abruptly standing up from his chair, anger evident on his face, maybe even a hint of betrayal if you looked real close.

“Fuck that’s supposed ta’ mean?” he asks, brows furrowing as he steps closer to you.

“What’s what supposed to mean?” you ask back, confused by his sudden reaction. You didn’t think you said anything wrong, just expressed a very correct opinion.

“Ya think ‘m throwing mah life away?--ain’t like I got much ahead of me, right? Not like you do, right?” he puts extra emphasis on that last right, rounding the table to stand in front of you.

Another constant topic brought up in arguments--him thinking he’s got no life ahead of him other than ending up dead or deadbeat like his parents and you, having been dealt a much better card of hands in life, having much more planned for you. No matter how much you tried to convince him he could do so much more than be a lackey for his shithead brother, he denies and you guys end up ignoring each other for days until one of you cracks.

“Well, newsflash, all of us ain’t got some shiny future waitin’ for us. Some of us got a life being a ‘lackey’ or whateva you said, fancy pants. And ‘m sorry if that ain’t good enough for ya.’” he states, invading your space inch by inch as he mocks your words.

“That’s not--that’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant!” you stammer, panic slowly beginning to boil beneath the anger. If you thought he, or his family situation, or anything about him, wasn’t good enough for him you wouldn’t have put in the almost two years being his friend and another two and a half dating his stubborn ass. He continues his encroachment until you’re toe to toe,

“Sure as hell sounded like it’s whatcha meant,” he snarls, rubbing at the scruff he has yet to shave before straightening his posture, looking away for a moment. He sucks at his teeth, huffing before he looks straight at you, something you can’t make out clouding his face, “I think you should leave.”

Your face falls, tears slowly welling in your eyes as the words leave his mouth. He’s not kidding, nor was it some sort of freudian slip, he wants you out. It seems different this time, too; not some enraged get out that gets resolved with rough make up sex, or the more tearful one that usually ends with sobbing in each other's arms.

This, this is different. He doesn’t look angry, there’s no tears clawing their way through his stubborn ducts, he’s just… blank. No emotion, other than that stubborn Dixon resolution. This feels like a breakup.

“Fine, I’ll leave.” you huff, taking in a shaky breath as you turn on your heel to make the short trek to the front door. Shoes are haphazardly shoved on, the tongue stuck under your foot and laces shoved in, and your phone and keys shoved into a pocket as you head out the door, slamming the screen door shut behind you.

You don’t bother looking back, not wanting to risk the tears falling, until you hear the broken door of the Dixon trailer jimmied shut. A few tears slip from your eyes, angrily swiping at the wet streaks before continuing down the ‘driveway’ to your car.

Maybe if you stayed inside another minute you could’ve seen the tears glassing over Daryl’s eyes. Or maybe if you stayed outside another minute you would’ve heard the sound of another hole being punched into the wall of the Dixon trailer that continues out of sight as you drive away.

A few days pass by, no contact between you two, letting each other cool down; at least you thought. It’s about a week before you try talking to him the first time, having stopped by the car shop he works at to bring him lunch (a BLT from the greasy dinner, the one next to the even greasier motel near the edge of town). The only response you got was a sideways glare before he huffed and returned to fixing the neighbor’s old pick up, leaving you to put his sandwich on his toolbox and walk back to the station.

Another three days pass before you try again, approaching him in the rundown bar, but again, he ignores you, turning away and slipping into the crowd Merle had gathered. You don’t want to be desperate, but you try calling him a few times, no response to all four calls. As a week turns to two and two to three, your attempts become less and less often.

Around week four is when you got the letter; your application to attend the new agent training for the FBI has been approved. Holy-fucking-shit. You read the letter over and over until the words turn to blurry specks you can no longer decipher and that’s when the nausea kicks in, heaving into the bushes by your mailbox. You write it off as stress sickness, between your breakup and now this; I mean, it’s a big deal, going from beat cop in bumfuck Georgia to a possible FBI agent in Virginia.

You wait on the decision, debating if you want to uproot the life you’ve set up here, getting sick a few more times in the process. You try calling Daryl after a few days of thinking to no avail as he doesn’t answer; that helps you make your decision, handing in your badge the next day and spending the last few days of the week packing your stuff into a u-haul.

You stand on the last step of your shitty porch, staring at the even shittier two room house you’ve called home for the last five years, tears welling in your eyes as you think back to the memories. They’re not all good, not all bad either, and the longer you stand there the more you regret your decision, so you wipe away the few tears that slipped down your cheeks and turn away.

Away from the house, down the step and down the uneven pavement you call a driveway and to your car. You open the door of your baby (a lovely ‘69 Chevy Impala you got from an old lady a few years back), taking one more look back before sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car: starting your new life.

Settling into your new apartment in Virginia wasn’t as hard as you thought it was going to be; honestly it was a breeze. The whole move was a breath of fresh air, it's nice being in a city where you don’t have to worry about everyone knowing everything about you. The only bad part is you still feel like crap--physically, not mentally, or not really--you’ll have to find a doctor soon anyway, the FBI academy requires your health records and you do not remember the last time you had your shots.

It’s about a week before the academy starts, so you decide it’s time to get to the hospital and get everything checked out. The doctor you booked with seems nice enough when you get there, going through a routine checkup: reflexes, blood pressure, weight, shot records and updates, all that lovely medical stuff.

“So, dear, I’m all done, unless you have any concerns of your own?” the doctor asks, tapping a manicured nail against her desktop as she looks up at you through thin framed glasses.

“Uh, yeah, actually, these past few weeks I’ve felt pretty nauseous. I don’t think it’s anything, just the stress from my move and all, but I wanted to make sure before I started work.” you tell her, a faint blush painting your cheeks under her gaze; normally you could never admit something like that, not without it getting out and people forming all sorts of conspiracies.

“Hm… Well, you’re healthy as a horse, so you’re probably not sick. It most likely is the stress.” she tells you, standing up, her heels tapping as she moves in front of you, red painted lips pursing in a thin line, “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

“W-what? No. No, there’s absolutely no way I could be preg--” you stammer, trailing off as you think back to about two months ago. You and Daryl had been drunk off your asses, desperate, sloppy..

“Here, the bathrooms down the hall and to the left.” she hands you a pregnancy test with a chuckle, clearly oblivious to your inner panic. “And don’t worry, this kind of thing happens all the time.”

You have to hold back the urge to glare at her when you get up from the chair, annoying hospital paper crinkling beneath you. How can she just play this off like it’s nothing? It’s not nothing, you could be pregnant! This could fuck everything up, you can’t attend FBI academy whilst pregnant.

Squatting awkwardly over the toilet so you can piss on the stick while simultaneously managing not to miss the bowl, you hum to yourself as you actively avoid meeting your own gaze in the awkwardly placed full length mirror. You finish, quickly tossing the pee-stick into the sink and deal with the rest of your business before pacing the bathroom as you wait the longest three minutes of your life.

Your phone is in and out of your pocket, continually checking the time until three minutes have finally passed; thank god. You grab a paper towel, reach in the sink and grab the test, trying to find the courage to look at the results. Before you can psych yourself out you look, your heart sinking as you stare at the two pink lines glaring up at you.

You feel sick, you are sick, apparently; there’s a full ass human growing in you. As you gag over the toilet the doctor knocks on the door, slowly pushing it open. An apparent sympathetic expression reading her brows as she moves to gently rub your back. She sits with you until your stomach is emptied, the only thing falling into the toilet being tears.

“It’ll be ok, honey, it will. No matter what you decide.” she tells you as you both exit the bathroom, having spent a good ten minutes sitting on the floor dreading the future. You haven’t a clue what she means by ‘no matter what you decide’ until she passes you a pamphlet for an abortion clinic, offering you a pity smile as you leave the room.

The rest of the day is a blur, between swinging moods between rage and depression it’s hard to keep track of when what happened. You can’t go back to Georgia, you don’t want to go back to Georgia, but what’s going to happen? You know absolutely nobody and your plans have been utterly fucked. So, what? Get rid of the kid? Maybe? No. Maybe… No. Just get a job, raise a kid, yep, sure; this has to be the worst thing ever.

Surprisingly the next month of pregnancy isn’t horrible, you snagged a desk job at the local police department, and you’ve been setting roots down. The doctor--Lillian, you learn, the doctor from before--has been a big help, a friend, you’d consider her; she has a kid of her own with her wife and has been coaching you through your first trimester of growing an unnamed fetus growing within you.

You’re sitting pretty in your OB/GYN’s office, waiting for her to come in and do your four month ultrasound and tell you the gender, which you hope is some because if you have to listen to anymore of the incessant drone of the news anchor you might go insane.

Finally she walks in, all chipper smiles and pink gloves as she wheels the ultrasound machine in behind her. The gel is cold, making you hiss as it’s smeared across your stomach, the tech chuckling at the reaction.

“Do you have any names picked out yet?” she asks, getting the machine all kicked up and ready. She tuts playfully, as you shake your head no, waving a hand through the air. “Well, no pressure, I had a friend who didn’t pick a name until her kid was crowning.”

You cringe at that, finding it to be way too much information; if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that you’re getting a c-section. Natural birth seems scary as shit.

“Are you excited to find out the gender?” is the next question asked as she drags the transducer across your stomach, trying to pinpoint the child. You shake your head again, a ‘yes’ this time.

“Yeah, I am. I don’t have a preference, but I figured knowing the gender would take a little stress off, knowing what to buy and all.” you tell her, pulling a chuckle from both of you. She nods in agreement, cheering quietly as she finally finds the baby.

“In that case, I am happy to tell you that you are having a…” she moves the wand around a little more, squealing happily, seemingly having found the right angle, “girl, it’s a girl! Congrats!” she beams, reaching around to press the print button on the machine.

A sigh leaves your lips as you stare up at the black and white blob that is your baby; a baby girl apparently. Wow. You smile as she hands you the pictures, ‘Congratulations’ scrawled on the bottom of the film.

You can’t seem to find words as the doctor hands you a paper towel to wipe the excess gel off, her head wiggling as she celebrates on your behalf. She busies herself with cleaning everything up as you pull your pants pack on properly, ready to leave the room before something catches your attention.

There’s a red banner rolling at the bottom of the TV, words flashing ‘breaking news.’ You tap the doctor’s shoulder, asking her to turn the volume up on the TV. Her face falls at the sight, nodding as she clicks the volume up several notches.

“Breaking news, multiple reports of a virus outbreak have been recorded in the last several hours. There has been little comment from the government--Wait, one moment please,” is the only thing you manage to hear before a loud and annoying blare emits from the TV, “This is not a drill, I repeat this is not a drill,” and back to the news guy.

“This just in, cities are going on lockdown, soldiers invading hospitals and the government is advising everybody to stay in their homes. Do not try leaving your city, stay at home or indoors. There has been an outbreak. I repeat--” what the fuck? You listen to the spiel again, trying to wrap your head around what he’s saying.

A nurse rushes in, ushering you out of the room and out the front door, bidding you good luck. There’s already panic starting in the streets; people are flooding stores and cars jamming the streets.

You know how you said being pregnant was the worst thing ever? Scratch that.

[snowflakeanimelover]

Title: Change For The Better

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Relationship: Daryl Dixon x OC

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, child abuse, young Daryl and Merle, Flashbacks, loneliness, Katelyn’s kind of a creep, Daryl is a jerk

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Summary: The apocalypse was like a nightmare come true. No one had expected it to really come into reality, until the day the dead started walking around, feasting on human flesh. It was a sight no one could forget. And, frankly, it doesn’t seem to end.

It’s been two years since the virus took over the world, taking about half of the world's population along with it. Katelyn Davidson has been on her own practically the whole time. Due to past experiences, she is unable to bring herself into being in a survival group once more. However, that all seems to change when she runs into her childhood friend, Daryl Dixon.

Past trauma, memories, and conflict comes back to the surface between the two friends. Despite the world changing for the worse, maybe Katelyn and Daryl can change for the better.

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Note: so….i have never dealt with or met someone who has experienced abuse. I apologize if there is anything wrong related to that. No, there will not be any explicit abuse scenes…well, from her childhood anyway. Typical TWD violence will be in the story. I’m kind of just going off of things I’ve learned from movies, and might be looking things up here and there.

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Master list | …

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Chapter 1

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Katelyn stepped into the forest, the familiar crunch of leaves underfoot bringing her a sense of calm. At just ten years old, she often sought refuge among the tall trees, escaping the chaos at home. With each stride, the world's weight faded away, and the forest welcomed her like an old friend. She had wandered these trails before—sometimes as a retreat, to dream—and today, she was eager to discover the hidden wonders just beyond the next bend. This was her secret world, and adventure awaited her.

The nature around her was loud. The branches snapping under her feet, leaves crunching into pieces from her weight, birds chirping in the trees, and the branches groaning above her as the wind makes them dance. This was her peace. The home she had always wanted.

Katelyn always kept herself busy in the forest near her home. She was always by herself, making up games she could play, and running around the trees to entertain herself. It was calm and peaceful, and there was nothing to bother her.

As many times as she has been out here, she has never seen anyone else. Maybe a few animals here and there, such as squirrels or rabbits. Seeing the creatures was joyful for her. She enjoyed chasing them around, seeing if she could pet it or at least get a better look at it.

Today was a lucky day for her, she believes. While she hopped over logs with a big grin, her expression brightens when she catches sight of a white rabbit a few feet away from her. A breathy giggle leaves her lips as she hops down from the log she was standing on, trying to be as quiet as she could while approaching the small creature.

However, the rabbit perks up, noticing her coming close. In a panicked reaction, it quickly runs off, finding shelter to hide. Katelyn doesn’t let this get past her, though, and she chases right after it.

The trees are winding as she runs through them, jumping over roots and logs to not trip and avoiding branches that hang low. She hadn’t run far from the spot she noticed the rabbit. The creature was quick, but she managed to keep her eye on it, following it through the quiet forest.

As soon as she ducks a branch to follow it further, she suddenly stops. Her happy grin falls at the sight before her, a tall boy standing there. He had wild brown hair that stuck up in all sorts of directions, with cautious blue eyes staring back at her. Katelyn shifts from one foot to the other, completely forgetting about the white rabbit that most likely got away, and begins to fidget with her hands. She has never met this boy before. He’s a little taller than her, maybe a little older. His clothes consist of a brown and black flannel, unbuttoned to show a stained dark grey shirt underneath. His jeans were loose, dirty and unkempt.

She didn’t know what to do. She doesn’t talk to people much, especially ones around her age. At school, she often keeps to herself, and her classmates like to keep their distance with her. “….Hi…” she finally murmurs, trying to gather as much courage as she could to speak to the boy.

The boy, however, looks rather annoyed by her presence. She hadn’t noticed before, but he had a couple sticks and a bundle of wire in his hands. “Who the hell are you?” He grumbles, his glare full of curiosity and caution.

Katelyn instinctively blinks at the curse word, remembering how often her parents use them around her in a fit of rage. She didn’t visibly flinch, but it certainly made her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, hanging her head. Is he mad at her? Did she do anything to make him feel that way?

A scoff leaves his lips as he takes a step back, half turning away to leave. “Go home. Ain’t nothin’ ‘round here for yah.”

She doesn’t say anything as she looks up, watching him walk away, deeper into the forest. His shabby shoes shuffled through the dead leaves, causing small sticks to snap under his weight in his path.

The one thing Katelyn knew, at this very moment, is that she didn’t want to go home. Not now, anyway. She still had time before her parents would even notice she’s gone. So, she takes it upon herself to follow the boy. She kept her distance, but she was too curious not to keep him in her sights. Why was he there, in the forest? Did he live nearby? She has never seen him in this area before, nor anyone, for that matter. What was he up to?

Katelyn seemed to have gotten away with following him for a little bit longer. He never looked back to see if she was there, assuming he doesn’t even know she’s following. Soon enough, the boy stops walking, putting one knee on the ground as he looks around the area. She watches as he grabs a sapling tree near him. He begins to pull on the tree, making it bend down to where he can tie some of the wire at the end.

She was perplexed by what he was doing. She has never seen anything like it, quite curious to what he was making. When he stands back up, some sort of contraption is made. The tree is bent downwards against its will, held in that place by a wire that was attached to two carved sticks in the ground. The wire soon ends in a large loop, resting on the ground.

Katelyn doesn’t notice he has a knife until he stuffs it in his back pocket. A pocket knife, Katelyn could guess. Just as she’s ready to follow him some more, The boy turns around, his eyes meeting hers. This time, his expression holds more irritation than annoyance. “What the hell are yah doin’, huh? I said go home!” He snaps, flicking his wrist at her to point somewhere behind her, a gesture for her to leave. “Quit followin’ me ‘round…” he then murmurs under his breath, turning back around to leave.

Before he can leave, though, they hear a set of heavy footsteps coming their way. “Alright, little brother,” a raspy voice with a heavy southern accent grabs their attention. Katelyn could see a figure approaching, a taller man in about the same kind of clothing as the boy. He’s skinny and looks to be in his late teens. “Got some snares up an’ runnin’?” He asks, stopping his tracks once he’s by the boy.

The boy doesn’t respond, simply looking up at his older brother, as if that was enough to get him to notice the girl following him. His brother doesn’t seem to notice. He looks around, seeing the snare that was set up, but his eyes soon move up to the small figure behind it. *A girl*.

“Now would you look at that,” he grins, looking down at his little brother as he pats him on the shoulder. “Found yerself a little girlfriend, huh?” He snickers.

The boy visibly grimaces at that, and shakes his head. “Shut up, Merle! Ran into her earlier, an’ she’s been followin’ me ‘round since.” He practically scowls at her when he looks her way.

“Ah, don’ get yer panties in a twist,” Merle chuckles, stepping around his brother to approach the girl. “You lost there, girl?”

Katelyn cautiously steps back as he approaches, a memory of her father stepping up to her like that, angry, flashes in her mind.

“Now, now,” Merle starts, noticing her rising fear. He slows his steps, eventually kneeling down to her height about two feet away. “I ain’t gonna hurt yah.” He sits there for a moment, seeing as she hasn’t run off yet. “You from ‘round here?”

Her green orbs study him, taking a moment to answer his question. She soon nods, a little too shy to speak.

Merle nods, satisfied that she answered. “Why don’t you run on home now, huh?” A friendly grin quirks up. “An’ keep what yah saw to yerself.”

She fidgets, her fingers playing with the end of her shirt. Once again, she nods, keeping his words to heart as she turns and runs off to where she came.

“She’s gonna tell someone,” Daryl says once the girl was out of their sight, giving his older brother a worried look.

Merle huffs as he pushes himself off of the ground, turning back to the boy. “She ain’t gonna tell no one,” he reassures, patting Daryl’s back a little more roughly then he intended as he walks by. “Now come on. Got a couple more snares to put up.”

The fact of meeting a new person was intriguing to Katelyn. Maybe it’s because she’s always alone, but either way, she couldn’t help but to follow the two males she met in the forest. The day after she met them, she had returned to the cover of trees to see if they were there. She ran all over, seeing if she could see anything that wasn’t just foliage and animals. When she did run into the younger boy again, this time, she was more cautious. She stayed a distance away, simply following him around as he undid all of the snares he and his brother put up.

Katelyn told herself that following him was just wrong. It didn’t look right, and it might even make them suspicious of her. However, she couldn’t bring herself to greet the boy or speak up. She was….scared. She has always had trouble making friends.

Her constant following went on for a few weeks. She would run to the same forest whenever she could to look for them, see what they were up to. And everyday, she always wondered if she’ll get to finally speak up to them.

However…she never could. Katelyn always got too scared, too nervous to make the move to make a friend. Over the few weeks, she had heard the brothers talk. She had always wondered why the older one told her to keep quiet about what they were doing, or that they were there. It’s because they don’t live in this area, and were illegally hunting on private property. The good thing to do was to go tell her parents, but….she knew her parents wouldn’t believe a word she says. Despite that, she was intrigued by them, and didn’t want them to go.

The sun beating down on the forest gave the dense forest life. Katelyn found the sun shining through the trees to be a beautiful sight. She’d often sit on a log, hold her rabbit stuffed animal, and watch the forest before her. She’d watch it move, come to life. The wind makes the trees and grass dance and the animals pass by on their journey of survival.

Today, however, Katelyn wasn’t admiring nature. Instead, she was following the younger brother from a distance, as usual. Everytime she came out here, she’d tell herself she’d finally go up to him, which she found out his name is Daryl, And talk to him. She wanted to be friends. She wanted to learn what he’s doing.

When Katelyn started following Daryl around the forest, she noticed he was alone again. His older brother was probably off doing his own routine or something. As she followed him, she noticed he’s a pretty quiet kid. He hardly ever spoke, unless spoken to. Although, so,times, he’d speak out about his opinions to his brother when needed.

Before Katelyn could continue to scold herself for not making a move, Daryl suddenly runs off. His steps were hurried, and she practically jumped at his quick action. Why did he run? Did he see something scary? Did something spook him? The action must have been contagious, as Katelyn finds herself chasing right after him. She didn’t want to lose sight of him, scared that if there was something chasing them, she’d have him there to protect her…right?

Just as she rounds a tree, where she last saw Daryl disappear behind, her path is abruptly stopped. Katelyn hadn’t processed the impact her body received from whatever she ran into, and she yelps in pain when she falls back onto the dirty ground.

Katelyn lets out gasps of hair from her overworked lungs, craning her head back to see what she ran into. To her surprise, it was the boy she has been following for the past few weeks.

Oh no, he saw her! What kind of excuse could she make?

She doesn’t get a chance to speak, though, when she notices Daryl’s harsh snarl. “I told yah to stop followin’ me!” He yells at her, teeth bared and shoulders stiff. “Yer such a creep! You don’t think I didn’t notice?”

Katelyn’s breaths instinctively quicken, watching as he steps closer, his hand moving around as he points at her angrily. She could feel her cheeks burn in embarrassment, and her eyes beginning to burn as tears unwillingly swell up.

“Yah got nothin’ better to do? Go to yer parents! Play with them, huh? You got friends, don’tcha?” He continues, each word being spat out with such irritation and force, she could feel the spit sprinkle on her skin. “Quit botherin’ me! It ain’t any of yer business what we do here—“ Daryl’s rant comes to a stop before he could finish, suddenly noticing what the girl before her was doing. He hadn’t noticed as he was trying to scare her off, but now, he does. Her body shook, trembled, as she had her knees up to her chest and her arms covering her head.

“P-Please don’t hurt me,” she hiccups, sobbing in fear.

Daryl didn’t have to ask why the hell she was so freaked out. He knows this. He knows, just by looking at her, what this meant.

She’s been abused.

He now realizes that his harsh words and threatening movements must have been a trigger to her trauma, and she freaked out, thinking he’ll hurt her. That thought alone makes his hands clench into tight fists, feeling his nails dig into his skin.

Daryl knows exactly what she’s been through. And although he won’t say it out loud, seeing her so scared of him makes him feel…guilty. “I’m not…” He starts awkwardly, now more calm. He reminds himself to take a step back, give her space. “I’m not gonna hurt you…” he mutters. He had no idea how to comfort someone like her, how to comfort anyone in general.

When she doesn’t respond, still too in her head as she cries into her knees, Daryl huffs. He wasn’t any good at this. He knows his brother isn’t either. Daryl eventually lets out a sigh, hesitating before he moves. He cautiously steps up to her, slowly lowering himself to sit beside her. He wasn’t touching her, but he figured that sitting there, beside her, would be enough to show he wasn’t a threat.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but her cries had slowly quietened into soft sniffles. She slowly lifts up her head, her eyes puffy and red, nose runny. Daryl quickly looks away, not wanting her to catch him staring.

“You’re…not going to hurt me…?” She finally speaks, her words soft and fragile.

Daryl furrows his brows, a bit offended she’d think he would. “Nah,” he shakes his head, looking down at the ground he's sitting on. “‘Course not.”

The silence between them is stifling, almost suffocating. He hates awkward situations. The only person he’s actually comfortable with is his brother. He has no other friends. “I didn’t mean to scare yah…” Daryl says. He wasn’t necessarily apologizing, but it was good enough.

Katelyn sniffles loudly, rubbing her nose before she speaks. “I’m sorry…”

“For what?”

“For…um…” she hides her face in her arms that rested on her knees, too embarrassed to look at him. “For following you…?”

He snorts, the corner of his lips quirking up into a tiny smile of amusement. “Yeah? Why were yah doin’ it anyway?”

“I just…I was curious…”

“Curious about what?” He was starting to get a little irritated. The girl was slow, quiet, and beat around the bush.

“I don’t know,” she replies instantly in defense. “I’ve never had friends, okay? I…I wanted to ask if we could be friends…”

That was enough to make him officially look at her, giving her a raised brow in question. Be friends? Why in the world would she want to be friends with him? He’s anything but a normal kid, to say the least. Obviously she’s a little younger than him, but still…he doesn’t get it. What does she see in him?

“Friends?” He echoes incredulously. “We’re strangers. Yah know nothin’ ’bout me.” The only response she gives him is a simple shrug of her shoulders, shutting down on him. He stares at her for a moment, studying her now stoic expression.

Although the thought of being friends with her repulsed him, he felt that he couldn’t just leave her like this. She’s going through the same thing as him. He has his brother, who is hardly there half of the time. He doesn’t know who she has, but…clearly she would’ve been with them if she did have someone, instead of being out here in the forest all of the time by herself.

Daryl grunts as he pushes himself off of the ground, sticks and leaves sticking to his jeans, but he didn’t bother to brush them off. “Come on,” he huffs, walking in a certain direction.

Katelyn perks up, “where are we going?” She asks, curious. To her dismay, he doesn’t respond, continuing to walk further in the forest. She scrambles off of the ground, running to catch up to him.

For once in a long time, she’s smiling. Because, no matter how hard it is to read him, she feels that he has accepted her.

[pupsmailbox]

BIRD ID PACK

NAMES︰ adreinne. aero. alouette. altair. amaranth. aoife. arden. aria. arno. aster. astor. ava. avian. aviana. azure. baz. beckett. blackwell. blair. blythe. bram. branson. branwen. brielle. briggs. bromeliad. brooklyn. byrd. cale. callum. canary. cardinal. carlton. carmine. carrie. carrion. celadon. celeste. ceru. chaos. chirp. ciel. circe. citrine. claw. cobalt. collectoresse. collectorette. colm. corbett. corbin. corrie. corva. corvid. corvus. crane. crawford. creston. crosby. cross. crow. crown. dade. daya. dove. doverie. dovesse. draco. dracoonia. draven. echo. enda. ezio. falcon. feather. featheresse. featherette. featherine. finch. fletcher. gavin. hawk. heliconia. heron. hevea. hunter. jay. jaybird. jemima. jinx. jonah. jonas. kale. koko. krow. lark. lilith. lonan. lowen. luna. maggi. maggie. magpie. marigold. masie. mavis. melody. merle. merope. midnight. mimi. minnie. morticia. muru. nevermoresse. nevermorette. noir. noire. noiresse. noirette. nym. nyx. onyx. ophelia. orev. oriole. orpheus. ozul. paloma. phoenix. pigeon. poe. prophess. psitta. raven. ravenesse. ravenette. ravin. robin. sephora. sequoia. skye. songbird. sparrow. swan. taci. talon. torres. trinkesse. trinkette. tweety. valerie. vega. vera. volya. whistle. wing. wingesse. wingette. wren. zephyr. ákos.

PRONOUNS︰ adore/adore. ae/aer. ama/amazon. av/avi. beak/beak. bill/bill. bird/bird. black/black. ca/caw. cage/cage. caw/caw. chirp/chirp. chrip/chirp. chyr/chyr. claw/claw. cloud/cloud. collector/collector. coo/coo. corv/corv. corvid/corvid. corvus/corvid. cro/crow. crow/crow. dark/dark. dove/dove. echo/echo. fea/feather. feather/feather. finch/finch. flight/flight. float/float. flock/flock. fluff/fluff. fly/fly. fruit/fruit. grain/grain. hawk/hawk. hum/hum. hx/hxm. hy/hym. it/it. ix/ix. jay/jay. melody/melody. midni/midnight. mimic/mimic. murder/murder. myr/myr. nest/nest. nevermore/nevermore. night/night. owl/owl. parr/parrot. paw/paw. peck/peck. perch/perch. plume/plume. proph/prophecy. raven/raven. reincarn/reincarnation. river/river. robin/robin. seed/seed. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sing/sing. sky/sky. soa/soar. soar/soar. song/song. spar/sparrow. star/star. swan/swan. talon/talon. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. trill/trill. trinket/trinket. tweet/tweet. ve/ve. whistle/whistle. wing/wing. 🐔. 🐣. 🐤. 🐦. 🐦‍⬛. 🐧. 🕊. 🕊️. 🖤. 🗑️. 🦃. 🦅. 🦆. 🦉. 🦚. 🦜. 🦢.

[banquetwriter]

Paring: Season1!Daryl Dixion x (implied) fem!reader

Word Count: idk girlies 😔

Warning: shitty writing, use of y/n, death of animals, cannon typical violence, reader shoots a gun 🤑

A/N: hey hunny bunnies i have not written in 5 months and plus this was written on my phone however i wanted to make a fluffy slow burn with our fav red neck

part 2

support me

He was sharpening his knife. The repetitive scraping noise is what caught your attention. You let your fingers come to a slow on the bracelet.

You eyed his flexing muscles as he continued to scrape. He was very attractive. There weren't many singles in the group of survives by the quarry. Glenn, Shane, and Andrea were really the only ones that came to mind but, they weren't really your type. Daryl was.

It was almost shameful of you to admit how much you wanted to make him laugh or smile. It was silly. Especially when his brother Merle was just about the worst thing since Satan fell and hell opened up.

But you couldn't help your wandering eyes. You just couldn't. You really tried to keep your eyes and thoughts to yourself but it was difficult. Since you were also an able-bodied adult you were sent to scavenge, sometimes with Daryl.

Apparently letting your mind wander had caught the archer's attention. “What ‘r you staring at, girl?” he grunted out, his eyes narrow. Your eyes pulled up to meet his, slightly startled at his voice.

“Nothing Daryl sorry. Just got lost daydreaming,” you say with a small smile trying not to creep him out any. You look down trying to resume the jewelry. “Well quit your starin’,” he says walking off. “Yup. No problem,” you say, mostly to yourself as your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Realistically it wasn't a big deal, had it happened with Rick or Dale you would have laughed it off but no. It had to happen with Daryl.

You knew he was an ass but you couldn't help but feel like he had a softer side to him. But who are you kidding? He wouldn't save you. He didn't care about you.

You tried to push your sad feelings down and finish tying up the bracelet. You push up on your knees and walk over to the kids and Lori. “Here Sophia! You said you liked mine so I thought to make you one of your own,” you said handing her your creation.

Lori and Carol both smiled at each other as Sophia smiled picking it up in her hands. “Thank you, Ma’am!” Sophia chirps putting it on.

“Call me y/n honey, I ain't that old.” you laugh out placing your hand on her upper back. She smiles up at you showing off her new look. “That's mighty nice of y/n isn't it? Now back to math both of you.” Lori tuts smiling and the kids. You smile and walk away.

Hearing Carl asking to see her new bracelet. You walk up and to the main area with the campfire observing the hot sun that was just getting hotter. It had to have been around 11 am, rounds were going to be started soon.

You decide to get ready pushing your hair back and loading your gun, pressing the soft button for safety. You set it in its holster grabbing your knife from your tent. You step out adjusting your gear.

“Hey, we're paired up! We're leaving in 2 minutes. Hurry your ass up.” Daryl says his drawl showing. “Ok! Be right there!” you shout in an attempt to be nice.

You sigh rolling your eyes. Just because you like him does not mean he likes you.

You both set off just tracking the perimeter of the camp. Suddenly you both heard a twig snap. Your eyes meet his, he pushes his finger against his lips. You nod letting yourself slowly crouch down.

You both stayed silent, as another twig snapped. You pointed in the direction of the noise. He nods slowly tip-toeing towards the noise. Best case a rabbit your squirrel for dinner.

Worst case a walker or another person. Daryl holds his bow in front of him, your attempt to step forward is blocked by his arm going across your chest. You eye him. “Down!” he whispers, pushing down on your chest.

Without hesitation, you follow suit. Once again letting your knees fall.

It was a deer. An almost full-grown one too. You clasped your hand over your mouth, attempting to make no noise to not scare it away.

You watch as it nibbles away at the shrubbery. Your hand subconsciously falls on Daryl's arm, pulling him slightly closer. The creature was beautiful. But what was going to be even more beautiful was all the full bellies it would provide.

Daryl shoots an arrow in its stomach then its eye then another in the torso. The creature struggles for a second and then inevitably falls.

“Damn! Look at us, girl! We are gonna have ourselves some venison!” Daryl says with a giddy smile. Oh, and there goes your heart puttering away.

He just shot a fucking deer and your swooning over his smile. “Good job Daryl,” you say smiling, walking over to him and the food. He has an impressed smile, as he looks at you.

He would be a bald-faced liar if he said you were ugly. You were damn beautiful. Funny too. And annoyingly nice. You were nice to the kitties, to Dale, and to him. Hell, you were even nice to Merle, as long as he hadn't pissed you off that day.

You bent down plucking an arrow from the torso of the beast and handing it to him. “Thanks,” he grunts out nodding his head and pushing the arrow back into his sack. “Don't mention it,” you say with a smile.

To say everyone was happy with your catch was an understatement. This would feed the group for a good few days. More if they were able to get salt to preserve it.

“That was a real find y/n,” Dale says stepping behind you. “Sure but thank Daryl, he found and shot it,” you said pointing to the man currently dressing the animal. “Yeah and carried the damn thing back too,” he said nodding at you.

You playfully roll your eyes at him, striding over and sitting down next to him. “I offered to help carry it,” you said with a grin, picking up a knife and helping him. He rolled his eyes.

“Ain't no way I'm making a lady carry back a dead animal.” he shoots back with a contorted face.

The two of you continued to dress the animal taking all the useless bits away and prepping it to cook. You stayed mostly silent just observing the man in front of you and the group as they chatted about how excited they were for the meat Daryl (and you) caught.

You sat next to him again during dinner which was odd for both of you. You usually sat with the group chatting and giggling with everyone. Daryl sat off by himself maybe his brother would join him but even that was rare.

You munched on the meat which, even with little to no seasoning, was still one of the better meals you've had in a while. “God this beats squirrel any day of the week,” Daryl says with his almost all-eaten plate.

You chuckle at him, “Oh yeah. Nothing beats food before all this shit though. I miss normal food.” you mumble shoving more food in your mouth.

“Nah this is about what I did before too,” he said. “Huh, really? I guess you do strike me as the outdoorsy type,” you say wiping your mouth off.

“Yeah, and you peg me as the sissy city girl type,” he says with a grin. You feel a shocked expression. “Now wherever did you get such an idea?” you say with a faked Southern accent, placing your hand on your chest.

Daryl kicks a little pebble with his foot that disappears in the darkness outside of the firelight. You sit up pick up your plate and Daryls for no particular reason.

You figured it was the nice thing to do. You set the plates down in the dirty bin wiping your hands off. What you don't see is Daryl’s lingering eyes on you.

The moonlight mixed with the fire’s embers was creating a warm scene. If it was the end of the world you just might have been excited about it. You needed a walk. After checking to make sure your gun is still on you, your feet take you a ways from camp.

You hadn't told anyone that you left. Stupid idea. It was getting later, you needed to head back. You stop for a second admiring the forest scenery.

You turn around only to be met with a horrifying creature. A walker. Half of its face was gone, and flesh dripped off of the bone. You gasped stepping back. “Fuck.” you mutter as he grunts and lunges towards you.

All the moments you've been prepared for have flown out of the window. You step backward fiddling to find your gun. The creature continues its lumber at you.

You point the gun and press the trigger. The walker's head explodes on impact with the bullet. The sound rang throughout the quarry. You needed to get back to camp immediately.

Shane is gonna rip your head off. You started jogging back, every slight sound making you more and more paranoid. You run back into camp as everyone's eyes are on you.

“Where is Shane?” you ask as people flood up to you. “Where were you?” Lori asks in a scolding tone. You choose to ignore her. The implication of a walker being within walking distance of the camp was cause for concern they had never gotten that far before.

“Rick where is Shane?” you say moving close to him. “He went out after the shot, he and Daryl both did,” he says eyeing you up and down with a scowl.

“Fuck.” you mutter catching your breath your hands resting on your knees. “There was a walker not far from camp,” you say to the worried-looking crowd. Sophia clings to her mother, “It's ok honey.” she says with a worried face, embracing her daughter.

“Was that shot you?” Rick asks pointing his finger at your chest. “Yes, that was me. We have to be ready the shot could ring around the mountains and draw more of them here,” you say slamming your small handgun on the table.

“What makes you think there are more? Could have been a one-off.” Dale says stepping up. “We have never had a walker that close to us ever before in camp, food is getting scarce minus that deer Daryl shot today. I'm worried that they have finally moved on from the city,” you say packing more ammo.

Rick wipes his mouth and jaw. “Ok we need to fortify, Lori, Carol get the kids outta here,” he says. Carol nods holding Sophia close. “Rick you are not going out there,” Lori says through gritted teeth.

“We have a community to protect, we have a son to protect, I have to protect you,” he says to her pulling her close. Her eyes closed leaning into the hug. “Please be safe,” she mumbled against his chest before taking Carl off to a tent.

Glenn walks up to me and we both stare at Rick. “Glenn you stay here, keep everyone calm, and stand guard. Y/n you're coming with me, take me to the spot where the walker was.” Rick says picking up his gun.

“We can't wait until the morning?” Juan says stepping closer to you and Glenn. “You willing to sacrifice the life of your kids for that chance?” you ask. He steps back nodding his head no.

You take off after Rick, determination and fear flooding your veins.

[ossia-ombreggiata]

what a great sunny sunday surely i'll be able to go out for a walk, work on my academic projects or my cool fanfic ideas! < guy who is about to spend the whole day writing oswald struggling sobbing on it

[eggubato]

sorry for the lack of gilbert birthday art im too hyperfocused on his horrible divorced fathers rn

[twigg96]

Now Blow

Daddy! Daryl

Warnings: cute Daryl being a dad teaching his son (Beau) things,

POV: Daryl

Summary: Daryl takes Beau out on walks with him when he knows it’ll be safe. Today he took him on a little walk in the woods around Alexandria, showing him various things around the woods he himself had nearly forgotten about in this new world.

Daryl had taken Beau out for a little walk around Alexandria. His ever curious son pointed at the various flowers and plants in the forest vying for the knowledge his father had. “What’s that?” He asked running up and grasping ahold of the leaf of a long green leaf. “That’s a fern.” Daryl answered smiling as he kneeled beside Beau. “See the size of the leaves on the side. They soak up the sun to feed it.” Daryl muttered lowly, taking the frond in his fingers showing off the pinnules. "Wow..." Beau whispered with awe and fascination in his voice. "Daddy, what's that?" He asked pointing to a little red bug with black spots crawling on the tip of the fern. "A ladybug, silly. You've seen those before." Daryl chuckled as his son beamed, letting the bug crawl up on his finger gently. "I like them they tickle." Releasing the fern, Daryl stood, placing his hand on the back of Beau's head. "C'mon." He ushered leading his son home. The little ladybug opened its wings and flew off of Beau's finger. His bright blue eyes watching until he could no longer see it before he jumped up and skipped to stand beside his father.

Gravel crunched under their shoes as they walked. Beau's hand in Daryl's felt so tiny and as he scanned for walkers and any sign of others he didn't trust he felt his own hand tense around his son's. "Daddy." Beau, whined when Daryl felt him stop and reach for something they had passed. "Daddy, what's that?" he whined. Turning to look at what his toddler was pointing at he smiled. "That's a morning glory. It's a real pretty flower ain't it?" He asked kneeling down to look at the purple blooms. "These like ta grow up trees and houses in the shade. The flowers like to come out in the morning so it's nice we get ta see them." He hummed, smiling as Beau slipped his hand from his own to pluck a vibrant bloom. "That for yer Momma?" he whispered, watching Beau twirl the bloom in his fingers. His son nodded enthusiastically, reaching up and placing the flower in his father's hair behind his ear for now. "For both you and momma." He giggled, kissing Daryl's cheek. "Ah..." Daryl rolled his eyes but hugged his son close kissing the top of his head. "Thank you."

Carrying Beau on his hip he let his son stave off the offending bees that tried so desperately to get to the flower in his hair as they rounded into the field that lead back to home. "Daddy!" Beau's gasp, scared Daryl to his core. Twisting around he looked for the danger, his hand on his hip ready to defend his his son to the death if need be. But when faced with an open field, Daryl cocked his brow at Beau. But his son just giggled. "Do it again! Do it again!" He chirped, clinging to his father's neck wanting to be spun around once more. Daryl sighed. He knew he should correct Beau. He should teach him about the dangers of the world just as he had taught him about the flowers and the bugs earlier. But, Daryl knew more than anyone Beau was already well aware of the threat that loomed around every corner. That ever since he was small he heard the stories through hushed tones and seen the devastation the world could bring. Feeling how tight his son was hugging him. Simply being a kid. Daryl couldn't bare to tear him away from that... not now. So he spun. Feeling more like a character from a musical he was sure he watched with Merle and made fun of years before the turn, he didn't care. Beau's soulful laughter made all the difference in the world.

Collapsing dizzily into the field Daryl groaned. "Yer daddy's too old for that..." He moaned, holding his head. Beau's giggles continued to resonate through Daryl's soul as he cuddled up next to him. It wasn't long before the archer could feel Beau fidgeting under his arm. Never one to be still for very long. "Daddy... do you know what that is?!" Beau cried, wiggling out from under Daryl's grasp. Sitting up and doing his best to hold down the water and grain bar Carol made Daryl hummed in acknowledgment. "It's a Candyloin!" Daryl blinked the blurry dizziness away. "A wha'?" He muttered turning his head to his son holding up a white fuzzy flower he plucked straight out of the ground, roots and all. "a candyloin! It's made of cotton candy!" Beau said as a matter-of-fact before opening his mouth like a snake and popping the whole flower inside. Shit. Daryl couldn't even react or get a word in edge wise before Beau had acted. One minute Beau was holding the flower... next he's making the face of pure regret. Staring at his son Daryl bit his lip trying so hard not to laugh in his face. "Guessin’ it ain't candy?" He asked hiding his smile behind his hand. Beau whined, shaking his head. As the little boy scrunched his face and opened his mouth a white fluff poured from within. “Spit it out.” Daryl whispered, pulling Beau’s nasty backwash filled canteen from his side. The little blonde sputtered and spit white fluff everywhere swiping his tongue as he cried. “Wha’ wa’ dat?!” He wailed taking the water and instantly adding fluff to the mix as he tried to rinse his mouth out. “A dandelion. The white fluff is seeds.” Beau stared at Daryl as if he himself had placed the seeds on the flower. “I HATE SEEDS!” Beau wailed throwing the stem of the mangled flower to the ground as violently as he could muster. Daryl tried as he might couldn’t fight the laughter that rolled through him which only intensified as Beau glared at him with all the heat a toddler could give. “Daddy!” Beau wailed. “I know. I do too.” Daryl snorted, snatching Beau up in his arms. “C’mon let’s get ya home so Momma can clean ya up.”

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 35

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Cue my giddy snickering.

"So, what'd you do?" My Dad asks the prisoners, as we're eating breakfast in the courtyard the next morning. "Whose life you ruin?"

All the walker bodies have been dragged into a pile over by the dumpsters and burnt into nothing more than a few lumps of charcoal, leaving the courtyard as quiet as it's been since we got here. With the snarls and growls finally gone, I can hear birds chirping on the roofs of the cell blocks, the beautiful sound of silence beyond them. It might be the first time we've been completely sealed away from danger.

If Rick wasn't still inside with Lori, Carl, and the baby, I think he'd feel the same way.

"Nobody's but my own, man," Oscar chuckles dryly. He shakes his head, spooning some stewed corn and beans into his mouth, chewing absentmindedly. "There's nothing more to it than my people were poor as dirt. Got to be that I was dumb and desperate enough to steal from a Walmart. I should'a been handing my resume in, or something, but no. Sentenced three years over a pack of diapers."

I look up from my bowl to study the regret on his face, finding myself surprised. Shop-lifting diapers?

That wasn't what I thought he was in prison for at all.

"Sorry to hear that," Glenn says sympathetically, exactly my thoughts. "World wasn't exactly fair before all this, either."

"Me, I got caught with, y'know," Axel gestures vaguely, "Drugs and stuff. In my car. I was parked outside a police station, and I ain't had a home at the time. I think wanted to get locked up, if that makes sense. I'd been in and out a bunch of times. Only thing I knew."

"Sounds like someone I knew," Dad scoffs, and I know he's talking about my Uncle Merle. "The dumb bastard."

"So, you ain't, like," I frown at the prisoners in confusion, "Bad?"

Oscar laughs a little. "Not everybody who ends up in prison is bad, kid."

"I know that," I argue as I eat another spoonful of stew. "My Daddy was in prison, and he ain't bad. But some of 'em is."

"We ain't had the best track record when it comes to strangers," Maggie explains to them, putting it lightly. "Or even friends."

"Hey," He shrugs. "No offence taken. You gotta be careful out here."

"There were some seriously bad eggs in there, though," Axel agrees with me. "You bet'cha. Made life a livin' Hell for the rest of us."

Oscar looks at my Dad. "You're her Dad, right? You went to prison, too?"

"Arrendale State Prison," He nods, slurping up the stew in his bowl. "February of '04. I was released far before all this shit started."

"What crime?"

"Aggravated manslaughter."

Axel's eyes widen. "Damn, mister. I ain't sayin' you don't look the type, but I would'a thought you stole a car or somethin'."

Wiping his mouth, he smirks. "Who says I ain't did both?"

"Skills like those sound like they'd come in handy nowadays," Oscar says, "So, Hell. We ain't here to judge anyone in your group."

"You gotta stop saying, 'your group'," Maggie scolds him, smiling. "We got off on the wrong foot, but for all intents and purposes, there's only one group here. We ain't have to be best friends or anythin', and we'll be watchin' you, but you've proven yourselves."

"But I thought you said—...?"

Yesterday, we served 'em a death sentence by forcing them outta the gates — Today we're eating stew together. 

"Listen. There was a man named Shane," Glenn levels with them. "He was the first one. He was Rick's best friend for fifteen years and we all watched him go crazy without any power to stop it, until he tried kidnapping Harley. He was shot and beaten to death."

There's the loud, BANG, and the sound of my crying spilling out afterwards. That was one of the worst days of my life.

The prisoners share a glance with each other.

"The second man was Jim," He continues. "He didn't have the best interests of the group at heart and we kicked him out for that. And when we ran into him a few months later, we saw that hadn't changed. He threatened to ruin what we'd built. We hung him in a barn."

That one didn't make much sound at all — Barely a, snap.

"Your friends, Tomas and Andrew. And there were so many others. A group that took over a town near our old farm, people on the road, assholes, thieves. We've got good people here. We're family. But we haven't let our goodness make us idiots."

I'd almost forgotten the violence we'd committed over the past year, the deaths, a hundred little wounds scarred over with time.

Axel and Oscar remain silent as they stomach his words, the underlying threat there — We've killed better men for less.

Shane was Rick's right-hand man, a brother, and one of the most important people to the group, but even that couldn't save him in the end. Jim was a father, a resilient little weasel who worked harder than anybody else back at the quarry, and I saw him die, too. I saw all manner of men die. The prisoners risked their lives by leavin' this place, but they also risked them by comin' back to help us. They chose to do that. I'on know too much about what makes a trustworthy stranger, and I ain't even sure if such a thing exists, but I imagine it's a start. 

"Ya ain't idiots," Axel agrees, looking between Dad, Glenn, and Maggie with his honest eyes. "You can trust us."

Oscar puts on a reassuring smile. "We get it, man."

For two fellers who've just been threatened with torture and execution if they misbehave, they don't look so frightened.

I guess they don't plan on it, then.

"Good," Glenn slowly nods at their answers. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to you, by the way. You're welcome."

Axel's moustache skews to the side as he smiles. "Thank you, dudes."

"And it ain't just kiss-ass for a bowl of stew," Oscar warns us, gesturing with his spoon. "'Cause this shit tastes like ass."

"I'll let the chef know," Maggie jokes.

It looks like our group just got a little bit bigger.

"Go on, then." Dad juts his chin out in the direction of the cell block. "My guess is you ought'a get outta them scrubs if yer stayin'. Just ask for a lady, Carol — She can sort that out for ya. T-Dog's old stuff should fit ya, but I ain't so sure about Stringbean."

"'Stringbean'?" Axel complains, looking down at himself.

"Maybe you can find somethin' in Glenny's wardrobe," Maggie smiles, poking him in the ribs. "Ain't that right?"

"Hardy, har."

As they stand from the table with their empty bowls, Axel adds, "We really appreciate it. Thanks for not letting us die."

"Sure. Git," Dad grits, watching as they make their way back into the prison, before looking at me. "What'chu thinkin', chicken?"

Chewing my stew, I garble, "I gesh dey don't sheem sho bad."

"Nah, they don't," He agrees, reaching out with his spoon to clean the dribble off my chin. "You don't gotta worry about 'em, okay?"

I swallow as he pulls away, warning him, "But I'on think Mouse is a fan. He was growlin' at 'em."

"I'm sure they'll figure that out," Glenn reassures me, chuckling. "If that's the only problem they have, I'd say they got off lucky."

"Not if they screw this up, they won't," I exclaim, raising my spoon like a knife. "That happens, I'mma knife 'em in the knee!"

"Hey, and I'll let'cha," Dad jokes as he puts his hand over mine to lower the spoon. "But right now, I want'chu to finish all yer food."

"Okay, Dad."

Breakfast goes by slowly, like any good morning should.

The baby — Until the Grimes agree on a name, that's what I'll call her. The baby — loves to sleep.

I guess being born takes up just as much energy as giving birth, because Lori says until she's a few months old, this is all she'll do. I can't exactly play soccer with her right now, or even teach her to draw a picture, but I don't mind waiting. She's cute enough just like this, with her eyes closed, small tummy rising and falling with softs breaths as she dozes off in my arms, hopefully dreaming of something sweet.

What do babies dream of? Milk? Sheep, prancing in circles? They even got enough memories to form a nightmare, yet?

Watching on with a fond smile, Lori muses quietly, "I told you."

The baby makes a grunt, squirming around in the tightly swaddled blanket before she relaxes, content.

No. No nightmares.

Looking up at my Dad, I ask him, "Was I like this?"

A faint smirk tugs at his mouth, as if he's recalling a memory. "Nah, you was a fiend. Your Momma and I couldn't get'chu to sleep for nothin'. Had to pace around with you for hours on the porch just for a wink. Sing, hum. Let'chu listen to the rain, cars, birds."

"Sounds like she was a fussy one," Lori smiles, reaching out to stroke her thumb across the baby's smooth head.

"I ain't never met a baby who could pull an angry face quite like Harley could," He scoffs. "Had the temper of a stick of dynamite."

Under the weight of his tired gaze, Rick smirks a little. "So, not much has changed, then." 

Sticking my tongue out at them both, I look back down at the baby, gasping as her eyelids begin to flutter.

"She's openin' her eyes," I exclaim with excitement, handing her off to Lori. Her Momma should be the first thing she sees. Not me!

"Oh, my gosh," The woman breathes.

All at once, with her forehead wrinkled against the brightness of the room, she opens her eyes for the very first time. Green. Wow. They're the same colour as Lori's, dark and pretty like the wet leaves on a forest floor, staring curiously up at the matching pair.

Rick scoots closer and grins down at her, a chuckle escaping him as she studies his face next.

Even though I love my Mom and Dad more than anything in the world, and I wouldn't trade them for anybody else, I can still say with certainty that this baby is real lucky to have a Dad like Rick and even luckier to have a Mom like Lori. She got gentle hands, a voice made for telling fairytales, and the patience of a saint. Her smile is the type that nobody could be mad at when they're on the receivin' end of it.

My Gramma Dixon ain't had one of them smiles. In all the photos I've ever seen of her, she had a smile like a row of yellow piano keys, black holes left where her rotten teeth had fallen out from smoking so much and so often, but I had never seen it in person.

When my Dad was thirteen years old, the same age as Carl, the smoke of a stray cigarette caught onto his Momma's bedsheets while she was sleepin' and she, the house, and everything that was in it went up in flames, with a single black smear to prove it ever stood.

That's why whenever my Dad finishes a cigarette, he spends a second longer than anybody else would making sure it's out.

Glenn's got it right — World wasn't exactly fair before all this, either.

Havin' any Mom, let alone a Mom as good as Lori, was a special thing even before the world went to shit.

"She gon' love havin' you as her Momma," I smile to Lori.

And if you were my Momma, I'm too embarrassed to say, I'd be lucky, too.

As if I've just minced her heart between my fingers, the woman pouts, managing a smile. "Thank you, honey. That's nice of you to say."

I don't ever remember dreaming of milk or sheep or soft things with gentle colors, but I'm glad this baby will, even if just for now.

The sound of the toilet flushing fills my ears as I push past the stall door, approaching my Dad who's waiting for me by the sinks. He lifts me by the armpits onto the little plastic foot stool that Glenn found a few days ago, carefully setting me down on it.

"You sure I can't stay up just a little longer?" I ask as I tweak on the water, pumping soap into my hands.

"How much is, a little longer?"

"Hm... Five minutes?"

"I already let'chu finish yer card game with Carl and Beth," He reminds me. "My generous mood's run out, now. It's late, y'know."

"Okay, Captain Obvious," I sigh, scrubbing my hands together under the water before shutting it off.

"Watch it, Captain Smartass." He takes my hand and helps me jump off the stool, leading me through the door and down the corridor, before he randomly comes to a stop. As I turn around to face him, he crouches down to my level. "But I gotta talk to you first."

"About what?" I pout, worried I might be in trouble. "If Carl told you I cheated at cards, it ain't tru—"

"I ain't talkin' about that," He reassures me, raising his brows. "And you're lucky I ain't, 'cause I'on believe you for a second."

"Okay. Maybe I peeped at Beth's cards."

"Yeah. Maybe." With an empty chuckle, his expression slowly dampens, turning serious. "It's about Axel and Oscar."

"Huh?"

"I trust 'em," He begins, but I got no idea where he's goin' with this. "What I always saw in Shane and all the other douchebags like 'im, I'on see in them. Some folks, you can just tell. Axel's a sorry loser just like yer Daddy and Uncle Merle used to be, and Oscar's a Dad."

My Dad's what some people call, a good judge of character. Nodding along in agreement, I let him continue.

"If I thought they was any sorta threat to you," He promises, "Even if it was just breakin' yer favorite crayon, then—..."

"Then, you'd kill 'em," I finish, remembering the sight of his shadow swinging down on Jim's face through the slats of the shed wall, the big, black bag the paramedics wheeled outta the woods, the way Shane's blood pooled out across the dirty tiles. "I know."

"So, I guess this ain't really about them, 'cause they ain't gonna hurt you. It's about you, baby."

"M—Me?"

"You ain't in trouble." He says again, soothing my nerves. "I prolly should'a had this conversation wit'chu months ago, but you know I ain't so good with 'conversations', so it's happenin' now. I need you to know what happened with Shane weren't your fau—"

"Why are you sayin' that?" I cut him off, feeling like it's wrong for Shane's name to be in his mouth. "I d—"

"Just listen to me." He grabs my shoulders, stern and strong. Quips and hot venom brew on my tongue, but I bite it down, knowing that if I lash out, I'll actually be in trouble. I can't stop him from mentioning Shane, violating him even in that way, like he used to do with my Momma's name when he threw insults at her and told lies about her to strangers. I have to remember — Shane ain't my Momma. They was both sick, but only one loved me. I'm pretending to know which one that was. "It weren't. But we could'a done things differently."

Don't talk to strangers, He and Merle always told me. Is that what he means?

"I-I don't get it," I shake my head in confusion. "I'm allowed to talk to Axel and Oscar. They ain't strangers."

"Neither was Shane, baby." He counters. "Spent so much energy teachin' you not to trust assholes like Ronnie, I ain't never taught you not to trust assholes like Shane — Typa guy that makes it past yer doorstep and tries to be yer friend."

I temper my glare. "What'chu gettin' at, Daddy?"

"You know grown men can't be friends with little girls." He explains patiently, his grip on me tightening. "Rick and Glenn, they're different. They's like yer Uncles. Ya get along with 'em, but they're there to protect ya, just like I am. Axel and Oscar ain't like that. You ever meet anybody like 'em, you don't do anythin' that makes you uncomfortable. You don't give 'em anythin' they want. You don't let 'em trick ya."

Shane. I did all those things with Shane. He did all those things with me.

"And you always tell me if any of that happens. Always. Ya ain't never gon' get in trouble for what other people choose to do."

"The prisoners ain't tried to be my friend," I assure him. "And I ain't tried to be theirs. Promise."

"I know. I'm proud'a you for that." His grip loosens, fingers sliding down my arms, dropping in his lap. "But do you understand me?"

"I think so."

"I'mma somethin' better'un, I think."

Frowning, I think. Shane weren't my fault. Dad said that since the beginning. I guess he only wants to make sure it never happens again, like how it ain't yer fault if a dog bites ya, but you can always learn to recognize a violent animal and turn your back on its teeth.

I shouldn't have let Shane corner me in the car while the rest of the group was distracted in that supermarket.

Shouldn't have played into his stupid game, neither, by punching him in the face when he asked me to.

Definitely shouldn't have agreed to be his friend.

Dad's always gonna look out for me, but, "I understand."

"Okay. Good girl. Smart girl," He nods, standing and taking my hand in his, leading me down the corridor. "I love you, chicken."

"Love you, Daddy. But I thought you said I was allowed to knife 'em?"

"You can knife 'em first, and then I'll kill 'em," He jokes. "Deal?"

"Deal."

He chuckles to himself. "Let's get'chu to bed, then."

"Easy, boy," Axel smiles, scratching Mouse's ear as he watches him gobble up the meat in his hand. "There ya go."

From my seat nearby, as I wait to leave with Dad and Glenn for a supply run, I don't bother callin' Mouse over yet. The dog ain't my toy or nothin', but I should still share him with the prisoners. I know they ain't seen one in years, so I let him have the moment.

When Carl walks past me, I ask him, "You sure ya don't wanna come with us?"

"Thanks, but I'm sure. I'm just tired today," He turns to send me a smile, before continuing toward Axel. "Hey. Got more food."

"Oh, thanks, dude," He says happily, accepting it.

"He really likes this stuff."

It's taken almost a full month not only for Mouse to warm up to the new members of our group, but for the others, too.

We ain't best friends or nothin', like Maggie said, but it turns out they're a better fit for our family than I first thought.

Axel really is just a sorry loser with a good heart, who I've learnt over the past couple days wasn't kiddin' when he said he loved dogs. He's almost never more than a few feet away from Mouse, bribing him with treats or scraps of his own dinner, sometimes accidently calling him, Goober, the name of his old dog. When I look at him, I see all the other sorry losers we used to live with in our trailer park, his twangy accent and his stories of punking the police when he was younger weirdly comforting to me. Dad don't seem so offended by him, neither.

Oscar's the type of person who talks a lot around the dinner table, just like Carl and Maggie are. He's always got a snarky, good-natured joke to throw in here and there, or a reassuring tidbit to share when somebody opens up about something in their past.

When it comes to his own past, though, he suddenly ain't so much of a chatterbox no more.

I can only assume his wife and baby are among all the people we've lost, too. I wouldn't wanna talk about 'em, neither.

Rick watches Oscar standing there with a guarded look on his face, my Dad drawing his attention away by nudging his elbow, holding two guns out to him. With another glance at Axel, who's giggling like a small child at Mouse's enthusiasm for the food, he takes them.

"Axel. Oscar," Rick calls out, coming to a stop in front of them. As they look up at him, he offers a gun to each of them.

Axel's eyes widen as he stands up. "You serious, Mister?"

Oh — That's another thing. Axel doesn't call people Ma'am or Mister to butter 'em up. It's just his Southern manners.

"Daryl and Glenn are leaving for a few hours," He explains as Axel hesitantly reaches out for the gun, treating it more like a live grenade. For all the petty crimes he's committed, I'on think he's ever actually held a gun. Oscar takes his slightly more confidently, knowing exactly where to put his fingers, though he don't seem to like it. "With them gone, I think it's time you stepped up, helped us protect this place."

"Sure thing," Oscar nods, checking the mag is empty before stuffing the gun in his pants line. "Happy to, chief."

"Now, you mentioned you got experience," He reminds him, before turning to look expectantly at Axel.

In the silence that follows, the man offers, "I shot a slingshot, once. Busted in some rich old lady's Rolls-Royce window with it."

Rick's expression remains stoney. "A slingshot?"

"Yeah! Real cool one."

"A slingshot."

Awkwardly, he says again, "Yeah."

"Right." Rick gives him a friendly pat on the back, almost knocking him off balance. "We're gonna have to train you up a bit."

"Well, have fun," Glenn muses as he slings his backpack on, with Dad gesturing for me to stand up. "See you guys later."

Carl smiles, "See you later."

"C'mon, boy!" I call out to Mouse, clapping my hands. "Time to go."

"Remember, she doesn't handle the whole-wheat blend very well," Lori warns us, rocking baby Judith in her arms. It's good to finally see her outta bed again, to have her sitting around the breakfast table next to Herschel just like she always used to do.

"We'll look around for somethin' different this time. Trust me. I remember," Dad reassures her as he leads us up the concrete steps and pushes past the exit door, letting it close behind us before he mutters to me and Glenn, "She only threw up on my face twice."

"Eugh," I giggle, walking alongside them down the corridor. "That's gross."

"You ain't gonna talk to me about gross, missy," He jokes. "Who's that kid that spat chewed-up salami into my lap again, Rhee?"

Glenn chuckles at that. "Oh, yeah. I think her name was—...?"

"Somethin' beginin' with an, H, right?"

"Shut up," I giggle even harder as Glenn opens the main door, turning to lock it behind us. "It was an accident!"

"Ha—? Harriet," Dad pretends to struggle guessing, completely ignoring me. "Holly? Harley—?"

"Ohhh. Harley," Glenn exclaims as he stuffs the key back in his pocket. "That was it."

"Yeah, that's ringin' a bell."

"Shut up," I complain again, dragging him over to the gate. "C'mon. Me and Mouse wanna go!"

Agreeing, the dog lets out a, ruff.

This might only be the fourth time I've been on a scavenge this month, but I'd be lyin' if I said it ain't just as excitin' as the first time. Sure, the adults watch over me and Carl the whole time, and we only ever go to the same store, but everybody says we been doin' a good job and it's true. The worst thing that's happened to us is getting spooked by a rat running across our path, and even that was fun. 

"Okay, we're comin'," Dad chuckles raspily, letting me pull him along. "We're comin'."

"What do you wanna play this time, Harley?" Glenn asks.

As Dad opens the gate to the field, Mouse is the first one out, running ahead of us down the path.

I kick a pebble down the hill, thinking. "What about eye-spy?"

He locks it shut. "Didn't we do that one last time?"

"Yeah, but I lost," I argue as we follow after the dog.

"So, a re-match," Glenn says in understanding. "Sure. Who's going first?"

"Me!"

"Is it that leaf over there?"

"Nope."

"What about that leaf over there?"

"Still nope."

"That leaf?"

"You can't just guess every single leaf you see, Harley," Glenn chuckles. "The game would never end."

"So, it's not a leaf?"

"Not a leaf," He agrees. "Come on. You can do it."

Walking down the side of the highway, I look around for anything, Small and green. If it ain't leaves, or any of the hundreds of other things I've guessed so far, I'm screwed. In the distance, the tall sign for the strip mall pokes out from the trees, growing closer.

"Can't just look at what's in front of ya," Dad says helpfully, squeezing my hand. "Hunter's eye's gotta see everythin'."

Humming in concentration, I look down instead, noticing it instantly — The green beetle clinging to my shorts.

A giggle escapes me as I rest a finger near the insect's tiny head, letting it crawl onto me, holding it up to my face. "It was you!"

"Point for Harley," Glenn smiles as we step over the curb, entering the dumpster area behind the strip mall. The forest falls away behind us, making way for concrete and scattered litter. "You were taking so long; I was worried it was gonna fly away."

I turn a suspicious eye on my Dad. "Hang on. Did you let me win?"

"I might'a noticed it a couple minutes ago," He muses.

I flinch as the beetle's pearly wings whip out from under its shell, flickering into a blur, before it takes off into the trees.

"Aw." I pout, distracted by its disappearing shape as we approach the side of the building. "Bye, beetl—"

"Stop."

Stop?

Dad drops my hand. He slings his crossbow off his shoulder, training the sights ahead of us as Glenn grabs me, forcing me up against the wall with him. The warm brick presses against my back, Glenn's thick heartbeat thudding rhythmically beneath my fingers as I grip his wrist. I hold my breath. Suddenly, we're hiding — From what? From who? — and I couldn't care less that we didn't finish the game.

What's wrong, I desperately want to ask them, instead clinging tighter to Glenn, cowering, making myself small.

I try to get a glimpse of what's going on in the main parking lot, but I'm not close enough.

With his shoulders tensed and footsteps light, Dad creeps forward, peeking around the wall.

"It's okay," Glenn whispers to me, turning to scold a growling Mouse, "Shh, boy. Shh."

I focus on the nearby sounds — Someone's car engine idling, boots scraping against tarmac, hushed voices. People. It's people.

As Dad pulls back behind the wall, Glenn asks him, "How many?"

"I count three," He exhales, glancing down at me for a moment, before shaking his head. "We gotta go."

"Okay. Come on." Glenn gently tugs me by the hand, pulling me along with him in the direction we came. "It's okay."

"C'mon, chicken," Dad encourages.

We stick close to the wall, Dad scanning the back parking lot with a slow sweep of his sights, before giving us a nod, letting us know the way is clear and leading us down onto the tarmac. Everything opens up. My gaze darts from the dumpsters pressed up against the chain-link fence, to the trash littered across the ground, to the distant trees, the sky, the back of my Dad's head, Mouse at his heel. 

Dad takes one step back over the broken curb, his boot hitting the grass on the other side.

My fingers tighten around Glenn's as I lift my foot to do the same.

I'm taking a sigh of relief — The forest is right there. We can slip away — but the breath in my lungs is stolen from me. I stumble backwards into Glenn. A man shoots out from behind a rusted car, tackling my Dad, and a gasp escapes me, loud and sharp.

"Daddy!" I shriek, watching him tank the sudden impact with a grunt.

"Boys!" The man shouts over his shoulder. "Over here!"

Squeezing my hand, Glenn draws his gun, acting unsure if he should run with me or stay and fight. "Daryl?"

"Stay with Harley!" He orders.

We watch as Dad shoves the man off him in one powerful movement, sending his stocky body tumbling.

The man lands against the car door. The window cracks under his elbow, glass shattering, tinkling, falling at his feet. He groans like an animal, blood trickling down his forearm as he rears it back again, knife in his hand, about to stab Dad wherever he can.

Dad's crossbow comes down on the man's arm and the knife goes flying, clattering loudly across the parking lot.

"Fuck—" He cries, disarmed, before Dad takes a step back and — FWIP — unleashes a bolt into his face.

The man's legs give out, body slumping to the ground.

"What's going on back here?!" A voice shouts, footsteps approaching. "Eric?"

Glenn whips his gun around, shoving me behind him so fast; I only catch a glimpse of the — two? — men pouring into the parking lot before I'm pressing my face into the back of his shirt, squeezing his hand so tight I think I might break a few of his bones.

"Holy shit," One of the men exclaims as their footsteps come to a stop in front of us. "Eric! God, he's dead!"

"You'll be dead, too, if ya don't back the Hell up!" Dad barks at them, taking a step forward. "Back up!"

"You fucking killed him!"

"He attacked us first!" Glenn counters. "Put the guns down!"

"Oh, my God!"

"Who's that behind you?"

"Hey! You keep yer eyes on us and put'cher fuckin' guns down!"

The arguing, shouting, — Mouse's relentless barking — gets louder and louder with each second, ruminating into one big cloud of noise around me as I squeeze my eyes shut. I only wanted to help them scavenge some baby formula, enjoy the sun and the breeze, maybe win at eye-spy. Home is only a ten-minute walk from here. No, no, it wasn't supposed to go like this. It's never gone like this.

"Put that goddamn crossbow down!"

"I ain't doin' shit!"

"Everybody, shut up!"

The parking lot falls silent. I hear the footsteps of a third man approaching, slow and calm, like an angry teacher.

"They killed Eric," One of them exclaims. "We heard him shout for us."

"And this piece of shit here killed him. I saw it."

The footsteps slow to a stop, and no response comes. I wait for a gunshot or a punch to be thrown, but that doesn't come, neither.

After the pause has gone on too long, the man hesitates to ask, "Boss, what's wrong? Are we killing 'em, or not?"

"I said, shut up, Gavin."

Oh.

That voice.

Mer—?

No.

Merle is dead.

Merle was chained to roof and eaten by walkers and he's dead and he's gone and I mourned him and ghosts ain't real.

My movements in slow motion, I loosen my grip on Glenn's hand, my body going numb as I dare to peek out around his hip. As the scene reveals itself to me, a curtain pulled over a window inch by inch, everything hits me like a ton of bricks, years, names, memories.

The man standing at the front of the small crowd stares, gawking, at my Dad, unbothered by his confused friends.

When he glances down at me, his arm pointing the gun at us falters.

Our eyes lock, and suddenly ghosts are real.

I can feel myself start to cry, I think.

Merle.

Author's Note.

It's Merle! Is there anything more to say? He's back!

I'm going to have my work cut out for me in the coming chapters. Trauma, emotions. Here we come.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, everyone. 💙

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 41

Daryl 

Later, with the sun fully set and the darkness deep around them, the crickets’ chirps are the only sounds breaking the quiet night. Daryl and Beth sit across from one another on the porch railing, the silence heavy but not tense—more like an uneasy understanding has finally been reached.

Beth sighs, the words coming out slowly. “I get why my dad stopped drinkin’.”

“Ya feel sick?” Daryl asks, absently digging his knife into the wooden post in front of him.

“Nope. I wish I could feel like this all the time.” She pauses, the admission still with an edge of playfulness in her voice, “That’s bad.”

“You’re lucky you’re a happy drunk,” Daryl mutters, his voice softer than before, almost as if he's trying not to break the fragile peace.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” Beth says wryly, “ Some people can be real jerks when they drink.”

Daryl breathes out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I’m a real dick when I’m drunk,” he admits, his gaze distant. After a pause, he adds, “Merle had this dealer. Janky little white guy–tweaker. One day, I went lookin’ for Merle, figured he’d be over there watchin’ TV with his buddies.”

Beth watches him carefully, sensing the shift in his tone as he speaks.

“It wasn’t even noon,” he continues, his voice dropping to a low rasp. “Place reeked of weed and cheap beer. I could hear folks talkin’ inside, but the TV was on so damn loud, I couldn’t tell who it was.” He pauses, a visible tension in his jaw as he tries to force the words out. His voice grows quieter, rougher, almost as if he's unsure if he can say it.

“But… Y/N…” He stops, the weight of her name lingering in the air, his throat working as he forms the name out loud, swallowing hard. It’s like saying it makes the memory more real, more painful, and he has to blink a few times to steady himself before continuing, voice hoarse and raw. “She was there. We weren’t on good terms. Hadn’t been for months. She’d gone off to school, was seein’ Shane. But when I walked in and saw her…”

“They had their hands on her,” he says finally, his words almost a growl, “Like a pack of hungry wolves. I hadn’t seen her in so long, and then I see that. I snapped.” His eyes darken, his grip on the knife tightening, shaking his head, “I grabbed those bastards off her and started swingin’. All I saw was red. I hit ‘em hard, as hard as I could.”

Beth stays silent, her eyes wide with sympathy.

“Merle finally came back inside, pulled me off and she ran out. And when those assholes got back on their feet, one of ‘em pulled a gun on me. Had it right in my face, said, ‘I’m gonna kill you, bitch.’ I thought I was done for. Merle pulled his gun too, ready to go down with me.”

“How’d you get out of it?” Beth asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Tweaker punched me in the gut. I puked, right there in front of ‘em,” Daryl says bitterly. “They laughed, patched up their faces, and I saw ‘em back at Merle’s the next day, like nothin’ even happened.”

Beth doesn’t know what to say. The weight of it all hangs in the air between them.

“You wanna know what I was before all this?” Daryl says suddenly, his voice low. “I was driftin’. Mostly with her, till she went off to school. Then it was just me and Merle, doin’ whatever the hell he said we’d do that day. I was nobody. Nothin’. Some redneck asshole and an even bigger asshole for a brother.”

Beth’s eyes soften, her own pain visible in the dim light. “You miss her, don’t you? And your brother.”

Daryl doesn’t answer, his jaw tight. The words catch somewhere deep in his chest.

Beth takes a shaky breath. “I miss Maggie,” she says softly. “I miss her bossin’ me around. I miss my big brother Shawn. He was so annoying, so overprotective. And my dad… I thought he’d live the rest of his life in peace, y’know? I thought Maggie and Glenn would have a baby, and he’d get to be a grandpa. I thought we’d have birthdays and holidays…summer picnics. He’d get old, and he’d be surrounded by people he loved.” Her voice cracks, tears welling up in her eyes. “That’s how unbelievably stupid I am.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Daryl says gently, his voice surprisingly soft.

Beth looks down, her face crumpling. “I wish I could just…change.”

“You did,” he says after a pause.

“Not enough,” she replies, wiping her tears. “Not like you. You and Y/N… it’s like you two were made for this.”

“Just used to it,” Daryl mutters, eyes shifting away. “Things bein’ ugly. Growin’ up in a place like this.”

“But you got away from it,” Beth insists.

“I didn’t,” he snaps quickly, his voice rough.

“You did,” Beth presses.

“Maybe you gotta keep remindin’ me sometimes,” he says, and though his tone is gruff, there’s a flicker of something almost playful in his eyes.

“No, you can’t depend on anybody for anythin’, right?” Beth laughs weakly, then her face shifts, her voice turning serious. “I’ll be gone someday.”

“Stop,” Daryl says sharply.

“I will,” Beth continues firmly, but not with sadness. “You’re gonna be the last man standin’. You and Y/N. But you’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone, Daryl Dixon.”

“Man, you ain’t a happy drunk at all,” Daryl mutters, almost amused despite himself.

“Yeah, I’m happy,” Beth says with a small, sad smile. “Just not blind. You gotta stay who you are, not who you were. Places like this…you have to put it away.”

“What if you can’t?” Daryl asks, his voice low, eyes distant.

“You have to,” Beth says quietly. “Or it kills you… here.” She puts a hand over her heart.

Daryl’s gaze lingers on her for a moment, the raw vulnerability of the moment palpable. “We should go inside,” he says finally, his voice rough.

Beth wipes her eyes but a smile appears on her lips, and after a long moment, she says, “We should burn it down.”

Daryl stands, grabbing the moonshine. He walks to the door, then pauses. “We’re gonna need more booze,” he mutters, giving her a half-hearted grin before stepping inside, the darkness swallowing him up again.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Flames engulf the small house, the crackling fire consuming everything inside with a ruthless finality. Memories of Y/N fill Daryl’s mind—her laughter in that living room, the warmth of her body pressed against his on the worn couch, and the soft moments of peace that were so rare. Now, those moments are swallowed by fire, the heat searing away what’s left of his connection to her. It’s as if the flames are taking not just the house, but every last scrap of what they once had, reducing it all to ash.

But the memories don’t stop there. They dig deeper, pulling up images from his childhood, the kind he’s spent years trying to forget: broken glass on the floor, the stench of cigarettes, his father’s drunken rages. All of it is burning now, the orange glow illuminating the yard in a mix of destruction and twisted liberation. The flames lick at the night sky, sparks flying upward like dying stars, leaving behind nothing but smoke and charred wood.

Beth stands beside him, her face awash in the fiery glow. Her eyes are wild, filled with a strange mixture of excitement and catharsis. She nudges Daryl with her shoulder, grinning as she throws her middle finger high into the air. Daryl hesitates for a moment, his hand hanging limply by his side. He’s not sure if he’s ready to let go, not sure if he’s ready to raise that middle finger to everything that house represents—to Y/N, to his past, to everything that’s made him who he is. But then something inside him breaks loose, a dam that’s been holding back years of anger, regret, and pain. Slowly, he lifts his arm, raising his middle finger high. It feels raw, almost too real, as he aims the gesture at the burning wreckage. It’s a defiant act, one that carries every bit of his frustration and grief. He’s flipping off not just the house, but the entire twisted life that led him here—the mistakes, the heartbreak, and the endless goddamn survival that’s taken more from him than it’s ever given. Beside him, Beth smiles, a wild, reckless look that seems to match the chaos of the fire. The flames dance in her eyes, reflecting a strange sort of triumph. For a moment, it’s like they’re both shedding something old, something rotten that’s been weighing them down for far too long.

However, the reality of the world dawns, and they can only stand there so long. The fire has caught the attention of nearby walkers who begin to descend on the scene, attracted to the sudden rush of light illuminating the woods, and Daryl touches her arm, turning Beth around to leave. But for the first time in a long while, it feels like he’s done something that’s his choice, not survival’s. The anger still simmers, but there’s a strange, raw satisfaction that cuts through the heaviness in his chest. It’s not joy—he hasn’t felt that in longer than he can remember—but it’s a victory, however small and bitter. With one last look at the dying flames, he turns away from the burning wreckage, that hint of a smile still tugging at his lips. For now, it’s enough. It’s a step forward, however small, and for once, he’s leaving something behind on his own terms.