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twigg96 · 3 days ago

Text

There

Chapter 1

Pairing: Rickyl (Rick & Daryl as friends)

Era: Alexandria - During the Saviors War

Warnings: Swearing, Walkers, liminal spaces,

Fic Summary : Daryl and Rick take a trip to rediscover their friendship after the horrible deaths and things they’ve both been witness to at the hands of Negan. Friend bonding fic.

Chapter Summery: Rick and Daryl take a walk by themselves. Daryl has things to show Rick. Rick is trying to find himself after Daryl had been taken to the Sanctuary.

Trudging through waist-high grass that swished and cut at the jeans, wrapping around the ankles of boots like fingers of nature, Rick stumbled forward a step.

"Fuck." He whispered glaring at the fog covered field before them. He hated this. Hated being out in the open. So exposed. Especially with Daryl by his side.

It wasn't the company he resented. Nor was the ground he walked persay. If it were any other day... any other situation they had been in, Rick would have laughed it off, made some joke to ease the tension that grew between them both.

"You got some trick up yer sleave you're not sharing? You part mountain goat er some shit?" He would've said. But he just couldn't find it in himself to be so jovial with the man to his right. The man with the dead eyes. The hollow shell of his brother.

“Daryl,” Rick called in a hushed whisper looking from side to side he checked for any threat. “The hell we goin’ man?” He asked cocking a brow at the archer now several steps ahead of himself.

“There.” Daryl grunted.

Great. Thank you that helped so much. Rick thought to himself rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh.

There could be the tree-line at the edge of the field just popping into Rick’s vision from within the dense fog. It could be the windmills and towers that's only presence was known through the sounds of the engines that whirled and ground from years of neglect, manmade and long forgotten. Or hell there could have been somewhere in Canada for all Rick knew.

“Well, hell Daryl are we almost there yet?!” He murmured smirking at the glare he earned over Daryl’s shoulder.

“Startin’ ta sound like Jude now.” Daryl called back.

As expected the forest was not in fact the mystical ‘There’. As a matter of fact There was still hours away past the bounds of the woods, thicker than most and foggier than he'd ever seen. There was through a tunnel covered in various forms of graffiti and signs begging lost family to follow if they ever found it. As a matter of fact it was over one ridge ripe with walkers before they stood in front of the There.

A large metallic tower shrouded in the fog that never truly dispersed no matter how far they traveled that day. A rusted metal latter led upwards towards the heavens and the top of the tower where smoke or steam, Rick wasn’t sure which, billowed out the top intermingling with the clouds above.

“Cloud making factories” is what he told Carl they were when the boy was little and in the backseat of his and Lori’s car pointing out various sights on the way to his grandfather’s or the store. Blinking up at the tower Rick cocked a brow.

“The hell we doin’ here?” He asked as Daryl walked to the ladder. Taking it by the rungs, the bastard never graced him with a response, instead he grunted tossing his oily hair over his shoulder nonchalantly letting himself hang before beginning the climb to the top.

Rick watched Daryl, a dumb look resting on his face, until the wings on his friend's back could no longer be seen through the mist. Rust rained with every movement Daryl took onto the wet grass and Rick’s head and face as he craned to keep the archer in his sights.

“See anything?” Rick called up brushing the rust from his hair. Daryl stepped out of view deep into the mist. The rust stopped falling metallic footsteps going quiet. Rick assumed for the moment Daryl had just been using the latter to get a better vantage point for the There.

“I know what I don’t see.” Daryl called. “I don’t see your lazy ass followin’ me.”

Rick was just lucky there were platforms at various heights on this bitch of a latter for him to stop on. He wasn’t as young as he used to be. Not as spry as Daryl thought him either obviously. By the time they both made it to the top miles above the earth, his knees ached in a way he never knew they could and that was after years of travel on the road. The palms of his hands were filled with splintered metal that stung and ached like paper cuts whenever he opened and closed them. But to top it off he was covered in fuckin’ rust.

“Could’a warned me we were climbing today.” Rick poked brushing the itchy flakes from his hair and skin.

“Could’a.” Daryl hummed, his greasy hair catching the wind that blew steadily at this height. Leaning on his forearms on the rusted railing of the balcony his blue eyes scanned below. “But…” he shrugged. “Like ta keep yer old ass on yer toes.” He hummed.

Joining Daryl by the railing Rick clicked his tongue. “Not that old.” He murmured. Looking around he marveled at the patches of ground below he could see. Cloud like patches of fog walked across the land engulfing whole buildings and forests as they moved and grew. Tendrils snaked out of some wrapping around areas like fingers before either swallowing them or dispersing into the air around it. “Wow. I mean WOW…” Rick gasped.

“Can see the whole state up here.” He breathed. Daring to reach down he opened his hand to a patch of forest. There. “There’s Alexandria.” He hummed moving his hand up to a ridge top peaking through the fog. “There’s the hilltop.” He breathed moving down to point deep into the fog where a valley lie. “The Kingdom.” He whispered. “You can see it all…” He breathed. “On a clear day we could use this place as a lookout an early warning system. Good work Daryl.”

Rick smiled dreaming big of Connection. Community. All stemming from this moment. A map drawn of the area. Eventually, with help. A model placed in every war room. Plots. Diagrams. Security. Safety could become assured. Arial vision like this was key to their survival. What Daryl had found it was a God send.

"Actually..." Daryl's voice cut through the curtain of Rick's own thoughts. Turning to the graying man Rick hummed his eyes wide open in expectation. "This ain't what I brought ya up here fer." Daryl hummed shuffling back an bit. Taken aback Rick blinked at the man cocking a brow.

"Whatcha mean this ain't it?" He asked softly twisting himself around to face Daryl, keeping the rail firmly in hand.

Hearing Daryl laugh was a rarity especially now. After everything... So when he did nothing but stare at Rick, sunlight shining on his face illuminating the smirk on his face. Rick took that as a win.

"Jest follow me will ya?" Daryl murmured rolling his eyes. Turning his back to Rick he walked to the edge of the balcony to an open area Rick had seen but had given little credence. There were no railings there and thus Rick had no intentions of stepping foot on the slick, rusted metal that seemed to only be but but his boot in width.

"Daryl." Rick gapped watching the archer take the first precarious steps out onto what he could only assume was a pipe. "You got some sorta death wish?!"

Shrugging without bothering to give a glance Daryl hummed. "Didn't know ya were afraid o' heights, old man."

Prick. Rick thought with a roll of his eyes. But still Rick stayed firm on the platform studying Daryl's every movement. Why? He didn't know. He told himself he was making sure the bastard didn't fall to his death. Like he would suddenly have the wherewithal and the knowledge to leap into action a good 50 stories high and just save Daryl from certain death.

Yes that was it...

No. In reality it was much more complicated than that. He would never admit to it. He liked to keep his ego well fed on dreams and well wishes. But right now he was fucking terrified and desperately trying to read how Daryl moved so fluidly across the pipe without hesitation. One calloused hand held the side of the concrete wall that was just far enough away that Daryl had to use his fingertips to push himself steady every so often. The other was raised just as high if not higher. Much like a fucking bird in flight. Keeping himself balanced on the pipe leaning from side to side his feet straight, one in front of the other.

Pacing the tiny platform he stood on for a few more minutes Rick watched in horror and desperation as Daryl slowly neared the rounded edge of the factory where the cement wall would take over the little sight he had of the archer. Heart hammering in his chest Rick had a choice to make. And so far in this new life. He had never once backed down from a challenge.

Looking down at the pipe made him sick to his stomach. The earth he, mere seconds ago imagined as his map and saving grace suddenly morphed into his epitaph. A thought to crawl on his belly across the pipe crossed his mind... until he remembered the bag on his back and though it was nearly empty, the weight of what was in it now could swing him down and make him fall.

So instead he took a few hesitant steps out onto the pipe, sideways. focusing hard on the naturally occurring clouds below them he skirted the pipe slowly. taking it step by precarious step. The squeak of his boots against the wet metal grated against his ears like nails against the chalkboard he remembered only in the back of his mind. His chest felt heavy with every breath and air felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. The wind was his moral enemy. The slightest breeze froze him in place until it passed.

Time and space were illusions to him. He could have been half way there or simply one foot away from the platform he started at. He had no idea. But when a large gust of wind whistled in the trees below warning him of its presence, Rick found himself bracing early. Too early.

Falling backwards against the concrete his arms flailed flattening against it's cool rough surface Rick gapped and squalled clinging to whatever he could. His back flat against the wall, his knees bent and pressing hard ito what he assumed was the metal pipe, praying his boots wouldn't slip from the metal surface.

"Rick!" He heard Daryl cry out. Panic in his voice. "Rick!" He was closer this time. The sound of squeaking on metal told Rick he had at least made the effort to- "God Damn it Rick... open your eyes."

What the fuck? Rick could still feel the wind on his face. The sun in his eyes... he wasn't asleep he didn't dream of the tower. Cracking open one eye slowly Rick peeked around. A shadow over his body he laid flat on a concrete step just below the pipe he had his legs squashed against.

"Scared the hell out of me." Daryl growled, offering a hand to Rick.

"You?! I scared the hell outta myself." Rick chuckled, taking Daryl's hand, letting him hoist him up.

The slabbed concrete was cracked and crumbling as Rick pushed himself to stand. Layered by a second stair that led into a notch in the thick wall, a rusted metal door stood inside it. Steam leaked out of the crevasses of the door like that of a dragon's lair. The ancient door seemed to Rick at least to be like one out of a nightmare. One that someone would only see at the entrance of a cave holding secrets that never were meant to see the light of day.

Shaking his head Rick tried to take a step back away from the door . But Daryl and the ledge to nothingness kept him firmly in place.

"A'ight look..." Daryl sighed rubbing the back of his neck. He waffled his feet in a way that made Rick's stomach turn. Pebbles falling freely off the edge reminded him of how easily the whole ledge could go. "It's obvious ya ain't making it ta the other side of this pipe ta get ta the easier gate... so we'll go in here."

What? No! He didn't like that one bit! Shaking his head Rick glared at Daryl backing into the cool wet concrete wall behind him. "Can't we just go back?!" Rick asked, his voice shaking in fear and emotion.

With an eye roll and a look that could kill Daryl's tsk echoed through the inlet Rick burrowed himself deeper into. Mist soaked his clothes as shivers began to wrack his body. "And let ya fall ta yer death just cause yer scared? Nah." Daryl murmured although Rick was sure he saw some semblance of a smile twitch the corners of his lips.

Now... the archer did have a point... what kind of leader would he be if the people at Alexandria all found out he was scared of heights? Or if he was dead? Not a good one... he could tell that much. "Here step this way." Daryl hummed gesturing behind himself as he maneuvered the tight space to get close to the door. But stepping behind Daryl meant stepping one step closer to the open ledge... and Rick really hated that. His heart pounded fast irregular in his chest. His stomach flipped and did somersaults in his abdomen. And while he tried like hell to stare at the horizon he just couldn't help but to find himself staring at the ground below.

Where as before the sight the painted scenery before him was so inspiring, now it only instilled a deep seeded, primal fear within him. Soaked to the bone Rick couldn't destern if it was from the mist that rolled so easily from within the factory or the sweat that beaded on his back and in his palms. Certainly having come straight from within as his mouth was as dry as a bone making breathing a manual task.

Forcing himself to turn his back to the open air of it all Rick found himself clinging to Daryl's vest for more purchase on the physical existence of his dearest friend. While Daryl's hair caught on his shoulder, Rick knew he saw him as he truly was. There wasn't a hint of judgement on his face or in his actions as he shifted to twist the door's valve like handle once more. "Damned thing is really rusted tight..." He growled.

The metal groaned and moaned under the force of Daryl's touch. Muscles bulged and spasmed under his vest and in his arms as he struggled to turn the wheel. Veins bulged threatening to bust just under the skin that glistened with sweat and the moisture that extruded from behind the door.

With a glance behind himself, his heart hammering in his chest. Rick imagined the possibility of having to go back over the pipe. Climbing on it, clinging to it for dear life... he could hardly breath at the thought. Standing wasn't an option. It was... but God knew he didn't want to. Fuck... he really didn't want to go back out-

With a pop and a hiss the latch to the door finally gave way. Steam billowed from within the factory like clouds of smoke as Daryl maneuvered them both out of the door's way. It was thick and heavy. Old and concrete it'self it looked as if it had been covered in blood with the amount of rust that poured down the sides of it.

"There." Daryl said victoriously, nodding back at Rick. "Got it..."

Carefully the two stepped forward. Why Rick expected nothing to be connected to the door. Just a phantom of hope, he would never know. Maybe just a symptom of the world they lived in now... he tried not to think too much into it.

But there was not nothing. Instead there was a rusted metal runway. The rails in someplace had busted and fallen off in some places due to the passage of time. Darting off into the fog into which neither man could not see the runway darted in and out of sight caressed by the mist that hugged both friends so tightly.

The sound of the door reverberated throughout concrete walls of the factory easily. Silence was not a commodity the old world understood. And as such it was not something this building was ever designed to hold.

And so the groans of the dead echoed freely across the concrete walls with no direction of were they could possibly be directed from. Their endless plights announced for all willing to listen... or rather for as far as Rick could tell... for no one to listen.

Glancing to the archer, Rick watched as Daryl braced himself on either side of the concrete doorframe. Looking down at the metal runway below him he sighed.

"Gonna need ya ta let go of me." He hummed smirking back at Rick. The leader huffed moving his hands from the leather of his back, favoring clinging to the concrete wall instead. "Not that I mind. Just a bit of a ledge from here ta there... looks like there were stairs there once. Musta rusted off..." He hummed lowered himself into a sitting position.

Rick watched with bated breath as Daryl scooted forward into the misty abyss. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected as Daryl plunged forward to be devoured by the fog. Nothingness... a scream or a wail as Daryl fell the many stories to his death... or if it was a silence followed by a deafening thud. But the metallic clang of boots on a runway was a sound that was just as near angelic as any and all Rick needed to hear to remember to breathe once more.

"All good!"

Prick.

AN: Eyyy I’ve been writing this fic for 👀 mmm. About a year and a half. I’m gonna have to chop it up into chapters for ya because I am not sure it’ll ever get done else wise. Just keep on me yall I’ll post updates as things go on. Thank you all for understanding love ya! 💕

#the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead rick grimes #daryl dixon #rick grimes #twd #twd fanfiction #chapter 1 #buddy #Rick and Daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #rick grimes fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 writer #long post #long reads #long fic

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twigg96 · 5 days ago

Text

Blame

Rating: T+

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption

Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan & Dutch Van der Linde, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan & Dutch Van der Linde, Implied Hosea Matthews/Dutch Van der Linde

Characters: Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Lenny, Dutch Van der Linde

Tags: Canon Compliant, Arthur Morgan Has Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Mentioned Hosea Matthews, Mentioned Lenny, Mentioned Dutch van der Linde, Dutch van der Linde Has a Plan, Arthur Morgan POV, Arthur vents, Hosea's grave, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Chapter 5: Guarma (Red Dead Redemption 2), Short, Short One Shot, Dutch loves Hosea, crazy Dutch, Dialogue Heavy

“I don’t blame you.”��

Arthur wheezed standing at the foot of a grave. Bugs flew around him buzzing in his ears. The swarms so thick Arthur had resorted to using his bandana to keep the gnats from choking him and aggravating his already rattling cough. The tombstone was worn from the heavy rains and dense humidity of Lemoyne.

“I don’t blame you fer dying. Not anymore.” He hissed through clenched teeth “I don’t blame you fer how things are turning out. I know it weren’t your fault. You couldn’t o’ known how sick Dutch would get when you left.” Arthur paused looking out past the graves into the pitch blackness of the night. Only his little camp fire burning provided enough light to see Hosea’s name etched into the wooden makeshift grave.

“I just wish I woulda taken you more seriously. Not for granted.” Arthur’s voice hitched tilting his head to the crab grass he knelt on so his hat covered his face and cast shadows down his eyes to hide the tears Hosea couldn’t see.

“I wish we coulda gotten that job done right. Taken that boat to Tahiti and not that god forsaken island.” Arthur hissed gripping the grass tight in his fingers. Reaching for Hosea but never finding him there.

“I blame you for watchin’ as things got bad and only tellin’ John and I ta run and never worrying about yourself.”

A sob cracked his resolve and pulled a chain of bloody coughs from his throat tearing and pulling at his lungs creating new scars he could never hope to see.

“I blame you for standing beside Dutch urging me to stay and work when Eliza and Isaac were alive. I don’t blame you for their deaths it would be idiotic if I did. But, I blame you for never speaking up when Dutch’s fix to the problem was more work. Like I was a damned mule and it was expected of me.”

Lifting his bandana enough Arthur turned spitting blood off into the distance towards his camp.

“I blame you for not telling me dying hurts so god damned bad.”

He sighed wiping the tears that stung his eyes.

“I ain’t mad. I just wish you could tell me if it was ok to be afraid…”

He whispered sitting back on his heel Arthur sighed. The sounds of the city in the distance danced and mixed with the chirps of birds waking long before the sunrise in the early morning hours. “Because I am… scared. Things are changing so damned fast.” Coughing into his hand Arthur took a long shaky wheezing breath that had his ribs aching in Pain. “I’m dying. And I’m afraid I’m leaving everyone alone to die alongside me in a river of blood.”

A beat passed. Lifting a hand to his head Arthur pushed down his hat reading the writing illuminating on the wood.

“This needs to end. One way or another Hosea… it needs to end. But I don’t think I’m strong enough anymore to stop the train on my own. Even if I was I don’t know if I’d ever want to.”

Sniffling deep Arthur rose to his feet closing his eyes as a rare breeze cut through Lemoyne bathing him in cool soothing air. Wrapping him softly an embrace and comfort. Hosea’s arms wrapping tight around him one last time.

“Sorry I couldn’t have told ya sooner. I better be heading back in the morning. Been gone from camp fer round a month now…. Oh Christ so much had happened since… well. You know.”

Arthur sighed walking over to his bedroll. Kneeling low he laid down admiring the flickering of the flames dancing in the corner of his eyes and across the two graves that lay so close to him.

“You’d be damned proud of John. He’d slowly coming into himself. Trying for that boy of his. And Sadie and Charles… they stepped up more than I can say.”

Laying an arm across his face Arthur sighed once more, phlegm and blood caught in his throat pulling one last fit from his chest.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I come back this way next time. Hopefully this time I won't keep you waiting.” Arthur hummed, his voice graveled and phlegmy. "Good night Hosea. Good night Lenny."

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #ao3 #fanfics #red dead fandom #rdr2 community #rdr fanfiction #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #loss #greif #vent #graveyard #arthur morgan rdr2

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