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deadweightwritings · 1 year ago

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ON A PLAIN. TWD S6. [snippet]

ON A PLAIN - NIRVANA

TWD + Dixon!Reader [SEASON 6 E8 SPOILERS]

The grip on her dad’s waist loosened as they slowed down in the forest. Blinking to clear her vision, Kit realized she was weaker than she expected…more tired than she knew.

“Going down—Bailing—” She said, sliding off of the motorcycle and onto the woodland ground. THUMP.

“Kit, Jesus Christ!” Both of them were out of breath as Daryl joined her in the dirt.

“Dad, Jesus Christ.” Drawled from her mouth in mockery and he scoffed playfully. A growl next to them made them both jump and shriek quietly, but the helmet on the walker showed they were just fine lazing on the ground.

On their feet a few minutes later, Kit saw her dad wince and the crimson gushing out of his glove. She sighed, grabbing the pack strapped to back of her belt. Daryl tried, muttering and cussing to get the jacket off, and he did. Seeing the extent of his wound made her a little relieved, nothing but a gnarly scratch. Kit watched as the small bottle of alcohol contents dripped down his forearm and she bandaged it wet. Not the smartest idea, but shit, they didn’t have much of a choice.

“Jus’ fer now.” Afterward, they covered the bike in broken branches and leaves, knowing they couldn’t travel far right now. Hearing the familiar sound of a branch snap, Daryl motioned upward, for Kit to get in a tree as he stood guard with his crossbow. She twisted her pointer and middle fingers around each other at him, signaling: I’ll track you, promise. Her hands dragged her higher and higher in the tree, making barely any noise as she heard a solid THUNK. Her eyes looked down to see her dad unconscious and carried by a man, and two women. Welp, looks like tonight will be spent in a tree.

WHAT THE HELL AM I TRYING TO SAY?

The group heard a crack of tree bark and Kit swore more than a drunken sailor in her head. She held her breath, trying to blend into the branch she was balanced on. At dawn, she started tracking the people who nabbed her dad before dusk the day before. Not that she needed breadcrumbs, but Daryl stepped harder into the ground that he normally would, once he was awake. The others weren't exactly smart enough to be light on their feet. He, Dwight, switched his head back to Daryl, readjusting his aim with the handgun.

“You tell me, am I being stupid?” FWIP. An arrow shot and knocked the gun from his hand, and he stiffened, they all did. Kit dropped below from a tree, leaves crunching under her dirt crusted boots. Her next arrow aimed right at his forehead:

“Yea, if you think you gon’ shoot him n’ stay livin’ afterward.” He raised his hands up, the women following suit after him, Kit dropped her bow and arrow, fashioning the machete from her thigh holster.

“You really think some girl like you can take on us?” The shake in his voice made her tip the machete onto his neck, she pushed a little and he winced. Her hand swiped the bowie knife from her hip and handed it to her dad behind her back,

“Bitch, I’ve skinned rabbits wit bigger balls tha’ you.” Daryl went and swiped the gun from the ground next to him. The two women were shaking like two autumn leaves and Kit felt bad for them, and how naïve they were, at this moment.

“Yer gonna take us t’ where we can find this Patty. Move it.”

I LOVE MYSELF, BETTER THAN YOU.

Pulling the crossbow out of the duffel, Kit had already thrown a knife straight into the skull. She huffed, pulling her weapon out of the bone and looked back to see her dad staring blankly at the duffel.

The woman, Tina, had collapsed and the Dixon duo saw the opportunity. Daryl grabbed the handle of the large duffel, and grabbed Kit's forearm, sprinting out of the open area.

"HEY! WE NEED THAT!"

She saw a cooler with the label of “INSULIN – keep cool” on it and pinched between her eyes.

“Fucks sake, man.”

The duffel bag was swung over Kit’s shoulder, machete in hand as they stalked to finally track and find the group of three.

“Drop the gun, drop it now!” Daryl ordered, lining up his arrow with his head as precaution. Lowering the gun, Kit held out her hand and said nothing. This man knew what to do either way and placed the gun in the young woman’s hand swiftly.

“What were you carvin’ earlier, huh?” Slowly reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a little statue wood carving.

“My grandfather taught me, I—”

“We don’ care.” Snatching it from him, Kit threw down the duffel bag full of medicine, and two finger saluted them.

“Good luck, yer gon’ need it.” The rumble of a vehicle approaching made Daryl grab Kit’s denim vest and yank her to the ground. Oh, c’mon. The back-and-forth conversation by the people in the car and the trio they just found made a pit form in Kit’s stomach. Something about their tone reminded her on the Claimers. Next thing she knew, they were booking it through the woods.

Oh look, it’s like this is every fucking day.

Shuffling behind a cage made of thick branches, Daryl and Kit broke off from the trio. They spotted a walker stuck, slightly covered by the greenery, but enough to cause damage to anyone who got close. Daryl went forward, rustling the branches in front of them to draw the guy’s attention, and booyah, the fucker got bit.

“Wade! I’ve been bit, Wade!” If he isn’t killed soon, another fucking herd of walkers will hear him. The guy, Wade, she assumed appeared next to him, seeing the bite on his arm. He wraps something around the dude’s upper arm, and Kit is reminded instantly of Merle.

“Ah, don’t hurt tha’ bad, honey. Can’t be a bitch, n’ order t’ go through wit it!” Shaking her head as the piercing scream and the SHING of a blade echoed through the woods. As they retreated so did the Dixon’s and the trio. They followed them to a charred down house, skeptical but still wanting to know who they were. One of the women, Tina, broke down seeing two of the people she knew, dead and burnt on the ground surrounded by glass.

Kit stood a few feet away from her, constantly eyeing her dad and the other man. A shout broke her away from her gaze and the walker broke out, gnawing on Tina’s throat.

“Shit!” She yelled, chucking herself to the ground and slashed the walker across the brain. Blood shot up into her eyes and she grimaced at the well-known feeling. Honey threw herself at Tina’s body as Kit rolled to her side, away from them and exhaled through her teeth noisily.

“Can’t ever be peaceful, huh?” She muttered as Daryl lifted her to her feet, hearing Honey sob behind them. Daryl was helping the man dig Tina’s grave as Kit sat on her ass, hand on her machete, while the other had two knives nestles between her fingers. He caught his kid’s eye, and she held up three fingers to him:

“How many walkers have you killed?” “A lot…two dozen at the least.” “How many people have you killed?” “None?” “Why?” “Why didn’t I kill someone? It’s not something you come back from.” Kit scoffed at that.

Daryl eventually convinced them to come to Alexandria, Kit could laugh at how Aaron had made him still take up the job in this circumstance. She followed behind her dad, machete at her side as she helped him lift up the motorcycle. They both heard a click behind their backs. Kit struggled not to audibly groan.

God, we can’t have shit in D.C.

The Dixon’s merely turned around, unfazed by their threat. Kit glaring at the two, but mainly Dwight in front of them, holding the gun.

“Give her the crossbow, machete, bow and arrows.” Neither of them moved. The man shifted his gun to Kit’s head and Daryl flinched,

“Give her the weapons or she dies.” The young woman, covered in dirt, oil, human and walker blood almost burst out cackling.

“Honey, it’s kill, or be killed.” Merle’s voice echoed in her ear, seeing him leant up against a tree trunk in the distance behind the barrel of the gun.

“An’ the only thing that kills a Dixon, is a Dixon, missy.” A gunshot rang out next to Kit’s head and Merle disappeared from her view. Both of them barely moved at the action and the noise that followed. A hand swiped a pistol from under their shirt. BANG. BANG.

Kit shot them both, point blank, in the head. Daryl stood still, taking a moment to look at his daughter.

I KNOW IT’S WRONG, SO WHAT SHOULD I DO?

“Kit—”

“Tha’ walker wit the helmet…gotta be another ride ‘round here. Gotta find Abraham n’ Sasha.” She motioned with her head to follow, spit on the ground and shuffled past him and the bodies she just shot.

That walker on the ground was still moving, moaning and growling, the thing was practically a black skeleton and had more life than Kit felt she had. Her boots stepped on something that made a metallic CLANG, she scuffed her boot on it, then reached down to wipe the dirt off.

“Patty’s Fuel Company…Found ‘em.” A silent trek later, the duo scored a massive truck. No walker booby traps, or bullshit strings attached to it. Before Kit opened the driver’s door, Daryl grabbed her shoulder.

“Kit—”

“‘M fine.”

“Kit, you just—”

“They’d ‘ave killed us both. We can’t be takin’ chances. Not anymore, not after we give 'em a choice too.” Whipping her arm out of his hold, she threw open the door, seeing the dead driver try to claw at her. Daryl barged in front of her and drove his knife in its head. They met eyes and Daryl motioned for her to get in the truck, she hopped up and slid over, taking her pistol in her hand as she looked out the windshield. There was un-needed tension between the father and daughter, and it softened when they were on the road and Kit pulled a pen out of her inner jacket pocket. Clicking it, she opened the side of her vest:

I I

The tally marks laid next to a dozen other tallies on the denim inside. Kit sighed heavily through her nose, clicking the pen and shoving it back in the pocket. Daryl caught her movements and breathed through his teeth,

“You ain’t gonna turn cold on me, Kit?” You ain’t gonna shut down on me, right? You ain’t gonna stop in the middle of the end of the world, Kit?

“No, sir.” Kit smacked her thigh with her fist a few times, her face twitched as she fiddled with the pistol. She swiped at the edge of her nose.

“Ain’t never gonna switch up on you.”

I’M ON A PLAIN, I CAN’T COMPLAIN.

“Daryl.” “Dad.” “I see ‘em.” Kit furrowed her eyebrows, holding up her pistol at the people in the road, blocking them.

“End o’ the world, n’ there’s fuckin’ biker gangs still?” Abraham chuckled at her statement,

“What in the holy shit?” The car pulled to a halt, brakes squeaking, and Kit felt sweat run down the back of her neck.

“Why don’t you come out? Join us in the road?” Nobody could hear a pin drop in the truck as the hum of the engine filled the space.

“If you wanna try something, it’s your choice. But we will end your asses, split you right in two, so c’mon.” The man waved his hand, beckoning them to come out.

“Dad just run him over.” Kit muttered, barely moving her lips as she stared forward through the dirty windshield.

“Can’t.” Kit blinked a few times, trying to understand the fuckin’ shit show day she’s had, that kept getting better n’ better. Abraham and Daryl opened the car doors, Sasha and Kit shuffling out on their respective sides:

“I already killed 2 people today, what’s a couple more?” She whispered, tucking her gun into her belt, but placed her palm around the handle of her machete.

“Alright! Step two and turn in your weapons?” Nah, you buggin’. Daryl now furrowed his brows,

“Why should we?”

“They don’t belong to you?”

“What?” “What?” Seethed out Abraham and Kit in sync her shoulder tensing.

“See…your weapons, your truck, the fuel, mints in the compartment, porn under the seats, the seats themselves, the little stash of napkins on the dash…they’re no longer yours.”

“Who’s are they?” Sasha questioned darkly.

“Your property, now belongs to, Negan.”

I’M ON A PLAIN, I CAN’T COMPLAIN.

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