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zirconika · 2 months

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nine lives of a thief

TWO | the first life

NAVIGATION . MASTERLIST

This chapter is part of a series entitled 'Nine Lives of a Thief,’ but you may choose to read each part as a oneshot. Click the link to view the series masterlist!

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader WORDS: 4.7k SUMMARY: While on a supply run with Aaron, Daryl is eager to learn more about you. Getting pieces of you and your story then propels him to revisit your history to determine the best way to make it up to you. It goes awry when he discovers a secret you've been keeping for years. WARNINGS: Angst. Fluff is only in the childhood flashback. Uses scenes from S05EP16 SETTING: Pre-Negan Alexandria and Pre-Apocalypse A/N: omfg sorry for the late update i’ve been busy taking care of my college requirements and i took driving classes HAHSNDHDHAJA anyway hope u guys like this one

Daryl Dixon was a man who was wired to function solely on just destination—get to it, do it, and leave it. It confused him that a part of him now ran on motivation. It was not the drive to operate that confounded him, but that he was always eager to return.

To you. To see you.

And if he’s lucky, maybe even speak to you. It bothered Daryl that the last real conversation you had was the first time you spoke since ever. There never seemed to be an opportunity anymore, and if there was, you always seemed like you were in a hurry or that you were busy as if you had a nine-to-five corporate job you had to tend to.

He knew you were somewhat avoiding him, whether you knew it or not.

Right now, Daryl was focused on one thing—getting food for the community. Coming back to you was a close second. Even as Aaron made conversation, you were all he could think about. How he’d initiate a conversation without starting one.

The longer he listened to Aaron, the more he thought of ways he could bring you up: That girl, how’s she been? No, it’s too upfront.

“You okay?” asked his friend.

Daryl perked up. “Hm? Ah, m’sorry, just distracted.”

“You wanna ask me something,” Aaron guessed as they kept walking.

“Yeah, I… Wanted to ask ‘bout Eric. Er—how is he?” Daryl worried Aaron would catch on, but it was clear he loved talking about his beloved. His enthusiasm for Eric reminded Daryl of your spirit back when he first met you when he was all but six.

A bright smile broke on Aaron’s face as Daryl opened a wired gate. Aaron’s smile stayed as he talked about Eric. “Says he misses being out here with me. I do, too and…”

Daryl swung the gate open, entering the deserted courtyard, thinking only of you while Aaron talked about Eric. It wasn’t that Daryl didn’t care—he did, but it wasn’t exactly easy to act like he did when his mind did him a grizzly favor bringing you up every single time. How much older you looked…

He felt he missed a great deal of your life, and he was hoping he’d get to see more of it now that you’d reunited. If only you just weren’t so damn hard to reach then—

“You ever felt that way about anyone before?” Aaron asked him as he followed from behind. He could sense the question in Daryl’s eyes. If he knew Daryl wasn’t listening, he didn’t give him too much for it. “Love, I mean.”

He hadn’t heard of that word in a long time. In fact, he thinks the first time he ever learned of the word was decades ago.

“That Dixon kid spells trouble.”

It was your father’s routine to comment on your then next door neighbors whenever he visited you at your grandparents’ home in Georgia. It was usually that specific combination, but it also differed each day. Sometimes, he was talking about the younger kid, while sometimes the older one.

It mattered to you a lot. You knew them more than just trouble. You were keen on making sure your family never found out you had a crush on ‘that Dixon kid.’

The first time you met Daryl, you were instantly hooked by his eyes. To you, it was the greatest shade of blue you’ve ever seen. You were just settling in your grandparents’ home, saddened to spend your childhood away from your parents as they worked in the city. They figured it wasn’t exactly the best place to raise a child, so they sent you to the scorching land that is rural Georgia, in the safety of your grandparents’ care.

You hated the Georgia heat, hated that you had to say goodbye to your friends in the city. That is until you saw that charming fella, sporting worn out overalls as he rode his bike away from home.

You just had butterflies fluttering in your belly. At first, you thought he had pepper or some sort of dirt just above his lips, but you learned the hard way that it was only a mole, but that’s another story for later.

Rejection from a crush is usually a direction to stay away. To you, however, you were only more interested in getting close to the much shorter kid. You planned on befriending him first, then riding a horse to a faraway castle to get married second.

The first time Daryl met you, he despised you. He loathed you, even. Hated the way you wore your hair in braids and the way you couldn’t take a hint even if he tried. It was on the first day of first grade, only on the way to school.

He always sat alone by the window in the school bus, his lunch nothing but a juice carton he could fit in his tiny pocket. You had sat down next to the boy, his feet barely enough to reach the floor.

“Y’know, you’re gonna starve if you call that your lunch later,” you told him.

He only scowlded at you in response, ignoring you to watch the world pass by the window.

You smiled at him nonetheless. As far as you were concerned, you liked this boy. You knew right then that you would be safe in his company. “I’m [Y/N]. You are?”

No response. You let that go on for a while—just sitting right next to each other as he watched the small world pass him by, acting as if you weren’t even there. Unapologetically, you touched the surface of his face just above his lips, trying to swipe away the supposed dirt stain.

“What’d ‘ya do that for?”

“You have something on your face! I couldn’t just let you go to school with that,” you argued. You could almost see it: the kids laughing and pointing at him all because he forgot to wipe off a stain from his face! You were just concerned is all.

The boy wiped at his cheek with his hand, only to realize what you were referring to. “Heavens to Betsy! S’just a mole I’ve had since I’s a baby!”

“Great! We’re making conversation.” You smile at the boy. “You’ve gotta think it’s silly that I know about your mole and not your name.”

“Not gonna. Yer piddlin’, talkin’ so loud ‘ya could piss off the Pope, actin’ lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut!”

You frown, confused at his Southern lingo “Piss of the Pope? Lower than a snake’s what?”

His frown dissolved. “What, yer not from around here or somethin’?”

He was relieved to see your smile return, glad to not have pissed you off to send you running back to whichever father you had who, he assumed, probably had a shotgun.

“Yeah! I’m from Brooklyn.”

The boy grunted, crossing his arms. “You’ve got an awful lot to say for someone who just moved.”

“Oh, I only have this much to say to people I like.”

“Well, I don’t like you,” he interjected.

You only smiled as you unzipped your bag to pull out another smaller bag. “Didn’t say you had to, because I can make you!”

Before he could argue, you tore your sandwich in half, handing one half to him and keeping one the other for yourself to munch on. “Try it,” you tell him.

“How do I know ya ain’t trynna poison me?”

Rolling your eyes, you took a bite from the snack. You handed it to him insistently. “I’m still alive.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Just try it!”

Daryl’s never had enough good things in his life that your sandwich appeared to be more of a threat than a peace offering. He was used to getting the shortest end of the stick, or not even any.

He opened his mouth to debate against it, but he gave in. One bite in and something told you he hasn’t had something quite like it for the past year. You decided right then and there that you wanted to be the one who could put a smile on his face.

“This—sh’good.” The young boy admitted in between loud chewing. “You made this?”

“Meemaw did,” you replied, grinning as you ate your own half. “I’ve got more snacks in my bag, if you wanna share them later. But I need to know your name first!”

The bus came to a halt. It was the first time you looked at him clearly, and him you. “I’m Daryl.”

That night, he was all you could think of. The blue-eyed little boy who you were determined to make yours. His pretty nose, his funny walk, his everything. You weren’t particularly secretive with your feelings, bringing a sandwich for him after you asked your grandma to pack you two every day.

It wasn’t just the sandwiches, though. You’d often pester him, asking if he’d ever want to marry you one day, to which he’d respond with, “Ew, never!”

“Daryl,” you called to him as he ran away from you, retreating back to his house.

“What?” he turned back to yell.

Grinning, you braced yourself for his outburst of anger. You made it a hobby to rile Daryl on your quest to make him yours. “I loooove you!”

“No!” he spat back, running even faster back to his house. You laughed the entire time, thinking of when he’d eventually wear down and say it back. Little did your young self know, she’d be able to turn the tables around in just a decade. But that’s a story for another time.

Little Daryl, on the other hand, lay in bed, staring at the ceiling racking his mind on ways he could get rid of you. That day, he was guilty of something grave, something dangerous. Thieves are born once they do the honor of their first theft, and you were just unlucky enough to be Daryl's first victim, having done you the untimely inconvenience of stealing your heart. That day was the first of many lives he would lead.

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“I dunno, I was young. But I guess I did, once,” Daryl said after recounting his earliest memory he had of you: stubborn, ambitious, and determined. “Whatever it was, I screwed it up.”

“Screwed up how?” Aaron asked, and Daryl wondered if you had opened up about your past to the guy. He wishes he’d brought you up in the conversation earlier on so that it wouldn’t be suspicious for him to suddenly talk about you after he’d just given a glimpse into his history.

“Drove her away when I drove away,” Daryl said lightly. He was relieved to find a confused Aaron, but more so when they reached a couple of cargo containers lined up in an organized fashion marked with the text: How the harvest gets home.

Aaron wanted to ask, but his interest was piqued by the promise of food to take home. They made their way through the gap between the two containers, eager to give it a look. Daryl noticed the two cans hanging by the sides before he followed suit, but he followed anyway.

The pair climbed up the short length of stairs, pleased to find more containers.

“Huh,” Aaron chuckled, enthused about what awaited behind the doors. The can on the door was certainly appetizing. “Woah…”

Daryl watched as Aaron mused about the container, who bent down to loot his pack for a tool to obtain another license plate, this time from Alaska—K4Z 816, with the subtext ‘The Last Frontier.’ There was definitely something… Strange and unsettling about the place. However, the promise of something to bring back weighed more than the thought of coming empty-handed. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Hey, listen,” Aaron called out, triumphant while Daryl explored the small space enclosed by the containers. “I don’t like giving up either. But… The guy is in a red poncho. You could see him from miles away. We’ve got a lot of miles here, and no sign of him.”

The lock of the container caught Daryl’s attention.

Aaron began to walk over to Daryl after getting a new addition to his collection. “We’ve come away with… A trailer full of cans. I’d say that’s a good trip!”

The pair stopped in front of one of the containers. Daryl bent down to tinker with the lock, eager to get out of there to return to you. “Here you go.”

The archer was already picturing the many things he wanted to do when he saw you again, and the ways he could approach you. Daryl grunted as he swung the handle open.

The choice to open the door was certainly a choice, albeit an absolutely fatal one. Wires snapped from all directions as the door slid open upwards. There were no cans inside of the container, no. The pair jumped in horror as they were met by the gruesome sight of the dead, some impaled by a hook and some able to chase freedom.

One by one, all of the doors swung open to reveal the very same scene in front of them. The pair dashed out of the scene upon discovering their mission was a total bust.

The walkers were already pouring out into the open space, blocking their only way out. Daryl plunged his knife down one of the walkers making its way to him, its groans speaking only of its lethal appetite. Aaron, on the other hand, made a weapon out of the license plate he’d just looted, smashing it against the temple of a walker twice until its head split open.

“Over here!” Aaron yelled to Daryl, pointing to the space under one of the containers. The archer followed Aaron in a haste and for the first time in a long while, Daryl feared death.

He felt his heart beat faster every passing second that the dead clawed their way to them, crawling with an undying thirst for their flesh. He wondered if you’d miss him if he were to die now, if you’d look for him…

No. There was no way in damn hell he’d die without explaining himself at least twice. That’s right—twice. And even possibly more just so you’d take him back. He’d make it up to you. Daryl stole one glance at the walker crawling towards him with a ‘W’ blatantly itched on its forehead before obtaining a long metal chain as a weapon.

The troubled pair hurriedly got out of the small space, with Daryl whipped the chain on three incoming walkers, ruthlessly determined to get out of there. He was already drafting a plan in his head: get out of there, get to you, talk to you. He was no longer going to spend more time waiting around for the right time, if there even was such a thing.

He plunged his dagger deep into the head of the walker that had gotten ahold of Aaron’s bag before running out together. Aaron wasted no time slicing the head of a walker clean with his own machete, eager to be out of there as soon as possible. He did the same for another one coming his way.

Holy shit, was it terrifying having to push through the walking dead as if it were just a mosh pit in a concert. The two couldn’t even begin to catch their breath as they jumped into the same door of a car, especially as a head of a walker just peeped inside in time when Aaron made to shut the door close. He had to do it multiple times until the head was crushed enough for him to finally close it.

The shelter of the car was no use, though. Walkers gathered from all sides, clamoring to get inside. They both knew it wouldn’t hold and would eventually give up. For sure, more walkers would be drawn by the commotion, curious to get a piece of what was inside the damn car.

“Glass will hold for a while, right?” Aaron asked, observing the crowd of hands and brutal groans from the dead on all sides of the car’s windows.

“Maybe,” Daryl replied, still holding a dagger in his hand. Daryl thought of ways he could salvage this mission for the sake of returning to you. “Maybe we can make it so they can't see us. In a couple hours, somethin’ will come by, they’ll follow it out. There’s gotta be somethin’ in here we can use to block the view.”

Aaron began to rummage through the compartments. “We can cut up these seats.”

He only found an eerie warning written on a crumpled sheet of paper in one of the cup holders, stating, ‘TRAP. BAD PEOPLE COMING. DON’T STAY.’

Aaron showed it to Daryl, who could only think of how damn helpful it would have been three minutes ago. Just like that, he was drained of the hope he could ever return to you.

They sat there for a while like that, hopeless. Daryl chuckled.

“What?” Aaron asked.

“I came out here to… Not feel all closed up back there. Even now, this feels like me… Than back in them houses. That’s pretty messed up, huh?”

“You were trying,” he assured Daryl.

“Can I tell ya somethin’?”

Aaron nodded. “Lay it on me.”

“[Y/N]... I’ve known her since we were kids. She’s—er—the one I been thinkin’ of back there when ya asked me if I’ve ever felt it before. I did. I… I thought I’d never even see her again, so I put her in the back of my mind ‘cause the last time I did, I ruined her for good. I thought she was livin’ the perfect life I always pictured for her if I left, thought she was better off. Then I met her and… Shit, I’m an asshole.”

Aaron sat there, taking in everything Daryl had just told him. You had shared a fair piece of your history to him, entrusting him with a small part of your past you thought you’d never end up facing again. He knew of a first love that broke your heart, knew you have your fair share of regrets and grudges. He just didn’t expect it to be Daryl Dixon.

“I see.” Aaron only nodded. “She used to be my partner out on these runs, yknow.”

“Yeah?” Daryl asked, intrigued. He was never able to learn much about you for the past week, having been cautious about who he could and could not ask. “Why’d it stop?”

“Well…” Aaron sighed, his eyes focused on the unsightly crowd of dead clamoring to break the glass. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell.”

“You don’t think we’re gonna die in here?” Daryl asked with a smirk.

“Yeah, I don’t. We’re both gonna get out of here and you’ll ask her about it and she’ll tell you.” Aaron looked around the windows. “You’ve got a lot to know. It wasn’t easy for her back then.”

“Right.”

“Listen, I saw you with your group out there on the road. Then you went off on your own by the barn. Storm hit and you led your people to safety. That was it. I knew I had to bring you people back.”

Daryl could only give him a hopeless smile.

“You were right. We should have kept looking for that guy in a poncho,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have given up. You didn’t.”

Daryl licked his lips before pulling out a cigar and placing it between his teeth. He didn’t mind having a heroic end anymore, because it meant earning him at least an ounce of redemption. It would be a sort of repentance for what he’d done to you all those years. “I’ll go.”

Aaron looked back up to him, confused.

Daryl had to explain as he lit his cigarette. “I’ll lead them out. You make a break for the fence.”

“No, no, no,” said Aaron. “This was my fault.”

“It wasn’t a question.” He’d made up his mind. Daryl took away the cigarette from his mouth for a moment. “And this ain’t your decision. It ain’t nobody’s fault. Just let me finish my smoke first.”

Aaron looked at Daryl, and he was sure the archer did not want to die just yet. He wasn’t gonna let that happen to his friend. “No. You don’t draw them away. We fight.”

And fight they did, braving the outside. It was simply luck that the man in the red poncho happened to be their very savior, and he was just looking for the man that led them to shelter.

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Any half-sane man should have been concerned with the matter at hand—the crime scene unfolding before him. Rick stood there, blood the main component of his gait, having just executed the community’s only doctor.

And yet Daryl couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, couldn’t help but stop the questions running in his head: Is she alrigh’? What is she thinkin’ right now? Is she okay? Is she fine?

When your eyes met his, we raised his brow in question. You only looked down, avoiding his look. You always did that. You’ve been avoiding him. This time, he let it slide. After all, you did just witness a murder.

For a while after that, you continued to avoid him. He let you. Maybe because he wanted you to, but eventually he grew tired of it. A couple of nights after the incident, he decided he’d take matters into his own hands with you.

Daryl watched you from below. You were on watch duty at this hour of the night, manning the gates in the event a threat presented itself.

You were so lost in thought you almost fell off the wooden watch tower when someone offered you a sandwich.

“I don’t think ya should be on watch if ya didn’t even catch me climbin’ up here,” the archer said, his hand outstretched with a wrapped sandwich in hand. “Made it myself.”

“Sorry, I was just…”

“Avoidin’ me?” he asked.

“What?” you asked back with a nervous laugh that faded into silent confession. You took the sandwich, scrutinizing it with a nostalgic burn in your chest. This has happened before, but you didn’t want to ask him about it or bring it up in any way at all.

Daryl looked into the distance, the night sky with a lot more stars than he could recall from when he left. “Stars are brighter nowadays, huh?”

You’re grateful he was kind enough to give you a break from the subject. But he wasn’t trying to change it. He was just thinking of the night he left… “Light pollution’s gone down, so… Yay apocalypse?”

His gaze returned back to you, and you wanted to beat yourself up for feeling that familiar rush of butterflies in your stomach like you did back when the only thing you felt for him was love. “Ya ain’t gonna try it? S’gonna get cold.”

“How do I know you’re not gonna—?”

This time, Daryl took the bread from your hands to take a bite. “Poison ya? I’m still alive.”

You took the sandwich with a laugh. “I was gonna say drug me into liking you.”

“Don’t need drugs for that.” Daryl gave you that same old damned smile he did, and suddenly the air smelled like the leather seats of your parents’ car that you stole. You held his stare, but you refused to return the smile.

“I should go,” you told him, shoving the bread to his chest as you rushed down the ladder. You heard Daryl’s frustrated and confused grunt while you were hurrying down.

By the time you got down, Daryl was just close behind. “[Y/N|,” he called out calmly. “Goodnight, Daryl.” You felt the tears prickle in your eyes. You refused to face him, you just felt the fire in your legs propelling you forward, pushing you to run home. It was all so familiar, everything he did. You hated the way you felt so stupidly attached… You were an idiot. You’d give in, and everything would just go like it did back then. “[Y/N],” he called out once more, this time with the slightest hint of indignation. He just wanted to talk to you so he could say his piece, would that be so bad? “Stop, damn it.”

You heard his footsteps getting louder and closer just as he grabbed you by your wrist, purposeful yet so gentle like he always was whenever he touched you back then. Your heart was beyond just beating quickly. You were sure it would eventually break through your bones and run free. You didn’t even realize your face was wet with tears until Daryl wiped it off for you. You were seventeen all over again, crying to him and asking him to take you with him if he was going to leave. You were nine once more, crying yourself to sleep after moving away.

“I can’t,” you utter out. “Can’t what? Tell me.” His eyes were hungry for answers, but you didn’t even know either. You just knew you couldn’t stand to see him anymore. It broke your heart, because you thought that if you would ever run into him again, you would be okay. That you would have moved on, and you could remain civil. So many words you wanted to tell him.

You swat his hand away. “I can’t keep talking to you just because you’re here. I can’t—can’t keep pretending that you’re—you—that what happened for around thirty fucking years ago is no longer bothering me, because I know damn full well that it is and it always will! And you being here I… I just… I can’t!”

“Ya want me to go?” he asked, gentle as ever.

“No, Daryl,” you said, out of words you could say to even come close to saying what it is you felt. “I just… I just wish you never left.”

So many explanations, and yet it was all reduced to you pushing him away. You just needed to get out of there. And that should’ve been the end of it. Daryl respected your preference for isolation. That really should have been the end of it for at least that night. He stood there, his heart half-broken. He just decided that maybe he deserved it, that he was stupid for thinking he deserved even another chance.

As Daryl watched you walk down the street away from him, he decided he’d give you more time. As much as you needed until you were—

In the short distance, you fell to your knees. Daryl halted in his tracks, his brows furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of what you were doing. Even though your back was to him, he could make out that you were doing the same habit he was used to seeing you doing, only this time, your back was heaving up and down.

God, he didn’t need to see anything else anymore. He was already on his way the moment he felt something was wrong. His mind raced with so many terrible scenarios he refused to verbalize.

“[Y/N], what’s wrong?” he asked, worried as he knelt down in front of you. “What’s happenin’?”

“I—” Your mouth was locked shut from the static that spread from the tips of your fingers all the way to your jaw. It was cold, and it was burning hot.

You felt Daryl scoop you in your arms without question, and you let him. You heaved short, heavy breaths you couldn’t begin to catch. You felt and heard your heart in every direction, beating as if it was taunting you.

“...Bringin’ ya to Denise,” you heard Daryl say over the racing pace of your deafening heartbeat. You shook your head, the static finding that safe spot of yours, too.

“No, I—please—home—don’t—Denise,” you managed to say in between the uncontrollable hitches in your breath.

Daryl shook his head, slowing down as he tried to think of the right thing to do. But he felt your fist tighten its grip on his vest in request.

“Please. Now—Now, Dar—Now.”

You felt him caressing your hair with the gentlest of touches, just as you remember it. You felt him whispering soft promises against your ear, but you couldn’t make any single word out of it as everything went pitch black…

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zirconika · 2 months

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hi guys hawld own im taking theoretical driving lessons ima update as soon as i can

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zirconika · 2 months

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yall wait for me i’m just gonna try and move on from the end of my 3 year relationship in 1 day 😍🔥🔥🔥

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zirconika · 2 months

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hi 2 girlypop who requested the parting with ex amicably daryl req i'm gonna do it !!! just in time for the breakup i'm going through i just need to update nine lives of a thief first :DDD

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zirconika · 2 months

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That woman is a menace

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zirconika · 2 months

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THANK YOU ILY

if you're up for it, would love to see a mildly angsty fluff daryl x reader piece where reader is one of the people at the prison who gets hit with the flu and while daryl is explaining the plan to go get the meds, reader jokingly asks if he can bring back a treat if she promises to be a good patient. cut to the aftermath of the prison fall and reader ends up getting out with help from michonne before they run into rick and carl and eventually reunite with daryl during the stand off with the claimers. the next morning daryl and reader finally get a moment to themselves to just breathe for a second and daryl pulls out a lollipop he had found back at the gas station when they were on the medicine run and shyly hands it over to reader

five seconds

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader WORDS: 5.3k SUMMARY: Guilty for arguing with you right before you fell ill, Daryl’s determined to make it up to you by fulfilling your request. His goal to deliver it to you is interrupted by the fall of the prison and the intrusion of the Claimers. WARNINGS: angst to fluff. nose bleeding. expect mean daryl, i got mean daryl fever from crush by @ghostboneswrites2. attempted sexual assault during the claimers scene, basically the violence that took place during that particular scene. A/N: yes i am up for it i love love love this idea!!! i added my own twist to it too :)) so sorry it took three days i had no idea how to start it hsejkrkwa also it ended up being longer than i intended for it to be. hope u like it nonnie ! reblogs are appreciated!

Friends do things for each other, that’s just the way it is. Rick Grimes hands you a gun? Friends. Carol Peletier offers you a bowl of soup? Friends. Daryl Dixon looks at you for five long seconds before going to sleep? That’s… That’s classified.

Okay, friends. You might have been reading into it.

Friends—It’s what you tell yourself what you are with the archer whenever you volunteer to earn your keep alongside him who, for some reason, seemed to be blatantly avoiding you ever since that damned staring session.

It wasn’t the length of the stare. It was how he looked at you and how you felt yourself looking at him. The two of you were just returning to your respective cells, expecting the other to say goodnight only to end up staring at each other. The worst part is how it ended.

It was so quick that you could have missed it, but Daryl Dixon’s eyes fell to your lips for a split second before he turned away to hurriedly retreat to his cell. You tried not to think about it too much, but Daryl deliberately and very obviously dodging you made it hard to forget.

When you went out to hunt together as per routine, you expected to hold at least a conversation half a minute long. You missed talking to the archer, you had to admit it to yourself at least. Which is why it pissed you to the bone that the next time you ever talked again was the next accident.

“I had it under control!” you yelled at the archer, who didn’t seem to be too interested in your defenses. At your feet lay a walker whose head had served as a target for a bolt you knew all too well.

You watched as Daryl made his way over to you, fury evident in each step. “Hell ya mean under control? Ya ain’t cut out for huntin’! Ya should’ve sensed that walker from a mile away.”

“Woah, woah,” you humorlessly exclaimed, “I’ve been hunting with you since like, ever. The fuck you mean ‘I ain’t cut out for huntin’?”

“‘Cause ya aint! Could’ve gotten yerself killed, woman.” What was he so mean about?

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right to some degree. If he hadn’t arrived in time, you would’ve been dealing with the aftermath of a walker bite by now. But it did not give him the right to speak to you like that. “Oh, you are not talking to me like that.”

“Just did,” he spat. “Now ya listen to me. Yer gonna return to camp and yer gonna—”

“Sit around and do nothing?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You want me to knit you some sweaters, too? Make you holiday cookies?”

“Guard the damn fences,” he said. Daryl stepped forward to grab you by your arm. You dodge him before he could get a hold of you, glaring at him as you did so.

“I can walk by myself, thanks.” Before disappearing into the woods to return back to the prison, you flipped the guy off. What was up with him? You angrily mumbled to yourself, “It was just a walker.”

It’s been a while since that happened, and this time, it was you who didn’t dare to speak to him. You didn’t want to be the first one to approach him. After all, you did nothing wrong. And yet he had the audacity to avoid you again.

But it wasn’t that there were zero interactions, though. There were a handful, however blood boiling they were. You exchanged a couple glares whenever your eyes landed on one another.

The worst one was when Patrick extended his hand to Daryl in front of you while he thanked the archer for his contribution. After Daryl shook his hand, you had to butt in, standing up while eating a bowl of oatmeal instead of the cooked meat.

“Well, that’s Daryl! Isn’t he just great, Carol? Such an amazing huntsman!” you mused sarcastically, giving the three of them the brightest smile you could. Daryl could only watch as you walked away from the scene, his eyes drilling a hole at the back of your head as you kept going on and on: “I don’t know how I could ever compete!”

It didn’t take long for the group to catch on the heat.

You didn’t mind that part. What you did mind, though, was Daryl’s snide remarks whenever you’d mess up as a retort to what you’d said in front of Patrick.

Dropped a spoon? “S’why ya can’t be outside, can’t even hold a damn spoon righ’.”

But you weren’t gonna let that slide. Whenever he’d say something to the group, you had something up your sleeve, too.

He found an old warehouse west of the prison? “Oh, how splendid. Daryl and his plans. Everyone say ‘Thank you, Daryl’!”

The last rebuttal you could recall was after you finished your task digging a grave for the recent casualties. You were taking a quick break by yourself, setting your shovel aside. From a distance, you watched Glenn and Maggie continue to dig. You shuddered at the thought of turning with no warning of a bite.

Your body was sore all over from all the digging, your throat on the precipice of getting sore, and you felt the world beneath you sway uninterrupted.

The moment you made to leave the shovel against the wall, the world swayed even worse, sending you to Daryl’s grasp. “Damn it, woman, watch ya step. Ya ain’t gonna last long bein’ such a damn klutz.”

“Get off my back,” you said. You jumped out of his arms, glaring at him with the default face you’d grown used to using around him. You angrily grabbed your shovel again, dismissing that you weren’t even able to have a minute. You let adrenaline overtake your need for a break.

You’d be lying if you said you hated it. You did at first, but it kind of grew on you.

That was until a portion of the prison fell ill from the rampant spread of the flu. You decided Daryl wasn’t worth your time for the time being, dedicating your focus on doing what you can for the prison. You did find yourself looking out for him every once in a while, though. Just to make sure he was still healthy.

Not that it mattered or anything.

But you watched in horror as Tyreese held Daryl by his vest. You found yourself stepping forward, wanting to intrude but Daryl held his hand out to Rick, a way of saying ‘I got it.’

It bothered you that you felt a sort of responsibility towards the guy, however much of an asshole he was towards you. To be fair, you were just as bad to him. But you weren’t gonna admit defeat just like that.

“We’re on the same side, man,” he told the furious Tyreese. And after that, it was all a blur. You watched the fight unfold. You wanted to stop Rick, to hold him off Tyreese, tell him it was over, but you remained rooted to the floor, frozen.

You could’ve sworn you felt Daryl’s gaze on you before he managed to get Rick to stop until he did. Daryl stumbled backwards, bumping into you. Shivers went down your spine when he touched you by the waist to ask you, “Y’alrigh’?”

You looked back at him. That same look again.

One.

Two.

Three.

You turned away to wipe at your nose, sniffling. Unsure of what to do, you hurriedly left the scene. Once you were far enough, you wiped at your nose again. Then came a metallic scent you just could not ignore no matter how hard you tried. You thought it was just the rust of the metal bars infiltrating your senses.

But when you looked down at your hand upon the third wipe, you were met by the sight of blood.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After settling the dispute out, Daryl made it his mission to search for you before the council meeting. To his surprise, you were not in your cell, not outside, at least not anywhere he could find in three minutes. Deciding—hoping—you were probably busy somewhere, Daryl got back to the council’s table.

Though he gave a fair share of ideas and listened intently, having even agreed to go on the run, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Before leaving, Daryl pulled Glenn aside, knowing he dug graves with you just a while ago.

He didn’t even know why he had the urge to ask the guy, because how could he possibly have any clue of your whereabouts? But he had to ask something. “[Y/N] ever said anythin’ ‘bout stuff she had to do or somethin’?”

“I don’t think so,” said Glenn, getting ready to seclude himself as well. “She’s probably isolated herself by now, too.”

“Isolate herself for what?” Daryl scoffed in a poor attempt to disguise his concern. Glenn watched him as if he were a madman.

“You didn’t see her this morning?” he asked the archer, who then said he did. The longer Glenn paused, the more Daryl followed. “She’s caught it, too.”

At that moment, Daryl understood his routinely misdirected anger—why he felt his heart practically burn a hole through his chest at the sight of that walker almost getting you, why he could no longer stomach bringing you along with him on runs and hunts, and why he let his stares linger.

Daryl Dixon understood why he kept his distance in fear of letting whatever it was he felt fester, burying it deep within himself where even he could not find it. Until he discovered that he had a bigger fear—a phobia, even.

The thought of losing you. And it was all the more clear to him now as he peeked through the small window to find you gripping one of the bars of a cell, keeping steady. You’d gotten weak since the last time he saw you, and he thought back to when you furiously went back to work after he’d interrupted.

He felt a guilt like never before, feeling responsible for your condition.

You caught sight of him from afar, and your eyes locked.

One.

Two.

You gestured to the visitation room. He nodded.

Finding yourself face to face with Daryl Dixon afterwards divided by a glass partition was something you didn’t expect you’d ever have to experience. You didn’t even think he’d care enough to take the time to do so.

Ever since you shared that long second stare, you’ve been wondering when you’d ever have the luxury of sharing it again. But even you couldn’t hold it for that long.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Go on, lay it on me,” you said.

You longed to hear his typical insults, the ones you were used to hearing by routine. Instead, Daryl, took a deep breath and told you, “M’sorry. ‘Bout everythin’.”

Safe to say that you were taken aback. You opened your mouth to tease him about it, but you had to look away as you felt the itch in your throat begging to be scratched inside. You coughed out loud, and Daryl couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of you.

“What, no ‘yer hideous,’ ‘serves ya righ,’ or even ‘fuckin’ idiot’?” you asked jokingly, attempting to make an impression of the way he talked.

“S’why I didn’t want ya out there,” he said, ignoring your attempt at triggering that part of him. It went out the minute he realized you were on borrowed time. “Didn’t want ya to risk yer life for some pig meat.”

You realized he’d gotten serious. You took your seat across from him, scrutinizing the way he looked at you. “Oh, and you’re allowed to?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, ‘cause I ain’t an idiot like you.”

“There it is,” you chuckled. Daryl laughed along with you, and it was the first time in a long time that you’ve laughed together. And when the moment passed came that damned stare again.

One.

You couldn’t hold it. “I don’t know how much time I have left so… Thanks for coming.”

Daryl snorted. Though he laughed, he was just as scared as you are. Maybe even more scared. “Ya ain’t gonna turn. We’re gonna head out ‘n get some meds. There’s a vet college some ways away from here, and I’m gonna make sure stupidity ain’t gon’ be the reason ya die. Ya ain’t dyin’, that’s final.”

“They got everythin’ there?” you asked.

“I dunno, Hershel gave us a list. Said it should have ‘em.”

“You know how things are, right? How everything usually doesn’t end up going the way you want it to. So…” You didn’t know what to say anymore. “On the off-chance it’s limited, I don’t want to hog any of it.”

“Whaddya mean?” the archer asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He didn’t like where this was going.

“I mean that if there’s a shortage, I’m fine not getting it. I’ve been with these people for half an hour and… Daryl, they deserve a second chance. They want to survive.”

“And ya don’t?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, sniffling. You weren’t crying, but your stuffy nose made it hard to breathe just as badly. Daryl’s heart sank. His guilt just kept growing knowing he’d been unreasonably rude to you just this morning and every morning that came before. “It gets tiring at times, but it does get fun when you spend it with the right people. But then again, who knows how long you’ll be having any of those, too?”

Daryl opened his mouth to say something only to take it back the instant he thought of it. I’m not gonna let ya die. He stuck to his stubborn script instead. This is what Daryl was avoiding; the burden of caring. “Yer gonna take the meds whether ya like it or not.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his stubborn drive. It was one of the many things you admired about him. “What, you’re gonna be all mean to me again if I don’t follow your instructions, Doctor Dixon?”

“Doctor wha—?” He stifled a laugh to no avail. It was through that moment that you found out that Daryl’s laugh was music to your ears. “Nah, we’re way past that. M’gonna start a new method. Ya do somethin’ good, ya get somethin’ good instead of gettin’ somethin’ bad when ya do somethin’ bad.”

“So reward punishment,” you suggested with a smile.

“Exactly.”

“So,” you began, “if I promise to be a good patient…”

“Uhuh,” he nodded.

“If I take the meds…”

“Mhm.”

“You’re gonna give me a treat?” You resisted the urge to joke about a kiss. It felt too early, and you worried it would spook Daryl away and ruin the moment.

“Yep.”

“Really?” you asked, grinning wider that it almost seemed as if you never even caught the flu. “Like, one of those lollipops they give out after a vaccine just so you stop crying?”

Daryl had no idea what you talked about, having never experienced getting one good check-up his whole life, depending his health on whatever remedies he and his brother can fashion on their own. But you seemed to be thrilled about it, and that was enough. “Yeah, like that.”

You pretended to consider it for a while, acting like you were deep in thought. “Alright, we have a deal, you fucker.”

He smirked. “Wipe that stupid smile off yer face.”

And though you didn’t take it too seriously, Daryl was already hatching a game plan he could use to find one for you the moment you mentioned it. After all, he was a man of his word.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Daryl Dixon was one of the few people who valued solitude. This time, though, he found himself craving company long after the fall of the prison as well as when he lost Beth.

Thus, the universe sent the worst possible group to accompany him—the Claimers. Even he realized the change within him when he realized the difference in how he’d choose his company now and before.

It shook him to his core that he would have chosen this group had he not met Rick’s, had he not met you. As he and the Claimers made their way through the roads in search of the perpetrators they sought to give a piece of their mind.

Daryl decided he’d ride with the Claimers for survival, thinking to himself he’d be fine coasting with them for just a little while until he found the right opening to leave. That was, until he discovered that they’d been hunting the same group Daryl had been looking for, but with different motives.

“Hold up,” Daryl said carefully, so as to not rile the leader who had Rick dangerously at gunpoint.

“You’re stopping me on eight, Daryl,” the leader accused. You felt your heart sink from where you were, fearing how the scene would unfold. You held Carl’s hand to comfort him, but it was just as well an attempt to comfort yourself. Carl returned the sentiment.

Daryl stepped closer with caution. “Let’s hold up.”

One of the guys holding a shotgun opened his mouth. “This is the guy who killed Lou, so we got nothin’ to talk about.”

“Carl,” you whispered under your breath, not daring to move to even look at the kid. You could only hear a bit, but the silence in the car and the slightly opened windows was enough to let you hear a bit.

“The thing about nowadays is we got nothing but time,” the leader said. He kept his eyes on the archer. “Say your piece, Daryl.”

“These people,” Daryl started. “Yer gonna let them go. These are good people.”

You felt your heartbeat pick up its pace upon observation that the group’s leader was unimpressed. “Now, I—I think Lou would disagree with you on that. I, of course, would have to speak for him and all because your friend here strangled him in the bathroom.”

You whispered again, frozen in place. “Carl, I need you to get in the back. Slowly.”

“You want blood? I get it,” Daryl said. You watched as the archer dropped his crossbow and threw his arms open. The fuck is he doing? “Take it from me, man.”

Carl slowly brought his legs up to him, trying not to make a noise.

Daryl kept coming closer. “Come on.”

“This man killed our friend.” By the look on their leader’s face, you knew there was no way this would go in peace. “You say he’s good people. See now, right there is—is a lie.”

“Carl, hurry,” you whisper again. But his attempts at doing so is halted by the events that followed.

Daryl dropped his arms to his side, realizing the same as you. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to stifle your frightened yell as one of them hit Daryl with the butt of a shotgun. You could only watch in fear as two of the men dragged him to the hood of the car you and Carl were in.

As they beat him shitless, Daryl looked up to find your face staring right back at him from inside the car. For a moment, he thought he was seeing you as he approached death, but his eyes widened in terror realizing you would be involved in the scene.

A wave of relief and dread coursed through him; relief that you had gotten out of the prison and dread that he wouldn’t be able to protect you this time.

The door swung open and a man yanked Carl out before you could even reach him. “C’mere, boy.”

“Carl!” Your door swung open as well, one of the men tackling Daryl just seconds ago hauling you off your seat as you tried to put up a fight.

“You leave him be!” you heard Rick yell over the commotion.

The man pointing a gun to Michonne wasn’t afraid to make his threats and intentions clear either. “You get yours. You just wait for your turn.”

You felt the threat of a knife to your throat and you got a whiff of a mouth that reeked of booze. You felt your perpetrator’s warm breath tickle the lines of your neck, taking you in.

You were terrified of what he’d do to you, what they’d do to Carl. “Let him go!”

“Not so fast, hot stuff,” the man taunted you, toying with your hair.

“No, get off her!” Daryl exclaimed as his assailant pinned him down as another guy ruthlessly beat him up. Daryl didn’t care.

“Listen, it was just me. It was just me!” Rick admitted, desperately trying to bargain for his group’s freedom.

“See, now, that’s right! That’s not some damn lie! If we can settle this, we’re reasonable men.”

“First, we’re gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we’re gonna have the girls, then the boy. Then I’m gonna shoot you and soon we’ll be square!”

You heard Daryl yelp as they beat him. “Stop hurting him!”

The leader of the gang looked at Daryl, then at you. His fucking stare made your blood run cold. “Maybe we can keep little Daryl here for a while, give him a little show. Make him watch.” His laugh sent ripples of unease throughout your body even as you were thrown to the ground, the man getting on top of you.

“No!” you heard Daryl exclaim as he put up a harder fight to no avail, his body already weakened. More so was yours.

“Claimed!” the man yelled, his eyes already feasting on you.

Everything was… You couldn’t think anymore. You felt your legs part open, and with it your head throbbed. The lack of sleep, the hunger, the thirst, everything was coming down all at once. You could only hear the wicked cackling of their leader, Rick yelling at the man to let go of his son—

Then it was ringing in your ears at the sound of a gunshot. And yet the nightmare didn’t end. You didn’t like it. Didn’t like any of it. The sniffing and the giggling… The hands on your waist as they trailed down…

You thought of nothing. Perceived nothing until you felt the hands gripping your body start to loosen. Maybe you were gone already, maybe… This is the end.

The weight on top of you was gone altogether, and you could hear Rick’s furious grunts as he plunged a knife deep into the throat of the man who took Carl. You looked up to find Daryl tussling with the man who was just on top of you.

“Daryl…” You were slipping in and out of consciousness, and a couple steps from where you lay you saw the two other men who’d been beating Daryl just moments before splayed unconscious on the cold concrete road.

The ringing in your ears was louder as you watched your assailant fall to the ground, and Daryl shoving his foot down his head in vengeance.

You lay there among the leaves, tilting your head up to the sky, only grateful Daryl was fine. He ran to you as soon as he did what he saw he had to do.

“[Y/N],” he called, scooping you into his arms and away from the floor. You wanted to stay awake, to ask him how he was, to confess you were scared shitless and you were tired of pretending you weren’t…

The last thing you could remember was Daryl holding you as you let slumber take you away.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you awoke, you thought you were back in the prison. For a split second, you thought you just had a horrible nightmare. As your eyes began to adjust to the sun, you realized you were in the front seat of the car with the backrest inclined for your comfort.

Michonne’s presence in the backseat told you otherwise.

“Michonne?” You looked around to find no one else. The windows were covered with different cloths, too. You looked down on her lap to find Carl fast asleep while Michonne caressed his face. “How is he? How are you?”

She looked up at you, an undeniable sorrow in her eyes. She was just as tired. “I’m fine. He’s shaken. What about you?”

The events of the night before flashed before your eyes. You had to shake your head to be rid of it. You needed air. “I’ve been better, I just need air.”

Michonne nodded, respecting your distance. “Rick’s right outside.”

“And…?”

“Daryl?” she asked, to which you nodded meekly. Michonne gave you a reassuring smile. “He stayed with you the entire time, he stepped out just now. He’s fine.”

“Oh, okay.” Fixing your hair, you returned her kind gesture with a warm smile as well. “I’ll just go get some fresh air, I think I need it.”

You swung the door open and hopped out. Once you walked forward, you jumped in shock. You didn’t expect to be in the same place from when everything happened. Just in time, Daryl popped out from the other side of the car. “You alrigh’?”

The corpses were still splayed out flat on the concrete and beside the road. You had to look away from the grotesque scene, your heart pounding. “Yeah, I’m fine—I’m okay.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” he asked. Daryl gave Rick a knowing look before patting him on the shoulder. Rick nodded, letting the archer know that he’ll be fine. Daryl moved towards you and tapped you by the shoulder. He took back his hand the moment you flinched, instinctively recoiling to physical touch.

“Sorry, I’m just—I know I don’t need to feel that way around you, it’s just—”

“I get it.” Daryl understood; he was there when it happened. But he’d make sure he’d also be there after. His hand hovered behind the small of your back. “May I?”

Daryl waited until you nodded before he let his hand rest on your back to guide you away from the mess.

“Let’s take a walk. Have some water,” he said, handing you a half empty bottle. You took big gulps religiously, craving its feel in your throat. “Thank you.”

You hand the bottle back to him only to realize that you had drunk all of its contents. “Oh, shit. Sorry.”

“Nothin’ ya gotta apologize for.”

You only nodded in response, still troubled by everything.

Daryl halted, gently touching you by your wrist. You’d never felt that sort of tender touch before, and it was easy to miss it once it ended. “Hey, I—uh, I almost forgot.”

“Hm?”

“Y’know, the terms of our agreement.” You watched as Daryl fumbled with himself, and a laugh escaped you. He seemed to be flustered with what he was about to do, but you could tell he’d been anticipating doing it by the pace he was searching. He checked his shirt pockets. When he dug into his jeans’ front pocket, he pulled out something small, then extending his hand to you. “M’sorry I only got two, I wasn’t sure what flavor ya wanted and I accidentally got them in the same flavor and there were walkers and I know it ain’t an excuse but—”

You took it. You kept eyeing the two lollipops in your hand. It was both strawberry-flavored, and it was one of those jumbo ones that were slightly bigger than the regular ones. “Daryl, that was a joke. You didn’t have to” — you snorted, a smile breaking on your face — “actually get me one.”

“Nah, I’m a man of my word.” Daryl returned your smile. “I say m’gonna get ya somethin’, then m’gonna get ya somethin’. Simple.”

“Well, then,” you said, handing him the other one. “You get the other one.”

“Nah, it’s yours.”

“No. Get it.”

“Nah,” he said.

If Daryl was stubborn, you were nothing compared to him. You stuffed the other one in his pocket. “There. And don’t even try to argue with me on it, I wanna have it with you.”

“Alright, alright.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. He really did bother. You continued walking, Daryl followed.

“Ya don’t have to open it now, we need to get ya some more water first so yer throat doesn’t get sore again.”

“Thought this was my treat?” you teased. “For being a good patient?”

“Yeah, well, doctor says you should lay off it for a bit ‘til ya get some more to drink.”

You snorted. “Oh, yeah? What doctor.”

Daryl pointed to himself. “This doctor. Doctor Dixon.”

“You like that a lot, huh?”

“Actually, I hated it but… S’kinda growin’ on me.”

After you shared a laugh. There was that goddamn lingering stare.

One.

Two.

Three.

Daryl turned around, afraid the heat in his cheeks were possibly giving away how he felt with a faint blush. “We should—Whaddya say we head back?”

“Sure, wouldn’t wanna have you going down on one knee to propose,” you joked.

“Shuddup,” he said, lightly punching your shoulder.

On the whole way back, you talked together, just like you always did whenever the two of you were out hunting. Speaking with Daryl made everything else matter a little less that you don’t even realize how far you’ve gone until it comes into your mind.

While walking the tracks with Rick, Carl, and Michonne, the two of you walked slightly behind.

“I’m just saying, if we get to this place, it’s not gonna—!” You shrieked as your feet caught on one of the sleepers of the tracks. To your relief, Daryl caught you with his hand holding yours and his other hand assisting your waist.

The three turned around to check on you both. Rick called out, “You alright back there?”

“Yeah! We’re fine!” he said back. You were worried Daryl would drop your hand. He didn’t.

When no eyes lingered on either of you anymore, the stare you’d been yearning for returned, leaving you to wonder what would break it this time before it could reach five.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

To your surprise and your relief, Daryl smiled at you. And oh, did it feel melting. It was hard not to return his smile when it was so damn contagious. You were sure your heart was doing gymnastics at this point, feeling it beat so hard against your chest.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?” you asked the archer.

“Yer still fuckin’ clumsy as fuck,” he remarked with a teasing smirk.

He’d been dying to hear you laugh again, so he’s relieved that you do. “Welcome back. Thought you said you had your whole new justice system in store?”

“Well, doctors still gotta scold their patients, especially when the patient in question is an idiot.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have any rule in your book about doctors holding their patients’ hands? Y’know, like, ‘Don’t do that’?”

Daryl looked down on your intertwined hands, pretending to scrutinize it with careful thought. “I dunno, I think if the patient’s fine with it, then the doctor’s fine with it, too.”

You did the same only to look back up at him with a grin. “Patient says it’s fine. Is the doctor fine with it?”

“Doctor Dixon says it’s recommended to keep his patient healthy.”

“Patient has a request, though,” you tell him as you use your other hand to pull out your lollipop from your pocket. “She wants Doctor Dixon to share a treat together.”

“Doctor Dixon says, ‘What the hell’.” He does the same, pulling his lollipop out. You had to let go of each other’s hands for a bit to take off the wrapper before throwing it away. Daryl was the first to take your hand, eager to hold it again. You let him.

Throughout the entire journey to Terminus, all your fears and worries were at bay, all because Daryl never let go of your hand. The two of you talked about the sweetness of what you were having, how it was a great change from what you were used to eating. And it was right then and there that he knew he wanted to be holding your hand whenever, wherever, and however long he could.

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zirconika · 2 months

Note

oh my god this is the kind of love i’ve been craving helpppp

i love your request so much it had my lightbulbs lightening up to the MAXXXX istg thank you for trusting me with your idea :))

i was worried that i took a darker turn than what you were hoping for so i’m so so glad you loved it nonetheless !!! 🥹 you have no idea what your words mean to me aaaaaaa i love you thank you so so so much

five seconds

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

Okay, friends. You might have been reading into it.

You watched as Daryl made his way over to you, fury evident in each step. “Hell ya mean under control? Ya ain’t cut out for huntin’! Ya should’ve sensed that walker from a mile away.”

“Woah, woah,” you humorlessly exclaimed, “I’ve been hunting with you since like, ever. The fuck you mean ‘I ain’t cut out for huntin’?”

“‘Cause ya aint! Could’ve gotten yerself killed, woman.” What was he so mean about?

“Just did,” he spat. “Now ya listen to me. Yer gonna return to camp and yer gonna—”

“Sit around and do nothing?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You want me to knit you some sweaters, too? Make you holiday cookies?”

“Guard the damn fences,” he said. Daryl stepped forward to grab you by your arm. You dodge him before he could get a hold of you, glaring at him as you did so.

But it wasn’t that there were zero interactions, though. There were a handful, however blood boiling they were. You exchanged a couple glares whenever your eyes landed on one another.

It didn’t take long for the group to catch on the heat.

You didn’t mind that part. What you did mind, though, was Daryl’s snide remarks whenever you’d mess up as a retort to what you’d said in front of Patrick.

Dropped a spoon? “S’why ya can’t be outside, can’t even hold a damn spoon righ’.”

But you weren’t gonna let that slide. Whenever he’d say something to the group, you had something up your sleeve, too.

He found an old warehouse west of the prison? “Oh, how splendid. Daryl and his plans. Everyone say ‘Thank you, Daryl’!”

Your body was sore all over from all the digging, your throat on the precipice of getting sore, and you felt the world beneath you sway uninterrupted.

You’d be lying if you said you hated it. You did at first, but it kind of grew on you.

Not that it mattered or anything.

But you watched in horror as Tyreese held Daryl by his vest. You found yourself stepping forward, wanting to intrude but Daryl held his hand out to Rick, a way of saying ‘I got it.’

You looked back at him. That same look again.

One.

Two.

Three.

But when you looked down at your hand upon the third wipe, you were met by the sight of blood.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“I don’t think so,” said Glenn, getting ready to seclude himself as well. “She’s probably isolated herself by now, too.”

“Isolate herself for what?” Daryl scoffed in a poor attempt to disguise his concern. Glenn watched him as if he were a madman.

“You didn’t see her this morning?” he asked the archer, who then said he did. The longer Glenn paused, the more Daryl followed. “She’s caught it, too.”

He felt a guilt like never before, feeling responsible for your condition.

You caught sight of him from afar, and your eyes locked.

One.

Two.

You gestured to the visitation room. He nodded.

Ever since you shared that long second stare, you’ve been wondering when you’d ever have the luxury of sharing it again. But even you couldn’t hold it for that long.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Go on, lay it on me,” you said.

You longed to hear his typical insults, the ones you were used to hearing by routine. Instead, Daryl, took a deep breath and told you, “M’sorry. ‘Bout everythin’.”

“What, no ‘yer hideous,’ ‘serves ya righ,’ or even ‘fuckin’ idiot’?” you asked jokingly, attempting to make an impression of the way he talked.

You realized he’d gotten serious. You took your seat across from him, scrutinizing the way he looked at you. “Oh, and you’re allowed to?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, ‘cause I ain’t an idiot like you.”

“There it is,” you chuckled. Daryl laughed along with you, and it was the first time in a long time that you’ve laughed together. And when the moment passed came that damned stare again.

One.

You couldn’t hold it. “I don’t know how much time I have left so… Thanks for coming.”

“They got everythin’ there?” you asked.

“I dunno, Hershel gave us a list. Said it should have ‘em.”

“Whaddya mean?” the archer asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He didn’t like where this was going.

“I mean that if there’s a shortage, I’m fine not getting it. I’ve been with these people for half an hour and… Daryl, they deserve a second chance. They want to survive.”

“And ya don’t?”

“So reward punishment,” you suggested with a smile.

“Exactly.”

“So,” you began, “if I promise to be a good patient…”

“Uhuh,” he nodded.

“If I take the meds…”

“Mhm.”

“You’re gonna give me a treat?” You resisted the urge to joke about a kiss. It felt too early, and you worried it would spook Daryl away and ruin the moment.

“Yep.”

“Really?” you asked, grinning wider that it almost seemed as if you never even caught the flu. “Like, one of those lollipops they give out after a vaccine just so you stop crying?”

You pretended to consider it for a while, acting like you were deep in thought. “Alright, we have a deal, you fucker.”

He smirked. “Wipe that stupid smile off yer face.”

And though you didn’t take it too seriously, Daryl was already hatching a game plan he could use to find one for you the moment you mentioned it. After all, he was a man of his word.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Daryl Dixon was one of the few people who valued solitude. This time, though, he found himself craving company long after the fall of the prison as well as when he lost Beth.

“Hold up,” Daryl said carefully, so as to not rile the leader who had Rick dangerously at gunpoint.

Daryl stepped closer with caution. “Let’s hold up.”

One of the guys holding a shotgun opened his mouth. “This is the guy who killed Lou, so we got nothin’ to talk about.”

“The thing about nowadays is we got nothing but time,” the leader said. He kept his eyes on the archer. “Say your piece, Daryl.”

“These people,” Daryl started. “Yer gonna let them go. These are good people.”

You whispered again, frozen in place. “Carl, I need you to get in the back. Slowly.”

“You want blood? I get it,” Daryl said. You watched as the archer dropped his crossbow and threw his arms open. The fuck is he doing? “Take it from me, man.”

Carl slowly brought his legs up to him, trying not to make a noise.

Daryl kept coming closer. “Come on.”

“This man killed our friend.” By the look on their leader’s face, you knew there was no way this would go in peace. “You say he’s good people. See now, right there is—is a lie.”

“Carl, hurry,” you whisper again. But his attempts at doing so is halted by the events that followed.

A wave of relief and dread coursed through him; relief that you had gotten out of the prison and dread that he wouldn’t be able to protect you this time.

The door swung open and a man yanked Carl out before you could even reach him. “C’mere, boy.”

“Carl!” Your door swung open as well, one of the men tackling Daryl just seconds ago hauling you off your seat as you tried to put up a fight.

“You leave him be!” you heard Rick yell over the commotion.

The man pointing a gun to Michonne wasn’t afraid to make his threats and intentions clear either. “You get yours. You just wait for your turn.”

You felt the threat of a knife to your throat and you got a whiff of a mouth that reeked of booze. You felt your perpetrator’s warm breath tickle the lines of your neck, taking you in.

�� You were terrified of what he’d do to you, what they’d do to Carl. “Let him go!”