#daryl dixon x reader hurt/comfort

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,776 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Warnings: language, gore, violence, descriptions of flashbacks and implied PTSD, fear and anxiety Summary: After seeing Y/N freeze outside the walls a few days earlier during an encounter with walkers, Carol suggest that she needs to learn how to fight. Shortly after, she goes missing.

“Hey. Have ya seen Y/N?” Daryl drawled. “I can’t find her anywhere. I’ve been lookin’ for over an hour. We were s’posed to meet up today but she didn’t show.” Even as he said it, his stomach twisted. That wasn’t like you to miss an agreed on meeting.

Glenn shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since this morning. Maggie?” Maggie shook her head, at a loss.

Carol shifted uncomfortably and Daryl picked up on it immediately, his eyes narrowing and becoming sharp. “Carol?” he prodded her.

She straightened up and met his discerning gaze. “I need some air,” Carol said. “Come on out and—and we’ll talk.” She didn’t give Daryl an option and quickly moved through the kitchen, down the hall, and out onto the porch.

Daryl burst out after her, tense and unsettled. “S’goin’ on?” he growled.

Carol spun and leaned back against the railing, crossing her arms over herself as if it would shield her from the reaction she seemed to know was coming. “I saw her earlier. We… talked.” Daryl’s eyes narrowed even further.

“Ya talked. And now she’s nowhere to be found? What the hell did ya say?”

Carol shifted anxiously again. “I just—I told her that it would be a good idea if she got some lessons on how to fight… I told her she could ask you or Rosita or—”

“Ya what?” he growled, stepping up to her. His face seemed to flare up crimson. “Why the hell didya say anythin’ to her like that?”

Carol gave him dubious look. “Daryl. She’s useless when it comes to—”

He was immediately pointing angrily in her face. “Ya dunno what the hell yer talkin’ about! Ya shouldn’ta said anythin’!” He stalked angrily back and forth across the porch.

Carol was a little taken aback by how angry he was. “Well, am I wrong? She hardly leaves the walls and when we were out last week and those walkers came in, she just froze!”

Daryl paced a tight circle in front of her. “Ya dunno what yer talkin’ about,” he growled again. “And it ain’t none of yer damn business. Why’d ya have to say anythin’ to her? Huh? Can’t ya just worry ‘bout yer damn self?”

Now Carol did scoff. “It’s my business if I want to help her stay alive!” She watched the scowl on Daryl’s face incredulously. “Or are you making that your job now?” she asked him pointedly.

He froze in his pacing, his shoulders thrown back. “Ya, maybe I am.”

Carol shook her head. “You’re gonna take on that responsibility? Do you have any idea what that—” Past feelings of guilt and grief for Sophia, for Mika and Lizzie welled up inside her. “You have no idea how it feels to shoulder that and fail.”

“Oh, really? I don’t? What ‘bout Beth, huh?”

Carol immediately went silent, her mouth hanging slightly open. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I—I’m sorry. I—”

“Ya forgot?” he growled. “Yeah, tha’s a luxury I ain’t got.”

“No, of course I didn’t forget. I just didn’t—Look, I’m sorry if you feel that I was out of line with Y/N. But I was doing it from a place of good intentions.”

“Yeah. The road to hell is paved with ‘em. Ain’t that what they say?” He shot her another sharp look and shook his head dismissively. “Forget it. I gotta find her. Ya ain’t got no idea what ya—” He broke off, shaking his head, and hurried toward his place to collect his gear.

Glenn and Maggie came out, announced by the creak of the screen door. Carol was staring at Daryl’s figure shrinking down the road. “You okay?” Glenn asked, stopping beside her. “Sounded… bad,” he mused.

“I’m fine,” Carol said. “You know how he can be,” she added with a forced smile. “Mostly bark.”

Maggie came and stood at the railing, looking after Daryl’s retreating figure too. “You have any idea what’s goin’ on? About Y/N, I mean.”

Carol shook her head. “No. Obviously there’s something we don’t know about her. All I said to her was that she should get some lesson to learn to fight. Daryl was furious. I don’t know why…”

“Well,” Maggie sighed, “hopefully he finds her and nothing else comes of it. I’m sure it’ll be alright,” she reassured Carol.

Daryl was soon at the gate and called up to Tobin who was on watch. “Hey. Ya been on watch long?”

He leaned over the railing to look down at Daryl and nodded. “Yeah. Since after the midday meal.”

“Ya know Y/N?” Daryl asked.

Tobin nodded. “Sure. She went out a few hours ago with her pack. Hasn’t come back in yet. I was a bit surprised to be honest. She hasn’t left the walls very often since Aaron brought her in.”

Daryl nodded. “Ya see which way she was headin’?”

“Straight down the road ‘til I couldn’t see her anymore,” Tobin said, straightening up. “Should we be worried?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

Daryl shrugged. “I dunno. Tha’s why ‘m headin’ out. I’ll find her. Thanks,” he called up. Tobin waved him out and another Alexandrian rolled the gate back so he could exit. It clanged shut behind him with a noise that felt strangely ominous. Daryl set off straight down the road, just as Tobin said you had, and he scrutinized it for any sign of you. After several minutes of walking he found a small boot print in the dirt that definitely could have belonged to you. A shot of anxiety ran through him like a white-hot lightning bolt. What the hell was Carol thinking? Telling you to learn to fight… Shit. Another voice in his head answered, She didn’t, couldn’t know. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin as he straightened up and continued walking. His blue eyes were narrowed as he scanned the tree line on either side of the road and the grassy ditch beside him. You had to be alright. You had to be.

He walked for about another twenty minutes, painstakingly scrutinizing the side of the road to make sure he didn’t miss a path you’d veered off on, when he suddenly saw some dark bundle up ahead in the ditch. His heart plummeted into his stomach and his feet faltered. It was still too far ahead and partially obscured in the long grass and weeds. He couldn’t tell what it was. He took off toward it at a quickened pace before breaking into a full out run. After the first couple steps into the grass, he stopped dead. It wasn’t you. Thank God, it wasn’t you. He took a moment and bent forward with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Sweat dripped down his face from his hairline and he took out his bandana to mop at it, his mouth still open, chest heaving. He straightened up and looked down at the ragged corpse.

There was an obvious knife wound in the side of the head. A trickle of gore had run out of it and dripped down the sunken face and into the grass. It had been killed recently. He lifted his eyes to the trees ahead and squinted into the shadows beneath them. This had to have been you.

His steadiness regained, he searched back toward the road and found another boot print in some soft soil that matched the one he had seen on the road. He returned to the body and easily spotted a narrow, trampled path that led into the woods. He swung his crossbow down off his shoulder, his nerves buzzing.

He’d barely made it under the coolness of the leafy canopy when he came on another walker. This one too had been stabbed in the head with a clean knife wound. There were a few scuffs in the dirt near the body where the confrontation had clearly taken place. He struggled to find your path forward at first. The ground was carpeted in old leaf litter and scattered with patches of herbaceous plants that could easily obscure any marks left by you. But when he finally raised his eyes to look ahead into the distance, he saw more bodies… a string of walkers, unmoving heaps on the ground. He headed straight for them.

What the hell were you doing? You’d come out here after Carol’s obtuse comment to, what? Kill walkers?

Sure enough, these three walkers had also been stabbed in the head, though one must have put up more of a struggle because it had a wound to its abdomen that was spilling a putrid mix of shit and gore onto the ground. Daryl stood and continued deeper into the woods, following your trail on a mere depression here and a broken twig there. The afternoon was wearing away into evening now and he was getting worried. He needed to find you before it got dark. Tracking on this ground by the beam of his light would be far too difficult and he didn’t like the thought of you out here in the dark, alone somewhere. What if you’d gotten hurt and couldn’t get back? What if you couldn’t find a safe place? What if you’d run into trouble you didn’t expect? No. He had to find you.

After a while, Daryl didn’t need to search for the scarce marks you’d left behind anymore. He simply had to follow the trail of bodies. They were becoming more and more frequent and the clusters were varying now from single walkers to six at a time and everything in between, all stabbed. His heart was starting to race with adrenaline. He’d lost count of how many corpses you’d put down and there was still no clear sign of you. Dusk wasn’t far off. He urged himself to move faster.

Suddenly, he came on a walker that hadn’t been completely put down. It was still clawing at the earth, digging its skeletal fingers into the ground as it tried crawl toward him. This was prevented, however, but the upper body being completely separated from the lower. It looked crushed, or perhaps it had just decayed that way and fallen apart.

Daryl stabbed his knife into its skull with a swift and skillful motion and the low growls ceased. He squinted around into the trees. “Y/N?” he called out as loudly as he dared. It seemed to echo in his ears but die only a few feet away from him, stopped as if by some invisible force that swallowed the sound. The air felt suddenly thick and tense.

More growls sounded up ahead and Daryl rushed forward to meet a tall thin walker ambling his way. There was a deep slash to one side of its neck, deep enough that the head was bent at an odd angle in the opposite direction. It staggered and let out a loud snarl as it reached for him but he raised his bow and fired a bolt straight into its forehead. It fell with a thud and laid still among two other bodies.

He didn’t like this. All these bodies and then suddenly two that were left alive? His stomach twisted. “Y/N?” he called again, a little louder this time. He heard nothing in the crushing silence of the woods except for the occasional rustle of leaves overhead or in the understory.

He tried his hardest to swallow the constriction in his throat, but it didn’t seem to do much. Moving forward again, the trees began to open up slightly and the ground became grassier. In the waning daylight he first saw a looming shape that then materialized into a rundown trailer house. He quickened his pace but was soon stopped by the sheer number of scattered walkers in the overgrown yard. There was a tremendous amount, some even piled on top of one another. He felt a rush of panic. “Y/N?!” he called out, making for the house, stepping over one corpse after another. He burst in through the partially open door, which rebounded with a sharp bang.

There was a rising snarl and clattering sound and a couple still upright walkers lunged toward him from one of the rooms, but he put them down with a skillful shot from his crossbow and thrust with his knife. Please don’t let her be in here. Please. The inside of the house was putrid with the telltale signs of a long occupation by the undead. Daryl searched each room, his apprehension somehow growing with every door he opened, but he found no sign of you inside. You weren’t in here. You weren’t.

At least relieved that you weren’t in that nightmarish house, though still on edge, Daryl returned to the yard. “Y/N?!” he called again. He paused to set another bolt in the flight groove of his crossbow. When he looked up again, his eyes landed on something ahead that was entirely out of place among the bodies.

He paced over to it slowly, afraid of what he might find. He felt suddenly shaky and his hands gripped his crossbow too tight.

There on the ground at his feet was your pack.

He knelt beside it and turned it over. It was intact, but splattered with walker blood and gore. At least there was no sign of your blood—no bright, shocking crimson stains.

There was a depression in the grass beside it, just a small one, and he touched it thoughtfully before raising his eyes and scanning the ground ahead. There. A glint of silver. His breath caught between his lungs.

Your knife.

Daryl rushed over to where it was lying in the grass. It was covered with blood, and some of it on the blade seemed too red to be from the walkers. “Shit,” he said out loud, gripping the handle and turning it over in his hands. He shot up to his feet and nearly whirled around frantically. “Y/N!” Where could you be? You’d lost your gear and your knife. It was almost night. And you might be injured.

He didn’t understand this riddle… the fresh, living blood on your knife. He pressed forward, his eyes darting from one corpse to the next. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing. He was so afraid that one of the figures would be you. “Y/N!” he yelled again, the loudest yet. “Y/N, if ya can hear me—” He stopped short as he rounded the back corner of the house. There was a small garden shed in the corner of the yard. The door was shut tightly. He gulped.

Pushing down the nauseous feeling in his stomach and ignoring the tightness in his chest, he paced toward it. When he reached the door, he stared at it for a long moment. Half of him was telling him not to open that shed—that whatever he was about to find in there wasn’t something he should see. But the other half was screaming all the louder that you were going to be fine and you were in that fucking shed and he was going to get to you and fix whatever the hell this was…

He reached for the handle and popped the latch which resounded with a heavy metallic clunk. The bottom of the door scraped and groaned on the plywood floor but it finally bounced open wide enough for him to peer inside.

His breath caught in his throat and his heart jumped upward, rising, and then sinking again as he fully absorbed what he was seeing.

There you were, sitting in a tight ball on the floor among the dirty, dusty, spider-web draped pots and rusty garden tools. Your arms were wrapped tightly around your legs and your chin almost rested on your knees. Your eyes looked up at him from behind layers and smears of walker blood and dirt, wide and fearful.

Swallowing nervously, he pushed the door open wide to let more of the dimming light in. “Hey…” he said softly, as gently as he could. “Hey, Y/N. I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”

You hardly reacted. Your eyes simply dropped back toward the floor.

Daryl moved slowly and deliberately, immensely worried about the fragile state you seemed to be in. He leaned his crossbow up against the open door and swung his pack down. He crouched low so he was on your level. “Are—are ya hurt?”

You didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge the question.

He chewed anxiously on his bottom lip for a long moment. “Y/N? Can ya look at me?” He edged closer to you, kneeling in front of you. “Jus’ look at me. Please?”

Slowly, your eyes lifted to his face and he saw that they were brimming with tears.

“Hey—s’okay. S’alright. ‘M righ’ here. Yer okay,” he said, nodding. He felt like a bubble had formed in his chest. “Are ya hurt? They didn’t—the walkers—tell me they didn’t—”

You shook your head, blinking to try and clear your eyes. It was then that he noticed a scrap of your shirt was tied around one of your hands.

“Can I see?” he asked, gesturing toward your hand.

You bit your bottom lip thoughtfully a moment before you nodded and held it out to him. Daryl carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage and turned your hand over to see a gash across your lower palm, extending almost to the bottom of your thumb. It was a clean cut, and suddenly the blood on your knife made sense. Perhaps in some struggle, slick with walker blood, your hand had slipped onto the blade and you’d cut yourself. Maybe that was why you’d dropped the knife. The cut started to bleed again as Daryl looked at it, holding your hand flat on his.

“I’ve got some stuff in my bag. I’ll take care’a this.” He reached behind him and tugged his pack forward before digging out the small first aid kit he’d packed. He grabbed his canteen from the side pocket and poured water onto your hand, dabbing at the cut with a clean bit of gauze and flushing it thoroughly. Then he dried it as best he could and applied some ointment before wrapping the whole thing with a fresh gauze pad and bandage. You were still as stone as he tended to you. “Anythin’ else?” he drawled softly when he was satisfied.

You shook your head, looking suddenly exhausted. “No. My shins are pretty banged up but—I’m okay. It’s just that.”

Daryl was relieved to hear you say anything, even if your voice was a little quiet and shaky. He nodded again. His eyes flitted over your figure, still hunched in front of him in a way that made you look smaller than you were. “Can—can ya tell me what happened? I mean, I followed the bodies here but—”

Your eyes dropped again and you pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth again.

Daryl hesitated a moment and then steadily moved to sit beside you in that small space. He didn’t know what to say, turning words over and over in his head, trying to figure out which were the right ones. Finally, he broke the silence. “‘M sorry… ‘bout what Carol said to ya. She doesn’t know what—what happened to ya before, what ya went through outside, ya know?”

You shook your head. “It’s not her fault.”

Daryl glanced at you beside him and hated the filth coating your skin. He shifted and grabbed his canteen again, pulling his bandana from his pocket next and waiting until you met his eyes. “Can I clean ya up a bit?” he asked hesitantly.

You met his eyes for a long moment and for some reason his tension eased. Maybe it was because yours were looking less wild now, less desperate and fearful. You nodded in response to his question and he poured some water onto his bandana and began to mop gently at the splatter on your cheek and forehead. Your eyes closed at the touch of the fabric and a long, quiet exhale escaped from between your lips. His touch was grounding, rooting you back in the present in a way you hadn’t been since—

“Can ya tell me what happened?” he asked again. “ S’alrigh’ if ya can’t.” He poured more clean water onto his bandana and dabbed at a splotch near your jaw.

“Carol said that to me and I thought—she’s right. I just needed to do it. I thought I’d just prove to myself that I could still be—still be out here.”

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed, pausing to study your expression.

“I started killing walkers. And then there were more and more and I just followed the trail. And at first I was just so angry,” you said, ducking Daryl’s gaze and running a hand over the bandage on your palm thoughtfully. “I just wanted to put them all down, you know? I wanted to kill every fucking walker in the whole world. I was just so angry.” Your voice broke slightly and you shook your head, your eyes filling with tears again that stung and blurred your vision. “Then there were more and more and I—stupidly, I just kept following them. Then there were so many.” You looked up at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know that house was full. And they broke out through the door. And it was like a—a flood of them all closing in around me.” You paused to try and gain control of your breathing again, it had grown rapid and shallow with the swelling anxiety as you remembered.

Daryl’s brow was heavily furrowed over his bright blue eyes, but they were soft. He found a clean area of his bandana and poured a little more water on it, lifting his hand again to smooth away a smear on your chin.

You stared at him during this tender moment and felt some dam break in you, some last wall came crumbling down. He’d come after you. He’d noticed you missing and he’d followed. He’d tracked you all the way here from Alexandria. Your heart swelled for him.

“I was killing as many as I could and then—I—the flashbacks hit me—I think,” you paused and drew in a staggered breath, “I don’t know if it was the blood or the smell or the sounds—but I was seeing it all over again, like it was really happening. I was seeing them ripping apart my family after the outbreak and then—they weren’t walkers anymore all of a sudden, they were those men that—that—”

“S’okay,” Daryl interrupted you. “Ya dun gotta say anymore. I know…”

You leaned your head back and shut your eyes, waiting for your heart and breathing to slow again. Daryl watched you carefully and waited until your eyes opened again and you looked at him. He gulped. “‘M sorry. ‘M sorry that happened to ya, all of it. And ‘m sorry Carol said what she said. She was outta line.”

You shook your head, your posture finally uncurling from that tense, protective ball. “No. She couldn’t know. She doesn’t. It’s not her fault. It was stupid of me to leave the walls alone. I knew this could happen, the flashbacks, you know. But what she said—it triggered something in me…”

Daryl nodded and returned to his canteen and the bandana and his gentle ministrations to clean the blood and dirt from your skin.

“I just don’t want people to think—” you broke off again, biting your bottom lip.

“Think what?” he asked, mopping gently at a smear of walker blood on the side of your neck.

“That I’m… useless. Helpless,” you said, ducking your head. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Daryl pulled back with the cloth and looked at you for a long moment before he sighed. “It don’t matter what people think, alrigh’? Most of the damn time they’re gonna think what they wanna anyway, with or without proof. But ya aren’t useless and ya sure as shit ain’t helpless. I dunno how many of those walkers ya killed today but it was a lot. Ya know how to fight. But none of that matters, even if ya didn’t. If ya never leave the walls again, it don’t matter. If ya freeze up,” he shrugged, “it don’t matter. Ya got people back there now who will—will protect ya. S’okay.”

You met his eyes as they searched your face and you felt a jolt of electricity run up your back.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Gabriel called down to Eric at the gate. “It’s Daryl and Y/N! Open up!”

The sun was nearly gone and darkness was falling in the deep shadows beneath the trees, but you’d made it back, walking side by side, to Alexandria. Your pack was on your back again and your knife was in its sheath. Besides being filthy, no one would know what had happened outside the walls.

Carol was suddenly there, having climbed down the ladder and waited for the two of you to step through the gate. She was wringing her hands a little nervously. “Y/N—I’m so glad you’re okay. I’m sorry for what I—”

You gave her a small smile and interrupted. “It’s okay,” you said. “But—you should know that I do know how to fight.”

“She dun need lessons,” Daryl said. “Just ‘cause somebody don’t, doesn’t mean they can’t.”

Carol nodded, a little perplexed, and eyed the blood all over your clothes and noticed the clean bandage on your hand. “Are you alright?”

“Just need a few stitches and a shower,” you said with a nod. “I’m fine.”

“C’mon,” Daryl said, nudging his head in the direction of the clinic. The two of you started off again but Carol stopped Daryl again.

“Are we… okay?” she asked nervously. “I’m sorry that I assumed—”

He put a friendly hand on her shoulder and nodded, giving her that signature little Daryl smile. “We’re good. Forget it.”

Carol breathed a sigh of relief and her eyes flickered back to you waiting for him a short distance away. “What happened?”

Daryl shrugged. “Nothin’. She was just… killin’ walkers. See ya later.”

“Well, I‘m glad you found her. It’s almost dark,” Carol said. Daryl nodded. Carol returned his goodbye and watched the two of you fade down the street. All’s well that ends well, she thought. But she knew now there was much more to this story.

Daryl stayed with you while Denise stitched up your hand and made sure there would be no lasting damage, except maybe a bit of lost sensation on that area of your palm. You were ready to be home when she was finished and Daryl walked with you down the dark sidewalks and stopped alongside you at your front door. You turned and gave him a somewhat abashed, small smile. “Thank you. For coming after me today. I might still be in that shed if you hadn’t.”

He nodded. “‘Course. ‘M just glad that yer okay. I was—worried,” he drawled. That would didn’t even begin to encapsulate his feelings. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, trying hard to ignore the fluttering sensation in his stomach.

Your top teeth dimpled into the softness of your full bottom lip and you considered him for a moment. “Did you, umm, want to come in? I need to grab a shower but then I suspect sleep may be hard to come by tonight.”

Did he want to come in? Fuck yes, he wanted to come in. He managed a nod and followed you inside, the sturdy door shutting out the night behind him.

Could something good really come out of so much fear and anxiety? It seemed, perhaps, that it could.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl hurt/comfort #daryl angst

[merowkittie]

Pretty When You Cry — Daryl Dixon

Summary: Daryl hears you crying and doesn’t know what to do.

Warnings: angst / talks of suicide and death / fluff at the end <3

(Ok so originally I was stuck with two people, Daryl or Joel?? So as you can see by the title who I chose, maybe Joel will get his own ? I dunno omg also I used the pet name flower in this.. idc it’s so cute to me,, if you don’t like it.. 😸)

You were not meant to make it. You knew that better than anyone else. The weak die fast right?

So why were you still here..?

That’s what you asked yourself every single fucking day. When you had to walk around camp and see the ghosts of half of your found family. Mostly everyone you loved was gone. They were all useful and great assets to the group.

You? Oh man. You were a good fighter but you often times let your emotions get to you. It’s been years since this apocalypse started and yet you still got sick seeing those walkers.

They were once humans. Now? They’re a ghost in the person they used to be. They’re still there but not conscious enough to gain control over their own bodies. At least that’s how you felt it was like.

The days feel so long and you were feeling nothing but tired. You felt as though it was getting harder and harder to hang on to something here. Nothing was keeping you grounded anymore. Nothing.

You wanted to escape this hell of a place so much. The world was shit. You were scared out of your mind. Tomorrow you could be dead. Dead by a Walker or another human being.

Or maybe even yourself if you had the guts to do it.

Tonight though, it was an old bottle of wine you found on a supply run, you and the quiet of the lonely house you were in, in Alexandria.

You normally shared it with Daryl but he told you he had to do something important with Rick and most likely wouldn’t be back until later into the early night time.

“Daryl? Where are you going?” You pouted playfully at the older man and poked him gently on his rib cage.

He sighed and swatted your hand away, “Doin’ somethin’ with Rick. Said he needed my help with somethin’.”

You pursed your lips and nodded. You didn’t want him to leave cause you knew you’d be lonely and he was one of your only sources of entertainment!

“Your leaving me all alone in this empty houseeee??” You dragged the words childishly and tugged at his vest.

He raised his eye brows at you, a little warning. Then he turned fully around so he could be facing you, “I’ll be back later..”

“Later as in Never.. when do you think you’ll be back Dixon?”

“Real late, flower.”

You smiled at the little pet name he gave you years ago.

You and Daryl were in no way dating. Though you wanted to be, you both didn’t know how to initiate it. Daryl was so.. awkward? You were just bad at talking about your feelings with a man who was a bit scary and you couldn’t really read him sometimes.

With a sigh you nodded, “That’s betrayal right there, Dixon. I’ll see you when you get back..”

He nodded and picked his cross bow up from the table in the desolate dining room. As he started to walk out the door you called his name in a whisper. Must’ve been loud enough for him to hear you cause he turned around and watched your brown eyes flicker with hesitation.

Your hand smoothed the raven curls on your head down towards the puff that sat on top of your head. You were suddenly a bit nervous.

“Be Safe ok? And don’t miss me too much.” your deep brown lips lifted into a smile at the man.

He grunted in response and nodded. Just like that he left and you would wait until he’d come back.

Now it’s past midnight you’re tipsy, not drunk but still able to process things normally. The wine bottle you were slowly sipping on turned into large gulps and soon most of the bottle was gone in an hour or so.

The bedroom felt so empty and too eerie. The bed sheets felt uncomfortable on your skin and oh you wanted nothing but to scratch it off.

Salty tears wet your cheeks and slowly fell down to your neck. The alcohol in your system had you thinking, made you feel all bubbly and weirdly empty.

Your sobs rocked your entire body as your arms enveloped yourself in a tight hug. The sounds of your cries surely could be heard throughout the house. Who knew you had so much anger, guilt and sadness built up in you?

This was not what you were gonna do tonight but there’s always last minute split decisions right?

The door to the house opened and Daryl stepped in bruised and tired. He closed the door and heard you almost instantly. His body tensed up and he readied his cross bow, making his way slowly up the stairs.

The sounds of your sobs got louder as he stood in front of your door, though it was left ajar.

He peeked in and the sight of you left him rigged. He’s only ever saw you cry once and that was when Beth had died. You two were so close you could practically call each other sisters.

Daryl didn’t know what to do so he just watched you. Like a god damn creep but he was confused.

Why were you crying?

Daryl started to walk away, back to his own room until he stepped on one of the old floor boards and it creaked. Loud enough to alert you and pause your sobs.

“Daryl?” Your voice croaked out.

There was no answer from the brooding man so you asked again.

“Daryl.. are you outside of my door being a creep?” You giggled though it was raspy, it made Daryl smile a little.

“I, Uh— heard ya cryin’ from downstairs.. thought it was something goin’ on up here..” His voice was gruff and muffled as he spoke through the small opening of the door.

You hummed. You wiped at your nose with the sleeve of your Henley (Daryl’s that you stole) and sniffled.

“Come in here.. you look crazy just standing there Dixey..”

He grunted and came into your dark room and made his way over to your bed. Daryl just.. stood in front of your smaller figure and looked at you.

You pulled on his vest so that you could hold him in a hug. The position was awkward as you were sitting cross legged on the bed with your face buried in his broad chest and he just held his arms above your back, unsure of what to do.

You tugged on his body harder which caused him to stumble on top of you on the bed. He could feel you smirk against him at what you just did.

“If ya wanted me in bed ya coulda just said somethin’.” He huffed out and still not touching you, made himself as comfortable as he could with you holding on to him like a koala.

“Dixon..” you peered up at the man.

He hummed.

“Why do you keep me around? You’ve saved me so many times I can’t even count how much on both hands.. I’ve done nothing for you In return..” the pout on your lips pulled at his heart strings.

Daryl sighed and said, “I don’t mind saving your ass a few times. Ya don’t gotta do anythin’ in return.”

You sniffled and Daryl internally groaned. He did NOT want to watch you cry and console you cause one thing he was terrible at was consoling someone. His childhood was far from sweet and he wasn’t talked to lovingly or consoled when he was sad. So how could he do that with you..?

“But— bu— I feel like a god damn burden Daryl. Every time I wake up my shoulders feel heavy and my chest feels like there’s a weight on top of them. I— ugh I can’t—” your words cut off with a sob and you cling on to him harder.

Your body shook with every sob that came out of your body. He watched you with a slight frown.

He shook his head and placed a strong arm around your back and a hand on top of your head of curls and patted you like a dog. He was trying.

“No. No yer not that, flower. Man.. if I didn’t meet ya I probably woulda gone insane by now. Yer not a burden baby.. don’t say that.”

“But I am! I— I bring nothing to the team Daryl! I don’t want to— I don’t wanna be here anymore. If I left there w—would be more food and more supplies for the rest of-”

“Don’t you fucking saying that do ya here me? Don’t say shit like that. You’re staying right here with me wether you like it or not.”

Silence filled the room besides your heavy breaths.

He whispered your name, cutting through the thick silence.

You whispered his.

You didn’t even know how much control you had over this man if you just made him yours. He was at your feet at this point. You had him wrapped around your lithe fingers, pulling him in tight.

“‘M sorry.. I’m so sorry Dixon.” You sighed into the crook of his neck, “I don’t mean to drag you in here and comfort me like some baby.. I know you’re probably not comfortable with me like that..” you tried to pull away but he kept you close.

“No.. no I.. I like it.” Daryl was surprised at his own words. Daryl had never been comfortable with a woman like this.

“You like it? ..well then if I had known.. I would’ve been cuddling with you much sooner Dixon..” you giggled at the thought of this man spooning with you, it made him chuckle a bit too.

There was more silence, though now it was comfortable.

“Are ya feeling any better?”

You nodded and looked up at him to find he was already looking down at you.

“Daryl…” you breathed out, ready to ask.. or to tell him something you’ve been wanting to say for a while.

He called out your name and slowly you made your way up to him. Your faces mere centimeters apart and you looked into his eyes, asking for permission. Once you saw him nod slightly you placed your lips on his.

The kiss was slow and gentle. Nothing too harsh or rough. His lips were chapped against your own soft ones. Teeth slightly grazing your lower lip each time your lips connecting again.

You let out a quiet moan when he bit down on your bottom lip and tugged on it as he pulled away.

“Fuck..” he muttered under his breath.

You two stared at each other whilst catching your breath. You were the first to speak up.

“Dixon.. I love you. I’ve loved you for a while now..” you bit your lip in anticipation of what he’d say next, hoping he really did feel the same after that kiss.

He placed his larger hand on the back of your head and pulled you closer so he could kiss your temple, “Love ya too.”

You smiled and kissed his jaw. The hair on it sticking your nose.

The two of you stayed close together like that through the night. Whispering nothing but sweet affirmations and listening to the sound of the nights wind.

Maybe when the morning comes you’ll have a new purpose. Someone to hang on to.

#reader insert #twd #the walking dead x reader #daryl x you #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #twd fluff

[zane009]

raindrops

summary: Daryl comforting you in the rain??

word count: around 800

Daryl x reader

a/n: prison daryl era <333 in a big writing slump rn so don’t judge this one too much :( not proof read

The stench of the dead bodies didn't help with your racing thoughts and nausea. On top of that the weather wasn't looking very promising. You and Daryl were out on a run trying to get more supplies for the newcomers at the prison, which you wouldn’t mind at all if it where any other day.

As you were currently walking around a deserted street filled with dead walkers you couldn't stop your racing thoughts.

You had recently lost another member of your group and while this wasn't anything new this time you felt different. You didn't know how many deaths, how many bites, how much more killing can you handle. Every death drained you a little bit more than the last. You just wanted everything to stop.

You wanted to stop existing just for a second and let everything be okay. But that's not possible. Not in the world like this. You felt the first teardrop roll down your cheek making you sniffle slightly.

Daryl immediately caught that and stopped in his tracks to look back at you. With your head down low you were staring at your worn out shoes since you didn’t have the nerve to look up at him. He lost and went through so much more than any of you and here you were crying and complaining.

"wha's wrong darlin' are ya okay?"

The softness in Daryls voice made you tear up even more as you slowly looked up at him. The worry immediately filled his eyes as he quickly stepped right in front of you.

He looked at you straight in the eyes with the softest look he could muster as he placed both of his hands on your cheeks, cradling your face.

"darlin' ya gotta talk t' me c'mon" he said while inspecting you for any damage of a walker bite or a scratch.

You were collecting your courage to talk to him but how could you dump all of this on him while so many people were depending on him already. You looked at him standing there in front of you, face inches apart from your own.

His soft curls laid perfectly over his shoulders as his face was scrunched up with worry. Your Daryl.

You started crying really hard at that moment, the only thing keeping you from collapsing was Daryls grounding hold on your face.

At that moment Daryl seemed even more worried if that was even possible. He started caressing your cheeks and wiping away the tears that left the corners of your eyes.

" I don't want to be here anymore"

You barely whispered and as soon as you did Daryls eyes filled with sadness and something else. Something familiar. He knew that feeling. At that moment you felt terrible and As if that wasn't enough you felt the first raindrop on you face.

While daryl was gazing at you with and unreadable look the raindrops increased wetting your faces to the point that you didn’t know if he was wiping away your tears or the rain.

Your clothes became wet and hair damp but you two still didn’t move until Daryl slowly leaned in and placed a delicate kiss to your forehead. He stayed that way for a few seconds with his hot lips pressed on your cold skin.

He gently pulled away but just enough to reposition himself lower so your foreheads were touching. He slid his hands from your face and rested them on your hips drawings small circles into your skin with his thumbs. You knew he wasn’t good with words so just him being there for you was enough.

“ya will always have me with ya”

he said as he connected your lips in the softest kiss filled full with emotion. Filled with everything he couldn’t say. With all the comfort you needed.

As you gently moved away from the kiss he pulled you into a warm hug while the rain was still pouring over you two. He pulled you into him as much as he could with one hand placed on your lover back and the other caressing your wet hair.

The world around you was forgotten. The danger of walkers passing by, forgotten. The supplies you were supposed to gather, forgotten. At that moment it was just you and him with rain pouring over you. You figured you wanted to keep existing here, with him by your side. With your Daryl.

⁂☆彡𐬾𐬺✩

this is so bad but I’m not in the right headspace rn sorry :/

#daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon x you #daryl drabbles #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x reader #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #tw depressing stuff #fanfic #hurt/comfort #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl dixion x reader #daryl x you

[smutinlove]

Respectfully, I want him to **** ** **** * **** ****** and **** ** *** ***** *****. But respectfully, obviously. 🙄 And like one hug from him would solve my problems. But I also want him to **** **, respectfully.

#Daryl Dixon I love you #norman reedus #Norma #Reedus #norman reedus smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl twd #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixion x reader #daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon hurt/comfort #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon fanfiction #chandler riggs #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon x you #daryl imagines #daryl x reader #daryldixon #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x y/n #darylneedscarol #daryl dixon x reader

[celtic-crossbow]

Sacrifice Yourself and Let Me Have What’s Left

Pairing: Daryl Dixon, Fem!Reader

Setting: No Distinct Setting

Warnings: Angst

Summary: There are no happy endings.

A/N: Really just vent writing. Sorry.

“Why?”

You heard the crack in his voice, but you couldn’t look at him. You just kept shoving your belongings into your bag; nothing folded or neat, everything a disaster. It’s what you were accustomed to, what you had always known.

“You know why.” You replied quietly. When you heard his steps crossing the room, you turned and walked backwards toward the window, just barely avoiding his reaching hand.

“Ya don’t have to run anymore. Ya got people here.”

“I’ll drive them all away, Daryl.” You still avoided looking at him, though you could feel his gaze burning a hole straight through you; like he could see your scarred, thin soul and its patchwork repairs that were barely holding together. “I’ll drive you away.”

You walked back over to the bed and your bag, making sure to keep some distance between the two of you. If he touched you now, you’d give in and stay. And it would cost them all.

Nothing good ever came from loving you.

“I don’t scare easy, ya know that.” There was a quiver in his tone and you knew he was crying. “Just stay.” You zipped your bag and made to pick it up, but he moved so quickly that you barely had time to pull your hand away. His palm came to rest on one of the straps instead. “Stay with me.”

“I can’t.” You absolutely could not look at him. So, you watched his fingers fold around the strap of your bag.

“Y/N.”

“Daryl, stop.”

“Please.”

You closed your eyes and felt the tears you were trying to hold back sting as they gathered and passed over your waterline. You had managed not to cry up until that point, thinking somehow it would be easier for him to let you go if he thought it didn’t hurt you.

He’d never understand how badly it did hurt.

He’d never understand how you had to fight against everything your heart was screaming at you just to keep him safe.

From you.

“Happy endings aren’t real, Daryl.” You grabbed the side of the bag and snatched it away. “I thought you would have figured that out way before the apocalypse.”

When you turned to quickly walk out of the room and out of his life, you pretended you didn’t hear the broken sound of him calling your name.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #hurt/no comfort #the walking dead #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #Spotify

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

DAY TEN: Breakdown w/ Daryl Dixon

a/n: Oh my gosh I loved writing this one so much, like a reunion between the reader and Daryl was what immediately popped into my brain whenever I saw this prompt. So, strap in because this is gonna get very emotional :`]

masterlist | comfortember masterlist | AO3

TAGLIST: @alina02 @louderfortheback

Daryl was gone. Your boyfriend was gone and now you were all alone in a war that you didn't even know if you were going to win. Not only were you forced to watch Glenn and Abraham's death, you had to be held back as Daryl was taken, thrown into the back of a van as you struggled against Negan's men. It felt like a sick love story as he was snatched away from you.

Now here you were mentally scarred as well as tired and angry. You don't remember the last time you had slept and when you did, you would usually cry yourself to sleep. You were an unstoppable force, making constant plans, impulsive, basically ignoring and pushing away your friends. No one could talk to you, no one could break down your walls that you had built up around yourself; if anyone were to ask about you, they would say that you weren't the same. There was no spark in your eyes, in your soul, the only thing fueling you was revenge and grief.

The one thing you hated was that you didn't know whether he was alive or not, and you were living as if you were already dead. You were with Rick, Michonne, Tara, Carl and Rosita, as your group had finally arrived a Hilltop. Seeing Maggie again with her short hair was strange, the remainder of it tucked under her jean hat. You watched from afar as Rick and her reconciled, your heart aching as you watched him apologize to her, and asking her how her baby was. You would have liked to been able to have little Dixon's running around one day, seeing as though Daryl was already serving as a wonderful uncle and protector to Judith.

You watched as two figures walked out from behind a wall, Rick standing aghast as he pulled away from Maggie's hold. You froze as you watched him embrace Daryl, your body stuck in place. Tara nudged you, signaling for you to make a move as you just stared. It felt like everything had finally hit you all at once as you felt people's gazes, practically all of them burning holes into you as your tears began to form. This was the first time in ages that you had finally felt something, felt an emotion that wasn't driven by hate.

"Daryl.." You whimpered out before taking off in a sprint. He met you with the same amount of speed before your bodies collided, despite the air being knocked out of your lungs at the impact, there were tears falling out of your eyes as you sobbed loudly. You were practically on the verge of wailing as you went limp in his arms, yours that were wrapped around his neck with an iron grip. You both fell to your knees as you remained in each other's embrace, Daryl shedding a few tears himself.

You allowed all of your pain that you had pushed deep down inside you to resurface, chest heaving as your lungs desperately gasped for air.

"Oh my Daryl.." You whispered. You pulled back from him so you could cup his face, examining the heavy eye bags his handsome face now adorned, the trembling in his jaw as he looked at you too. "I never thought I'd see you again, but you're alive." You said the last part with a watery smile, a disbelieving laugh managing to weasel itself out of your throat. "'M here." He rasped, dragging you back into him so that you can embrace once more.

#comfortember #comfortember 2022 #daryl dixon comfortember #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon hurt/comfort #daryl dixon x plus size reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size!reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader #hurt/comfort #teen and up #post negan daryl #fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon drabble #daryl dixon blurb #daryl twd #daryl the walking dead #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction

[twigg96]

I Should Have Been There

Daryl Dixon X Bitten Reader fic

Era: Alexandria

Pronouns: She/Her/You/[Y/N]

Warnings: Cannon divergent, talks of illness and zombie bites in detail, kidnapping, descriptions of limp amputation, blood, talks about prosthetics, Angst, Hurt/comfort

Summery: After Daryl goes out for a run, Pete Anderson asks you to help him carry some records back to his office for him. What you never expected of the doctor was to be locked up in a torture chamber with a walker as a punishment and statement for Rick to take heed to not fuck with him or his family ever again. It's up to Glenn, your best friend since before the outbreak, Daryl your boyfriend, the ingenious thinking of Maggie, the invisible nature of Carol's investigation skills, and Rick your over protective leader to find you. But will they find you in time to save your life?

Your POV

Walking around the walls of Alexandria for the 100th time that day you began to feel. The cabin fever beginning to take hold of you. Being out on the land for so long, free to go where you wanted, run where ever you wanted with the threat of walkers being the only thing keeping you awake at night truly was a luxury you were missing around now. Rick and Michonne had instructed everyone to keep your heads down. Keep to yourselves as much as possible. So you did as told even if you did wish Daryl had smuggled you on his bike on his latest run outside. But if anyone needed the escape more than you it was your boyfriend. With a deep sigh you tapped the metal of the wall with your wrench listening vaguely for any sounds of defaults or hollowness in the sound that reverberated back to you indicating a missing nut or rust that needed to be brushed away. Maggie, your chore partner for this particular job looked over her shoulder to you eyeing you with her dark eyes. "What? Am I not entertaining enough company fer ya?" She teased, knowing exactly what was bothering you. The poor brunette had her ear chewed off for hours the night before when you found out your boyfriend had taken yet another long run without even saying a word goodbye. "No..." You muttered, boredom dripping from your voice. "Just antsy." You replied not even looking to the walls anymore as the two of you continued your rounds. "How about this?" Maggie muttered, turning around on her heel so that she was walking backwards facing towards you. "We finish our shift, and I'll talk Deanna into letting us sneak past the gates for an evening stroll picking flowers?" She cocked a brow making the offer sound as enticing as she could. Picking flowers sounded like the most boring job a person could have especially when there were so many more exciting jobs to be had. But if it gave you an opportunity to escape this Hell for a little you would put up with anything. "Sure." You smiled, brushing some hair behind your ear.

"Morning ladies." A voice deep and sickeningly prideful called out to you both pulling your attention. You struggled to hide your disgust as you stared at the town's doctor, Pete Anderson. A dirty blonde towering idiot of a man who thought that using intimidation would get him places. Oh how wrong he had been once Rick had found out what he was doing to his wife... however his usual cockiness had returned and his air of superiority seemed to permeate even the space the three of you held, which worried you if you were being honest. "Can I have your help with something?" He asked, tucking his bruised hands into his pockets. "Just need help carrying some medical records and would appreciate the second pair of hands." He muttered meeting your eyes momentarily before turning them to the ground. Turning to Maggie you shared a glance, one that spoke more than words ever could. One of mistrust for the doctor but knew, in order to keep the peace with the town that one of you should at least try. Silently, Maggie glanced to the next wooden watch tower not even three tracker trailer lengths away. Atop it sat a very bored looking Glenn, his back pressed to the metal wall, his baseball cap pulled over his eyes, rifle resting comfortably over his lap. If you didn't know better you'd think the Korean was sleeping. But experience with your best friend had proved that the apocalypse had shaped him into one light sleeper. Maggie gave you a small almost indistinguishable look that told you to go. She'd stay and she and Glenn would come for you if she didn't see you by the time she reached her husband's post. Nodding you turned back to the doctor you shoved the wrench you carried deep in your pocket and stepped forward. "Lead the way, doc."

You watched the sky turn a ruddy orange as Pete lead you past rows and rows of very similar housing. If it wasn't for small lawn ornaments, flower and vegetable gardens growing, and hand made decorations you would have never been able to distinguish the houses apart. Placing his hand on your arm, Pete ushered you through a tight ally between two houses and into a space you never knew existed. Not that you ever explored beyond the main populace for fear of becoming eternally lost amongst the suburban hell. Beyond the pampered lawns of owned society were the untamed untended lawns of houses yet to find a owner. Their windows were dark and dust covered. Some were boarded with windows broken presumably from rocks thrown from the local hooligans that roamed the streets after dark. Pete lead you to one of the homes, a small nearly invisible basement door had been painted over making it nearly indistinguishable with the rest of the rest of the house's foundation aside from a rusted padlock that held the door shut and had warn with the elements. Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, Pete tried several of them with various levels of success before finally popping it open with a small click. Pocketing the lock, Pete unlatched the door and swung the door open with a loud squeak.

The basement was dark and dusty. Dirt laid on every surface that was bathed in light from the doorway. Mice droppings scattered the floor and the smell of stale air and mold filled the air making your stomach turn. The doctor however pushed forward into the darkness turning on a flashlight you never knew he possessed. Following close behind the man who craned his neck while swiping at spider webs that threatened to get in his face. "So where are these records at?" You muttered lowly, glancing at the man only now noticing how dark his bags under his eyes had gotten since your arrival. Dr. Anderson never responded instead he pointed his torch towards a wooden door locked with another series of padlocks. You cocked a brow but didn't question anything, HIPPA was a thing in the early world... you simply assumed he was one of the only ones who still adhered to it. Kicking an empty can of fruit to the side that must have fallen from one of the wooden shelves surrounding you, a sudden deep growl stopped you in your tracks. Grabbing the doctor's shoulder tight enough to bruise you quickly placed your finger to your lips. A walker?! Here in the town?! Maybe the house was inhabited at one point and the owner died? Grabbing the wrench from your pocket you wished you had been smart enough to grab your knife from the armory that morning. Pete swung his light around where you pointed. To the floor to look for crawlers then through the shelving. You saw nothing but the shadows that made you even more wary then you already were. Looking above yourself you assumed that the walker had died in the upper levels of the home... You'd have to come back with Rick later to deal with it... "Let's get these records. Just keep your voice down." You whispered gesturing to the door with the padlock. The doctor nodded pulling his keys from his pocket to unlock the lock.

As the lock knocked against the latch, the growling grew, and your patience dwindled. "Jesus can you be any fucking louder?" You whispered, glaring at the man. "Doctors are supposed to have steady hands... right?" You hissed, ready to rip the keys from the quivering man's hands yourself and do it yourself. "Shut the fuck up." Dr. Anderson growled back unlatching the lock at last. Flipping the lock and unlatching the door with one motion Pete too a step back behind you, shoving you forward through the door. The unexpectedness of it all made you trip over the high step in the doorframe. You lost your grip on your wrench and it flew from your hand and skittered onto the floor into the darkness of the room. "Ah... what the-" You called out turning to Pete, a devilish grin crossing his illuminated face. "Rick thinks he can save everyone... Lets see him save you..." He muttered darkly. Your eyes widened at the doctor's words and a deep low growl echoed from further into the room. The sickening smell of decomp hit you like a truck and the silhouette of something vaguely human limped into the light. Scrambling to your feet you tried like hell to reach the door before it was slammed shut. But only you were too late. Scratching and banging your palms against the wood of the door you could hear your heart beating in your ears. No! No no nO! This isn't how it was supposed to go! "Pete please let me out!" You begged hearing the latch close and lock click. "I wager you have three days before you die of thirst... lets see how long it takes Rick to notice you're gone." Footsteps leading away from the door were followed by a small rustling and a high pitch squeak from the other door closing.

The growls from behind you grew only louder but in the pitch dark you had no idea how close or how many walkers existed in the small space. Pressing yourself firmly to the grimy walls you slowly started to skirt along the permitter feeling the cold wet cement under your fingers. Faintly you wondered what it was that was wet before figuring it was better to live in ignorance than disgust. As you rounded the first corner you found the sharp corner of something tall and heavy protruding from the wall. An end table? No it was far too heavy for that and metal. Sliding your hand down the side of the object you found it was long and rectangular with drawers. Ah so a filing cabinet or a safe. Interesting. Skirting around the object you hugged the wall as closely as possible hoping you were near the rear of the room and at least halfway around. But as your foot came in contact with a metal can sending it rolling across the floor you felt your body tense as the deep growling came from mere inches from your face.

Glenn's POV

The sun had lowered far beyond the forest and the lights of the town began to light. From Glenn's place upon the tower he could see the approaching headlights of Aaron and Daryl returning from their run . A smile graced his lips as he sat up slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Should make [Y/N] happy to see him home safe. "Glenn!" Maggie called up the wooden latter as he stood. Looking down Glenn smiled down at his wife. Everyday was little brighter when he saw her beautiful face. "Hey Mags. Where's [your nickname]? She run off to be with lover boy already?" Glenn asked a smirk gracing his features as he climbed down the creaky latter. "No... I was just about to ask you if you'd seen her..." Maggie muttered worriedly. Glenn cocked a brow hopping the last step of the latter. It wasn't like you to skip work ever. "Why? Something wrong?" Glenn asked moving the hat on his head to wipe away the sweat that was building underneath. "Dr. Anderson came by earlier..." She drawled rubbing her arms and looking around nervously. Glenn frowned wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I saw them walk off together into the town a few hours back... want to take a walk with me up to the garage? I'm sure she just got caught up helping the doctor. She just got carried away talking with Daryl." Glenn muttered, although his voice didn't hide the worry that he felt deep inside.

Walking hand in hand with Maggie to the center of town Glenn couldn't help but notice the blinds on the Anderson home flutter closed or the way the doctor had been peeking through his front door's window at the growing group just across the road from his residence. But the skilled tactician tried his damnedest to shove his negative thoughts to the back of his mind as they rounded the corner to the garage. Surely [Y/N] would be there, pleasantly distracted by her one and only. Oh how wrong he was... Daryl stood leaning against the garage wall talking to Aaron looking to the open bay door expectantly as the two walked into view. However the small defeated sigh, and deflated stance wasn't lost on Glenn when he noticed it was just the two of them. But... Glenn tried to stay positive. He had to... for his own sake if nobody else's. "Hey guys!" He called out waving jubilantly. "How was the run?" He unable to hold back a snarky laugh as Daryl flipped him off and rolled his eyes. "How'd ya think it went? We're back early." Daryl grumbled. "Awe shit I'm sorry about that, Daryl." Maggie said softly letting go of Glenn's hand to step closer to the archer. Daryl shrugged looking past them both and into the night. "Ya'll seen [Y/N] round anywhere? Normally they're the first ta greet me. She pissed at me 'r somethin'?" Daryl asked chewing the side of his thumb. Maggie shook her head. "No... we were hoping you'd seen her." Daryl shifted uncomfortably scanning Maggie's face for a moment with sheer scrutiny. "What ya mean? I was on a run all day I just got back." Maggie nodded meeting Daryl's eyes sadly. "Yeah we were hoping she'd be here with you... and that was the reason why she missed our meet up after she went with Dr. Anderson." Daryl tensed looking past Maggie to the Anderson household. "So ya think..." Daryl paused his face morphing into something dark and possessively. More so than Glenn had ever seen before from the stoic archer. "That bastard did something ta her?" Aaron shook his head, placing the socket wrench down on the work table beside himself. "Dr. Anderson? What? No way... I mean... the man has his bad days... and he's prone to drink but everyone has their vices." But Glenn didn't think he sounded convincing, even to himself. "I-I'm not sure. But she was supposed to be back by now." Maggie muttered worriedly looking back over her shoulder. "Ok... look I saw the two of them walking through the town earlier but lost them around here... I say we get Rick and Michonne and start looking for them." Maggie sighed rubbing her arms. "I hear you Glenn but I don't want to jump the gun." Daryl huffed staring at Maggie as if she grew a second head. "Jump the gun? Ya gotta be shitting." He snarled. Glaring back Maggie simply shook her head. "No of course not Daryl. She told me earlier that she wanted to get out of the walls... she's been itching to get out, cooped up in here she feels like she's going crazy. Maybe... if we're lucky she snuck out after she helped the doctor. Hopefully she just needs to cool down and took a walk. Knowing her she'll be back by morning." Maggie muttered running her hands through her hair. It seemed to Glenn that no one trusted a single hopeful word anymore. Why would they... after everything they'd been through. "Well I aint about to just sit pretty while [Y/N] is out God know's where tonight... I'm lookin' fer her. Do what ya want." Daryl growled storming towards his bike. Anxiety surged through Glenn as he watched Daryl climb his bike. "Daryl you just got back! You should at least rest before you head back out!" Glenn yelled placing a hand on the larger man's chest. "Glenn... I apricate yer concern but I've stayed up much longer and this is more important than any rest I need... Now move Glenn." Daryl murmured meeting Glenn's gaze seriously. So with a solemn nod Glenn stepped to the side letting the bike roar to life and Daryl take off into the night.

Daryl's POV

The ride to the gate was a short one, but it felt like the longest drive Daryl had ever taken in his life thus far. Not even the last ride he and Merle took together to the safety of the Quarry felt so long as this. At least then he felt safe. Secure with a partner by his side, family. No. Now was different. Now he was in an unfamiliar hostile environment that threatened not only his very existence, but the very love of his life as well. He felt so alone and exposed. Not even the familiar sight of Rick and Michonne standing by the gate speaking to Rochelle standing guard could ease his anxiety. As Daryl pulled up to the gate's entrance, his best friend's face fell his dark eyes scanning the archer sitting atop the bike. "Leaving so soon Daryl? Ya just got back." Michonne called out over the roar of the bike. Daryl shook his head glaring straight ahead. There were no time for pleasantries tonight. "Open the gate. I gotta get outta here." He grumbled to Rochelle ignoring her furrowed brow. "Look Daryl you should rest even if-" Rick tried to reason, reaching for the key of the motorcycle to turn it off and talk at a normal level. With a swift motion, Daryl caught the deputy's wrist glaring daggers into the man. "I aint got time fer that Rick." Daryl bit out shoving Rick away. "[Y/N's] missin'. I'm gonna head out an see if I can find her." Daryl huffed gripping his bike tightly to hide the way his hands shook with anger and anxiety. The archer watched a the ease wash from Rick's face, a stern and intense concentration falling into it's place. It was a look Daryl had seen before. One Rick held when he lost Lori. "Missing? What do you mean missing?" Rick uttered the peremptory question. Daryl growled not shaken by his best friend. "Ask Maggie. I aint got time to chat." Daryl muttered, revving the engine of his bike as if to make his point clear, gesturing to Rochelle to open the gate for him. "Daryl... [Y/N] didn't come through this gate. I would have seen her if she did." Rochelle tried to reason as the archer walked his bike closer to her. "You know as well as I do that there are areas on this wall that can be climbed over. I've seen you and Abraham using the same makeshift latter [Y/N] and I do to get out of the city for a walk when we don't want to be pestered. Now shut up and open the damned gate before I do it myself." Daryl growled not missing the tiny nod Rick gave Rochelle. "Ok... but I don't like it. But, you can go. Just be back by morning... if you can't find her by then, we'll spread out. All of us. Keep your radio on. Hopefully she just got lost in town again and will stumble home sometime late tonight. I'll stay up and radio you if she turns up." Rick called over the engine of the bike. Daryl nodded feeling slightly reassured knowing that Rick was going to do whatever needed to be done to find you. With a defeated sigh the petite woman unlatched the lock to the gate, pulling them open with a metallic screech. With a flick of his finger, Daryl turned his head light on and sped into the night praying to catch sight of you somewhere deep within the woods around Alexandria.

Glenn's POV

Sleep did not come easy that night for Glenn. Worry seeped into this very bones and leaked into his dreams morphing them into venomous night terrors that twisted his body and shook him to his very core. Images of your body ripped to shreds like one of the thousands of corpses he'd seen before flashed before his eyes. A long stretch of road with you tied gagged and bound at the end. The road stretching ever longer the harder he ran to get to you. His heart pounding in his chest. It was his fault. You were his best friend. Had been since before the outbreak. You were his responsibility. You and Maggie. He should have kept a better eye on you. Especially when you went off with Dr. Anderson. Glenn woke up to early morning sun shimmering off the cold sweat that covered his body. Maggie slept restlessly beside him, her moaning and whining accompanied by subtly jerks were indication enough that she was having yet another nightmare. They seemed never ending nowadays. Sitting up slowly as to not disturb what little sleep his wife was getting, Glenn snuck out of bed, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a clean shirt before slipping downstairs. With any hope, you had slipped back home in the middle of the night with hardly any notice to any of them. It wouldn't be the first time you had slipped away... but as he stepped into the empty kitchen to put a pot of coffee on and crept quietly into the living room to peer over the couch to see who preoccupied it, either Daryl, [Y/N] or both. He was almost astonished to find Rick laying on the plush cushions, his attention turned to the door and a sleeping Judith pulled tightly to his chest. A single glance from the grisled police officer told Glenn he was awake and alert. Yet the dark bags under his eyes saying that he'd been up way too long. "Hey." Glenn whispered, leaning over the back of the couch. "Anything yet?" he asked, still hopeful, still optimistic. But Rick just shook his head, brushing the hair back out of Judith's face earning a deep contented sigh from his daughter as she slept. "Not yet." He murmured. Anxiety tightened Glenn's chest as he shuffled his feet. "Well... it's still early." Glenn whispered, looking to the door, hoping that in that moment both Daryl and [Y/N] would come waltzing in the door like a couple after a particularly eventful prom night. But it never happened. Instead the door stayed dreadfully closed. A less than hopeful hum came from the graying man as he shifted on the couch. "We'll see once Daryl comes back... she aint with him when he comes back we're going on high alert and searching every square inch of this place. Inside and out." Rick's voice was dark and commanding. It sent chills down Glenn's spine and before he realized what he was doing. Glenn nodded in compliance. The smell of fresh roasted coffee reminded Glenn of his first mission of the morning. "Want any?" Glenn asked standing straight. "Please!"

[Y/N] was gone... she never came back with Daryl. The look on Daryl's face when he pulled up on the motorcycle was enough to make Glenn's stomach turn. It felt like the day Beth passed all over again. Daryl was beside himself, pacing and grasping at his hair, the archer looked ready to faint. "I looked all over the ridges, Rick!" Daryl growled, pulling back and punching a sizable hole into the drywall. Blood dripped from his knuckles and soaked into the plush carpet as he paced once more. "I went the whole way out to the fuckin' shoppin' district. I cleared three shops we hadn't got to yet. I looked in the library. I searched every inch of the woods I could from the walls to about three miles out each way! I crawled in the damn sewer for Christ's sake!" Daryl was in retrospect fucking filthy. He was covered in zombie guts and dirt. And now Glenn completely understood what that third smell was that emanated from Daryl. "She's not out there I just know it... somethin' had to happen in here." Daryl muttered only stopping making his track in the carpet when Carol came back with a wet wash cloth for him to wipe his face and hands off with. "I aint doubtin' ya, Daryl." Rick tried deescalating the archer. "I just think a pass in the daylight with fresh eyes would be good... " Rick started ignoring the resentful glare he received in response. "Ya think I woulda missed her? I was calling out fer her! She would have heard me!" Daryl hissed, taking a challenging step towards Rick. But Glenn knew more than anyone what Rick was insinuating... that there was a chance you couldn't have answered. Be it because you were in danger... or dead. Rick stayed silent staring Daryl down trying desperately to get this point across to him without actually being the one to say it. "I just think we need to send a fresh new team out... You need to shower... eat something... then you can join Glenn in the city looking for her." Rick muttered definitively. With a small nod Glenn tried to pull a confident nod. "Yeah! I'll head out right away ok... so don't worry." Glenn muttered stepping as close as his nose would allow to the archer. Daryl rolled his eyes but nodded heading up the stairs to take a shower. Rick watched him carefully before turning to Glenn and Maggie. "Listen... I'll need everyone on this. Maggie I need you to talk to Deanna and explain that some of our people will be searching for one of our own outside of the walls... don't go into details yet. We don't want Dr. Dickface catching wind that we're onto him. I also don't want you to tell her we'll be searchin' in the walls too. If anyone has a chore, have them search while they work to be less conspicuous. The rest of us need to be as normal as possible while we look. Carol. You need to ask about locations in the walls that anyone would know of that is secret. Or that is kept off limits for any reason." Maggie and Carol nodded mentally noting Rick's instruction. "Ok, lets fucking find [Y/N]."

Your POV

Sliding around the wall you tried like hell to keep the growling, flesh-eating demon as far away from yourself as you possibly could. Unfortunately for you a pipe pultruding from the wall caught your shirt and caught you off guard. The small ripping sound from your shirt caught the monster's attention and the growling mutilated corpse surged towards you just as you lost your balance. Holding both arms out straight you screamed as the weight of another human pinned you back against the wall. A sharp pain shot through your nondominant hand and suddenly as a slippery and slimy appendage slid past your fingers you realized that the zombie had your hand in it's mouth. Adrenaline surged through you like a drug as the poison of the bite seeped into your blood. Using every ounce of strength you had in you, you pushed back off the wall, forcing the walker to stumble back. Gripping tight to his open jaw you grabbed the zombies skull and slammed it into the nearest thing you could find. The sharp corner of the filing cabinet. Over and over again you bashed the walker's skull into the sharp metal corner until the grunting and gurgling of the monster could no longer be heard. With a dull thud you released the beast and stood shaking, trying desperately to catch your breath as the stinging in your hand was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Reaching above you, you searched for a light source for the first time in only god knew how long. Just when you were certain you would die in the dark, doomed to turn into the very thing that you just slayed, you found a long thin string hanging from a single bulb in the ceiling. Giving the string a quick yank you could have cried when the light clicked to life. A breathy jubilant laugh escaping your lips as you shielded your eyes from the near blinding light that burned your retinas. But the faint dripping of fresh blood reminded you that time was not on your side. Your hand was a mangled mess. The bite forming deep in the meat of your palm you knew the entire hand needed to be amputated and fast. Ripping a thick strip of your shirt from the bottom you tied it off high on your armpit pulling it as tight as you could. Searching the ground you were happy to find your wrench placing it in your makeshift tourniquet you twisted it until the blood stopped and tied it off.

You didn't know how much time had passed since you had been bitten but your entire arm was starting to turn a deep unappealing color and your head was beginning to spin. You had emptied your stomach into the corner of the room several times after the effects of the adrenaline had worn off. You knew one of two things were going to happen... you were either going to die here, trapped in a basement of a house no one would ever find. Or Daryl would find you... he always did... and he would have to kill you. Sweat gathered on your forehead and your stomach flipped. You had no idea if you tied the tourniquet tight enough to keep the infection from spreading... even so, you could simply be dying from sepsis. That was an old world disease wasn't it? God you couldn't even remember. Sitting up against the door you really took in the room for the first time since you got there. The filing cabinet was covered in blood and viscera. But it looked expensive. Like one of those fire safe ones that promised to keep your documents safe even in a whatever class fire. You wondered vaguely what it was doing there before deciding that you didn't have the energy to search through it. The only other things you could see were the pipe that got you into this mess that seemingly went nowhere and were the home of a lonely pair of handcuffs hanging from them, rusted and bloody. Cocking a brow you turned to the zombie laying against the wall on the other side of the filing cabinet. Sure enough the flesh on the walker's one wrist was bloodied and broken. Looked like you weren't the only one shoved in this hell hole to die... lovely. Above the pipe was a vent. Presumably for fresh air to filter in from somewhere within the house you sighed and laid your head back against the wood. Your throat was sore from screaming. But what the hell. Maybe eventually someone would hear you.

Leaning your tired body against the concrete wall directly below the vent you screamed with all your might. Your throat ached and you couldn't help the aching cough that came once your voice started to fail you. For the longest time you received nothing but silence in return. Once in a while the scurrying of mice over what you could only assume were the radiators and vent covers of the empty house echoed through the pipes of the vent sending a jolt of hopeful optimism through you that quickly died out with every pleading cry for help. After a while you gave up. Sliding down the wall you leaned your body against the cold concrete, resigning yourself to death, when finally you heard it. "Hey!" The voice echoed loud and clear through the grate of the vent so loudly that you could had sworn the man screaming was in the same room as you. Listening closely you stood once more, praying that you hadn't just hallucinated the voice or dreamed it into reality as you had seen Rick do a thousand times with his lost loved ones. "[Y/N]! Are you in here?!" Glenn cried out loud and clear, and you could have just just kissed the man had you both not already been sworn to other people. "Glenn!" You screamed, banging the vent as hard as you could to catch his attention. "Glenn can you hear me?!" You nearly begged, clutching a pipe for dear life as you heard footsteps. "[Y/N]! I hear you! Where are you?" Glenn screamed the sounds of footsteps became more frantic. Sounding nearer then farther as he presumably searched room to room for you in the house above you. "I-I'm in the basement Glenn!" You screamed, tears falling from your cheeks easily as you sobbed. "Listen! It's not safe here! There are walkers here!" You heard Glenn's footsteps slow as he listened. "Walkers?" He asked tensely. "Yes! I killed the one that was in the room with me... b-but Glenn-" A loud thud cut you off and you were sure something horrible had happened before Glenn cut you off. "Don't say it... I'm coming to get you... so just... just stay put I'll get you out." Glenn growled, his footsteps becoming more and more distant until they and his voice could no longer be heard. "Wait! Wait!" You cried desperately, tears streaming and washing the dirt and blood from your face in thick streaks. "Glenn! I need you to tell Daryl I love him!" You screamed as loudly as you could, pacing the small space, you suddenly realized just how tiny it really was. Never before had it felt so claustrophobic. Never before had it felt so much like a prison until now. Until you felt so completely isolated. Walking to the thick wooden door you slammed your good hand against it kicking and screaming with all your might praying that maybe it would give way just enough to let you pry your way out and get to Glenn.

"[Y/N]!" His voice froze you in place and melted your heart into pieces breaking you down into heart wrenching sobs that hurt your chest and burned your lungs. Daryl was somewhere outside of the door. You could hear him clear as day. But a greedy part of you never wanted him to find you... The selfish part that knew deep down that Daryl would always want to finish things himself... the one that also knew he could never finish this by himself if he needed too. He just couldn't but he wouldn't allow anyone else to do it and it could endanger everyone... Bu that was why you loved him. He loved and felt so purely. You'd have it no other way. "Daryl!" You sobbed out, hearing a distant banging turn into wood clattering onto concrete you knew that someone had broken down the basement door. And if you had to guess it was Rick or Daryl. "{Y/N]! Darlin' where are ya?" Daryl cried out frantic worry in his voice as, his footsteps paced the concrete just outside the door where you were kept. "There! There's another door." Rick growled, sounding manic and breathless. So it was him who bashed down the last door... "[Y/N] if your in there back away from the door! Rick's gonna break it down!" Glenn cried out making you scramble back from the door in time to see the blade of an axe pierce through the wood. It took six swings for rick to make a sizable enough hole for both he and Daryl to fit through. You noted that it would have only taken three if it were just Glenn and Michonne... but who was counting... Holding your wounded arm as closely to your body as you could you stood shaking, covered in blood and sweat, and shaking like a leaf. Daryl stepped through first, Rick and Glenn following close behind then Michonne. The four stooges... would have been funny under different circumstances. Daryl eyed your injured body a deep frown forming on his face as he stepped closer to you. "Sunshine..." He started, holding out a hand to touch you, but as if on instinct to protect the man you jolted away as if your simple touch would burn him. Shaking your head you let the tears fall, words unable to form as thick sobs got stuck in your throat. "Wha'-" Daryl tried again, desperate to avoid the obvious. Maybe you just cut yourself... maybe it was crushed... hell maybe there was a curse put on you and he could just... fix it! But everyone else knew better. Glenn looked devastated shaking his head and backing away into the extended storage of the basement. Michonne was already unsheathing her sword, looking to Rick for guidance. Rick... He stood stock still, a grim firm look on his face. You could tell he didn't dare say a word until Daryl gave the order to do something... anything... but you... you had to make him understand first. "Baby. I love you more than anything." You started sadly meeting Daryl's eyes. But the archer wasn't just going to take that. No... it couldn't go down like that... not after everything. Not after all this! "So... it's a bite then..." Daryl tried to sound calm, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You could only nod. "Daryl-" You tried to reason with him... tried to explain that he and Glenn should just wait outside. You'd meet him later... that one day he'd wake up with you by his side. But the brunette archer wasn't about to take it laying down. "We'll cut it off." Daryl bit out between gritted teeth turning to Michonne who only looked shocked then sad. "Daryl... fevers set in... you know we need to-" She tried to reason, but Daryl simply shook his head grunting and glaring at the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. "If you don't do it I will." He growled, reaching for the knife he carried with him everywhere, and suddenly fresh adrenaline pumped through your blood making you shake and shiver in both anticipation and fear. Rick sighed shifting his weight. "We do this... and she turns... you're gonna have to be the one who-" Rick muttered, once again cut off by Daryl's grunt and shake of the head. "Won't happen I won't let it." Daryl growled turning to you assuredly.

Michonne tried like hell to make it quick. You'd thought that after so many heads she'd severed that the blade on her katana was as sharp as they made them. It was sharp but despite all of her best efforts, your screaming begging and crying she could not make it go through bone. So despite every ounce of begging you tried. Every time you begged Daryl to just kill you as he held you tight to keep you from moving. It was Rick's axe that freed you from your diseased arm. Your vision blurred, your voice slurred, and everything sounded like you were resting at the bottom of the ocean as you met Daryl's worried eye, the last thing you saw before everything went black.

One Week Later ~~~ Daryl's POV

All the walkers that slipped through the gates had been slaughtered by Rick and the town meeting to decide Rick's fate for his earlier spat with the Dr. had ended with both the town's leader Reg, slayed by the Dr. himself and Dr. Anderson executed by Rick as ordered by Deanna... It certainly felt as if all hell was breaking loose on Alexandria. At the town meeting Rick unloaded on the residents of the town. Telling them all about the torture room the Dr. had set up and how if Alexandria ever truly came under attack the residents would never be prepared for a fight. Rick set up trainings for the residents. A new doctor was put into place, her Dr. Denise. Her first patient, treating the infection that was setting into place in the wound of the unconscious woman that had laid in the medical office for over a week now. Daryl could tell Denise was extremely underqualified for the position. Books upon books of medical texts lain in high stacks around her as she dug for the best treatment melody to give you that wouldn't trip an accidental allergic reaction but also treat the wound, fever, and kill the infection. Daryl watched the timid doctor carefully, placing you on a heavy dose of IV steroids and an even heavier dose of IV antibiotics. "Are you just going to sit there all day..." Denise asked once she had the courage to ask. Daryl shrugged from his seat at the corner of the room. He hadn't planned on leaving yet. As a matter of fact he hardly left your side. "Well as long as your here you can keep yourself busy." Denise huffed, tossing a wet, soapy rag to the very confused archer. "It's time to redress her bandages and give her a sponge bath... figure if you're here you might as well help me bathe her."

There was nothing more intimate than bathing with your partner. Lathering each other's bodies up. feeling the way the warm suds slipped through your fingers as you ran your hands across their most intimate parts. But this... this was different on an entirely new plane of weird. Daryl felt almost like a massive pervert, touching you like this while you slept. But after a few less than gentle reassurances from Denise reminding him that it was crucial to get every bit of you body, he complied, happy to do the work himself, refusing to let another human being get this up close with you in his life. But just as soon as he finished and was certain that the bandages coming off today were actually looking better than they did the day before, he bolted for the door. Refusing to be wrapped in another medical tasks. "Should I leave the office unlocked for you tonight again?" Denise asked making Daryl turn slightly. He wanted to punch the glass out of the stupid door in frustration. He wanted to yell "I'll be back by dinner! She'll be awake and hungry by then." But he simply looked to the floor and nodded feeling a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over him as she sighed. "Ok... I'll set up a pillow and some blankets for you on the couch."

The walk to Aaron's garage was a short one but it was easy to pass up when Daryl's mind felt heavy and weighed down. "Daryl!" The archer heard his friend call out expectantly. Turning on his heel Daryl hummed darting into the garage and finding his seat on the upturned bucket next to his bike. "Hey... you looked lost in though... is everything ok?" Aaron asked tinkering with a wrench and socket joint. "'M fine..." Daryl growled reaching down between his knees to grab a screwdriver. Aaron hummed in return. A calm silence that both knew all too well. Daryl had more so vented to his friend about the entire situation days ago when Rick had to drag him out of the medical bay to let Carol and the Doctor stitch her wound. "Oh! Hey..." Aaron muttered absentmindedly reaching behind himself to pull a large project forward that was covered with a sheet. Pulling the sheet away, a robotic hand sat proudly on a pedestal hooked to various wires and gadgets. Daryl stood slowly, a look of confusion crossing his face as he stepped closer to the counter. "Wha's that?" Daryl asked glancing at Aaron. "Oh I used to work in robotics for a time... I thought it was cool and this was my version of the prosthetic my uncle should have had a chance to have." Aaron muttered taping the wires to the skin of his arm. Squeezing his hand, Daryl watched in amazement as the robotic hand followed and matched Aaron's every movement exactly. "It's all electricity based. The movement and power of the prosthetic comes from the natural electricity found in the body. I could fashion a quick joint to go along with this, just a piston that would lift the arm up and down on swivel for the elbow if you'd think [Y/N] would be interested..." Aaron muttered meeting Daryl's gaze tentatively. The archer couldn't help but smile. "We'll see what she says... but I'm sure she'll love it."

As day turned to night and Daryl bid farewell to Aaron, his belly full after a large supper at his friend's and Eric's house. Daryl strolled the darkened streets of Alexandria wondering, if he'd ever get to do this again with you. Walking into the medical office he was grateful to find the front door unlocked and a blanket and pillow setting out just for him just as promised. But something was off... something was different. Normally when he came to check on you the bed was lying flat for the night, the monitors turned on so whoever came to check you at night could check your heart beat and the lights were off. None of those things happening right now. Your heart monitor had been shut off creating an eerie quiet in the building. Your bed was sitting upright but your body was slumped over the side of the bed. Soft groaning and whining came from you and an intense panic fell over Daryl as he instantly grasped the end of the bed to steady himself. He knew Rick told him... But he hadn't truly believed he'd had too... "Fucking God... Fuck." Your voice, albeit extremely annoyed voice, threw Daryl for a loop. You were alive... More importantly you were a-fucking-wake! Scrambling to your side, Daryl hoisted you back into bed not able to contain the face splitting smile that crossed his features. "Woah there... what are ya doin' Sunshine?" Sunshine... god he'd never thought he'd ever say that word again. "Daryl!" You cried wrapping your arm around your boyfriend. "Thank God you came. I dropped the remote to the bed and it tried to make me into a sandwich!" Daryl couldn't stop the laugh that burst from his chest. kneeling down slowly he picked up the remote, handing it to his love before enveloping her as carefully as he physically could. His laughter slowly turning into heartfelt sobs as you stroked your fingers through his hair. "I should have been here." He whined. "It's ok baby..." You whispered, kissing his crown then his lips tenderly, sweetly. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

#angst #hurt/comfort #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl fanfiction #twd rick #rick grimes #the walking dead rick #the walking dead glenn #glenn rhee #toki wartooth #michonne

[happy74827]

His Ghostly Touch

[Rick Grimes x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: “He was gone, but he was everywhere.”

WC: 988

Category: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort (Takes place during the 6 year time gap // GIF CREDITS: @andy-clutterbuck)

I wrote with a lot of commas this time to represent the emotion involved with this (angsty, I know), but now that I’m re-reading, I actually hate it and I’m too lazy to fix it🧍‍♀️

『••✎••』

You could still hear the way your name fell from his lips as he kissed his way down your neck. His warm hands sliding down over your skin, caressing every part of your body.

You'd always imagined it would be rough. A man like him, in a world like this, would surely be hardened. Yet, the way he made love to you that first time and every night after that was filled with an unbridled passion, a softness and longing that you'd never felt with any other man before.

Rick loved you. Not just with his words but with his body, his touch. It was in the way he smiled at you when you walked into the room. The way his gaze lingered on you when you talked, it was as if the entire world was melting away, and the only thing he could see was you.

He loved you.

And you loved him.

That was the worst part. Loving him was the hardest thing you ever had to do and not a day went by where you didn't think about him, miss him, cry over him. He was gone, and there was nothing you could do about it. He was gone, and yet you could still feel him. Everywhere. All around you. You could still hear his voice. Your name on his lips. That raspy tone that would make your knees go weak, his breath tickling your ear.

He was gone, but he was everywhere.

Rick was a good man. A strong man. But even strong men have their breaking point, and he was no exception. You should have seen it coming. The way he looked at you, his eyes dark and filled with pain. He tried so hard to hide it from you. He tried to be strong for you, for his family, for his people, but the truth was that he was tired. He was tired of fighting, tired of losing people, and tired of being in pain.

He carried so much on his back, so much responsibility. You knew it was weighing him down. You knew he needed someone to lean on, someone to share the burden with, and you wanted to be that person for him. You wanted to be his rock, his anchor, his solace. You wanted to take away his pain, to make him smile, to give him hope.

But you failed. You failed him. You let him down. You watched as the man you loved, the man you would die for, the man who was the center of your world, the man who made your heart sing, slipped away.

He smiled at you as he held the gun up, his finger on the trigger. He smiled at you, and you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. You tried to reach him, to stop him, to save him, but both Carol and Michonne had held you back, their strong arms wrapped around your waist as you fought against them, tears streaming down your face. And then,

Rick had pulled the trigger.

You cried out, the sound of the bridge collapsing filling the air. You screamed his name, and Carol held on to you tighter, pulling you away from the explosion, away from the sight of your husband, your soulmate, your world, dying with the flames.

And then, he was gone.

You'd never felt pain like that before. It was as if your heart had been ripped out of your chest, as if your soul had been torn in two. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but scream. And then you'd passed out, falling into the blackness of oblivion, your last thoughts of him.

Now, months later, you'd finally started to heal. But the pain was still there, a constant ache in your chest, an emptiness that could never be filled. You missed him. Every day, every minute, every second. But you knew he would want you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep living.

That's what you did. You lived for him. For his memory, for his sacrifice. You carried on, doing what you could to help the community, to keep his family safe, to make his dream a reality. You were strong for him because that's what he would have wanted.

And now, here you were, lying in the bed that you had shared, the place that once held so many memories and so much love.

You could still feel him, smell his scent, see his smile. And for a moment, just a brief moment, you let yourself pretend that he was there with you. You closed your eyes and imagined his arms around you, his lips on yours, his body pressed against yours.

You let yourself pretend, if only for a moment, that he was still alive. That he was still there with you. And as the tears streamed down your face, as the ache in your chest grew, as the emptiness threatened to consume you, you whispered his name.

"Rick."

The tears flowed freely as you remembered him. The day you met, the way he looked at you, the way his fingers felt against your skin. The first time you kissed, the first time you made love. The way he made you laugh, the way he made you feel, the way he made your heart sing.

"Rick."

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, like a promise, like a plea. You clung to the memories of him, the pain of losing him, the love you had for him. It was too much. Too much to bear.

You let yourself fall apart, the grief overwhelming you, the loss tearing you apart. You sobbed, the tears coming faster and harder, your body shaking with the force of it.

And in the darkness, in the loneliness, in the grief, you whispered his name one last time before closing your eyes to finally rest.

"Rick."

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #the walking dead #x reader #the walking dead fandom #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x female reader #reader #fanfic #angst #hurt/no comfort #daryl dixon #twd rick grimes #twd x reader #the walking dead fanfic #glenn rhee #maggie rhee #y/n #no fluff #mentions of death #dead loved one #season 9 twd #rick grimes season 9 #twd #twd fanfiction #twd rick #tw death #the walking dead fanfiction #carol peletier

[bunwritesss]

Pony-Shaped Hairpins

Summary : You are the happiest person Daryl has ever seen. He has seen you comfort the group plenty of times, finding light in the darkest places and making sure everyone was okay. So when you suddenly lose your smile, he makes sure you get it back.

Genre : Hurt/Comfort ❤️‍🩹

A/N : Hi everyone! This is the first imagine I wrote for AO3, so maybe you already saw it there! Hope you'll enjoy reading it, and as always sorry for the english mistakes! 💕

You had always been full of hope.

Daryl came to notice this fact as he was watching you from afar, laughing with Carl and splashing him with water, as some woman of the group were doing laundry. He had never seen you get angry, and although you always made sure your voice was heard, your words were never used to hurt someone.

He watched you give the young boy one of your toothy grins, the same ones you gave Daryl when he brought your favorite berries back from one of his hunts in the woods, and couldn't help but smile a little himself as well.

And until Alexandria, he thought he would never see you lose your smile.

And this realization bothered him for months after that. When Andrea shot him, you rushed to Daryl's side and stayed calm and kind to her. When he snapped at Carol as she was looking for her daughter, you sternly told him he was being mean and asked him to apologize, but you did not yell at him. You would never. You kept looking for solutions and things to be positive about, pestering him about him manifesting bad things into the world if he didn't try to be more positive. He thought this was the dumbest thing you had ever said, but he would not dare saying it to you.

Hell, even Eugene leading you on about finding a cure to the epidemy and then telling you he lied only made you sad for a few days, forgiving him as soon as he apologized, bringing him in an uncomfortable hug.

When your group arrived, he could sense you get tense. You were all suspicious, as Terminus took a toll on you all, and made you fear communities. And losing so many people in a few days definitely did not help. But he felt like you were even more tense than the rest, probably because Carol, Rick and you were the people he knew how to read the most.

And as you settled with him on the porch, refusing to explore and enter the houses, he realized you weren't just tense. You were not happy to be here. You spent the day sitting with him in silence, sharpening your knives and zoning out, eyes closed. If he was only a bit worried for you before, he was definitely scared now.

'Hey.'

You never shut up. Never. You spent hours talking to him in the Quarry, even when he was closed off, asking him stupid questions about his whereabouts and making silly puns, managing to make him smile once or twice. And the grins that followed his crooked smiles were worth everything in the entire world.

So when he realized you wouldn't speak, he took matter in his own hands. He softly nudged you with his elbow, which did not took you away from your reverie. So he talked.

Daryl was not much of a talker, and you had always give him your full attention whenever he had something to say. And today was no exception. You opened your eyes, turning to him.

'You okay?'

You nodded without conviction, as he readjusted his position to be able to look at you more comfortably.

'You sure?'

'I hate everybody in this community, Daryl.'

'These people will not survive the apocalypse.'

Daryl's eyes widened. This was definitely unexpected, especially after the months he spent hearing you lecture him about the importance of giving second chances to people and the power of love and friendship, or something along the lines. He usually nodded to make you happy because he knew you wouldn't let go of your idea if he didn't agree, but usually let his mind wander around.

He did not know what to say so he kept his mouth shut, and it took a while for you to start talking again.

And you added, lowering your voice.

'And the leader's a dumbass.'

You brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. And then you let your head drop on them, sheltering you from the outside world.

'I feel the same, y'know? Yer not alone.'

You slowly turned to Daryl, a slight smile making its way on your lips.

'You do?'

He nodded, his dirty hair covering his face. If you were happier, you would have tucked the strands behind his hair, or threatened him to use one of your glittery hairpins on him, but right now you did not feel like it.

'Feel like a damn dog on a leash here.'

You eagerly shook your head, happy to see someone thought the same as you.

'It feels so weird having to live normally again. I know it's dumb because I spent so many days complaining about missing hot water or coffee, but like... I do not feel at home here. I miss camping and washing myself with wet rags.'

He scoffed at your sentence.

'Ya never made any damn sense.'

You laughed as well. Not one of your happy laughs, the ones that brought light to a whole room, at least, in Daryl's eyes, but a laugh anyway.

'You're right, I don't.'

You glared at a random man watching Daryl and you as if you were animals in a zoo. And to be honest you felt like it, covered in mud and sweat, and missing the forest while they were all judging you and your group. And once he lowered his eyes, you spoke again.

'But these people don't make any sense either.'

He did not say anything, but his eyes told you he agreed with you. So you slowly let your head drop on his shoulder, feeling him tense up for a few seconds, and then relax at your contact. You chuckled. He always did that. You had spent hours resting on his shoulder before, and the familiarity of his body against yours helped making the novelty of this community a little more bearable. And you were convinced he felt the same.

'Daryl?'

He did not respond but you knew he was listening.

'If we're forced to get separate houses, would you want to take one with me?'

Daryl was so thankful your actual position prevented you from seeing his expression of surprise, his flattered smile. The emotion made him all gruff again, and his tone of voice made you smile.

You snorted, and a rare and wide smile graced his face, so thankful he was the one making you laugh again. You raised your hand, tucking a stray strand behind his ear.

'If ya want. Guess it'd be nicer than sharing with one of them.'

'Plus I'm a lovely home decorator.' You teased him. 'You're gonna have the cutest astronomy-themed room in the whole world. Glow in the dark stars everywhere.'

'I'm not gonna let ya step a foot into my room.'

You opened your mouth, pretending to be offended, and he smiled fondly at you.

'Do you want a pony hairpin or a star-shaped one?'

'Maybe sharing with them wasn't a bad idea.'

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#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #daryl hurt comfort

[drop-cherries]

Love made me crazy.

Daryl Dixon x reader

Cw: twd typical gore and violence, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader

A/n: Love yall, xoxo birdy

You were screaming as you tore through the walkers. The stench of death burning through you nostrils. Blood nearly covering you from head to toe. Some human and some dead, none of your own.

One thought was going through your mind as your muscles burned trying to keep up with the influx of walkers. 'I love you'. Is what daryl said to you as you left for a solo run, he was busy with building. You told him you'd say it back when you return. Your throat was raw, your voice dying.

As your drove you knife through the last skull of the dead you promptly turned around and vomited, more like dry heave as you hadn't ate anything today. Running on fumes and hope of getting back to the man you love.

The gates to Alexandria opened, and you slowly made your way through. Garnering stares from most people. You ignored them and made your way to the apartment you shared with daryl. The door thuds shut and you take of your boots, completely ignoring the sticky dried blood all over yourself.

Daryl comes from the bedroom quickly spotting you. He comes over to finish unlacing your boots and slipping them off your feet wordlessly leading you to the bathroom.

Daryl undresses you after he runs a hot bath. Lowering you in and softly scrubbing the blood from your body. As he finishes rinsing your hair he leans down to kiss your head. You look up to him.

"I love you too. And that's how I got back here." You say softly.

He kisses your shoulder and replies, "I know love."

#birdywrites #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon hurt/comfort #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction

[minervadashwood]

daryl dixon x fem!reader

Note: This is part 2, read part one here.

Warnings: Blood, violence, sexual themes. Dividers: @firefly-graphics Here and here. Notes: There's still pining, but I promise you it's worth it.

Part 2: The Art of Love

Daryl sat bolt upright on the couch, convinced he’d just heard a gunshot. For a second he forgot where he was and tried to figure out the best way to get away from his old man. He reached for a flashlight, but his hand landed on a coffee table, and Daryl realized he wasn’t home but at John’s.  He switched on a table lamp the exact same moment that the bathroom light flicked on.

Daryl thought maybe John had come home early, but it wasn’t John he saw by the bathroom sink. It was you. You clutched a bloody rag in your hand and practically sank to the floor, shaking with sobs. He leapt off the couch, not caring that he was only in his boxers, and ran over to you.

“D-D-Dare?” you choked out, your wet eyes staring up at him. 

His heart stopped. That blood was yours, dripping from your swollen nose, mixing with your tears. Your cheek was cut, too, a jagged wound about two inches long.

He saw red. “Who did this? Who fuckin’ did this to you?” He put his hands on either side of your face, to make you look at him.  Your lip trembled and you sobbed, the sound breaking his heart into a thousand pieces. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, not caring that his voice cracked. He moved hair away from your face, a few strands already caked with blood.  

“Daryl,” you cried, falling into his arms and hanging onto him for dear life. “I’m so scared.”

“Shh,” he whispered. “I got ya, sweetheart. Yer alrigh’ now. It’s alrigh’. I’ll protec’ ya.” From who, he wasn’t sure yet, but once he found out, there would be hell to pay.

He held you against his chest and kissed the top of your head, his primal need to comfort you washing away all his inhibitions. Ugly sobs wracked your precious body, and he tried to absorb each one, wishing he could take the pain away from you and put it on himself.  He started rocking you, and gradually your sobs slowed to sniffles until you eventually cried yourself out. You stayed in his arms, hiccupping and holding onto him. Daryl told himself that he should tend to your wounds, get you clean and patched up, but he couldn’t bear to let go of you, not yet. 

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

“John! You and that sister of yours better get out here!”

You practically jumped out of your skin with a cry of fear. You put your hand on Daryl’s bare chest and looked at him. “Don’t let him in, Dare. Just ignore him. Please.”

“He ain’t settin’ foot near ya again. I promise ya that.” He framed your face with his hands. “You trust me doncha?”

You nodded, sniffling.”’Course I do.”

“Good girl.” Carefully, he pulled away from you and got to his feet. “You stay righ’ ‘ere. Don’ move ‘til I get back, alrigh’?” 

“Okay.” You wrapped  your arms around yourself and bit your bottom lip.

Daryl closed the bathroom door behind him, and quickly put his jeans on. He didn’t bother with a shirt, that way this fucker wouldn’t have something to grab onto. Merle had taught him that. 

He opened the door and closed it behind him, coming face to face with Blaire Foster.

“The hell you doing here, Dixon? You tell that bitch she owes me for slashing my tire.” “She don’ owe you shit.” Daryl made a fist and punched Blaire in the gut. The other man doubled over, and Daryl kneed him in the face. That preppy fuck put up his hands in surrender, trying to back away. But Daryl wasn’t stupid. He’d keep the guy on the doorstep and kick his ass right by the door. That made it legal.

Merle had taught him that, too.

Daryl grabbed the sick fuck by the collar, yanking him so that they were eye to eye. “I could kill ya for what you’ve done to her, ya know that?”

Blaire had a hand on his chin, right where Daryl’s knee had hit him. That’s when Daryl saw the imprint of your class ring on Blaire’s cheek. The thought of you having to fight your way out of this man’s clutches filled Daryl with a rage he didn’t know he was capable of. He reared back and punched Blaire right on the nose and heard a satisfying crack. Daryl’s fist kept making contact with Blaire’s face until the men started whimpering like a baby.

Daryl let go of Blaire’s now-ruffled collar and shoved him toward the driveway. “You even look at her again, an’ I’ll kill ya.” He watched Blaire stagger his way to that obnoxiously large SUV and get inside. When he finally drove off, Daryl ran back inside, to you.

You sat on John’s bathroom floor, just like you’d promised Daryl you would. You didn’t move except to lock the door, just in case. While you had absolute faith in Daryl, even just the chance that you might come face to face with Blaire again had you shaking.

Despite listening for any signs that Blaire had made it inside, you didn’t hear anything. Before you’d come in to ruin his night, Daryl had been sleeping, that much was clear. He’d only been wearing his boxer shorts while he let you cry in his arms. Despite all your fear and dread, a part deep inside of you flickered back to life as you thought of him holding you again, his chest bare and his arms wrapped securely around you. If only it hadn’t been in these circumstances.

You sat there for what seemed like an hour, but it was truly only a few minutes. You were startled when the doorknob rattled, but Daryl’s muffled voice said, “Jus’ me.” You relaxed and opened the door for him. 

Sitting on your knees you gazed up at Daryl. “Is he gone?”

“He won’ come near ya again, sweetheart.”

There was that petname again, passing from his lips like he’d been calling you that for years. You’d never seen Daryl like this, looking at you with a softness in his eyes that pierced your very soul.

“C’mon, let’s get ya up,” he said, taking the blood-soaked towel from you and then pulling you up by your hand. He sat you on the lid of the toilet seat and squatted in front of you so that you were eyelevel with him.

His hand was still holding yours, and you turned it in your palm, seeing that his knuckles were dripping blood? realized his knuckles were bloody.

“What happened, Dare?” you gasped.

“Ain’t my blood, don’ worry.”

You bit the inside of your lip, realizing that Daryl had protected you, just like he’d promised. And he’d done what you couldn’t, punched Blaire hard enough to send him packing.

Daryl pulled his hand away, but then he took your other wrist--the hand you’d punched Blaire with. His touch was achingly gentle as he traced your ring with his finger while studying your hand. “Ya got a couple broken fingers, doncha? I’ll make ya a splint later,  alrigh’?” 

“Okay,” you whispered, gazing at him. His hair was a mess, dangling around his face in too-long tendrils that needed taming.However, his focus was entirely on you, his eyes flitting from your face to your hand, his frown deepening with every second.

You held your breath as he studied you, the throbbing pain of your nose and the sharp pain in your head fading into the background. Daryl’s nostrils flared as he breathed heavily, his face looking stern and impassive at the same time his hands gently touched you.

Abruptly, he turned away from you and started grabbing stuff out of John’s medicine cabinet and drawers. He lined it all up on the counter, then he grabbed a clean washcloth, wet it with water and soap, and turned to face you again.

“I’ll do my best not ta hurt ya.”

“I know.” 

You’d seen glimpses of Daryl’s gentleness over the years, but this was something else altogether. He took your chin in hand, holding you still as he brushed the cloth on your face. He wiped clean the cut on your cheek first, then he started on your nose. The moment he touched it, pain radiated from the spot, hurting your cheekbones and forehead. A whimper escaped you, and Daryl froze.

“‘M sorry, honey, but I gotta get ya cleaned up.”

“It’s okay, Dare. It didn’t hurt that much. Honest.”

He tried smiling at you, but there was a sadness in his eyes that had your heart aching. “Spendin’ time with all them lawyers didn’ make ya any better at lyin’.”

You chuckled, shocking yourself with the outburst. It hurt, but you caught Daryl’s eye as one corner of his lip lifted and his eyes shone a little brighter.

Daryl took his hand from your chin and ran his fingers through your hair. “‘S good to see ya smile. Blaire didn’ do nothin’ to ya that won’t heal up in a coupla weeks. Jus’ be brave for me.”

“Anything for you, Dare.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

He went back to cleaning your face again, and though it hurt, all you could think about was how much you loved him and how much you wished he loved you back. Each of his gentle touches felt like love, like he was caring for something precious and irreplaceable.

 In one way, you were so very grateful you weren’t going through this alone, but at the same time what Blaire had done to you didn’t seem to matter at all right now. What mattered was Daryl and being with him like this, both of you exposed and vulnerable, sharing soft touches and quiet words.

You started shivering, despite the warmth in your belly, but you tried to hide it.

“Yer shakin’ like a leaf,” Daryl murmured, now disinfecting your cheek and putting a bandage on it. “Goin’ into shock.”

“Am I gonna pass out or somethin’? If so, I’d rather not do it while sittin’ on the shitter.”

“Ya ain’t gonna pass out. Jus’ the fight goin’ outta ya an’ yer body calmin’ down.”

“Daryl?”

He paused and met your gaze.

“You promise Blaire didn’t hurt you?”

“He barely touched me. But I ain’t gonna say he didn’t hurt me. ‘Cause seein’ ya like this….”

“Like what?”

Daryl cleared his throat and dropped his gaze. “Yer nose ain’t broken, jus’ bruised is all.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“Mmm.” He stood up and started putting away  all the first aid supplies. 

He put a hand on each of your shoulders and said, “Get up now.”

You stood, and his hands went down your arms, squeezing the soft flesh there reassuringly.  Then, he ducked his head and started untying the oversized flannel shirt that was around your waist. He shook it out and set it on the counter.

“Ya best get out of that dirty top and put that on instead. Then sit yerself down on the couch an’ put the TV on. It’ll keep ya distracted.”

You nodded dumbly, not quite sure how to process this assertive side of Daryl. He acted like he was an expert on this whole thing, and his tone brooked no argument.

He left you alone in the bathroom again, and you pulled off your ruined v-neck t-shirt and stepped out of your jeans. The flannel button up was too large for you--you’d bought it for that very reason--yet it felt nice as the warm fabric swallowed you up and hung down to your knees. 

Before going to the couch like you were told, you slipped into John’s bedroom. 

While your brother wasn’t exactly skinny, he wasn’t curvy either. As you rummaged through his clothes, you heard Daryl doing something in the kitchen.  You sank onto the edge of the bed and sighed. Your hopes of finding a pair of shorts that might fit you were dashed. Not even his joggers or stretchy athletic shorts would go up past your hips.

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt and realized you weren’t showing any more leg than you might when wearing a summer dress or one of your suit skirts to work. Like Daryl had said, the fight was going out of you, and that apparently meant your fashion sense, too. You found yourself too tired to care, so you left John’s room and found your way to his couch. 

By the time Daryl had come out of the kitchen, you had turned on John’s TV and found an old movie playing on one of his stolen cable channels. Cary Grant ran around the screen, making wide eyes for the camera and chasing after Katherine Hepburn. But when Daryl walked in, all your attention was on him. He was carrying a tray of food over, and right away you realized he’d warmed you up your favorite soup and poured you a glass of water.

“Dare, you didn’t need to do all this for me.”

He put the food down on the coffee table, next to you, then he sat on the other end of the couch. He never looked your way, and his eyes were now staring straight at the TV. 

“This the one with the tiger?” he murmured.

You picked up the bowl of soup and watched him as you blew on the hot meal. “It’s a leopard.”

“Smartass.” His gaze flickered to you, a smirk on his lips, making you smile, but he quickly looked away to stare at the TV again.  

You watched as Daryl made himself comfortable on the couch, sinking deep into the cushion and spreading out his legs. “Manspreading” they called it in your HEAS group. Sometimes men on the public bus would do this, driving you bonkers when the bus was already cramped. But you didn’t mind seeing Daryl do it. It gave him an air of dominance and masculinity that set your heart beating quickly in anticipation.

Not that Daryl noticed. He sat there, legs spread wide, biting his thumb with all his attention riveted on Cary Grant.

Your stomach rumbled, so you started eating your soup and sipping on your water. When you finished, you set the tray on the coffee table and noticed a blanket on the couch. Wrapping it around yourself, you rested your head on the armrest and let your eyes drift closed.

Daryl struggled not to gape at your legs, your thick, gorgeous thighs peeking out from under your shirt. The thoughts he was having were worse than the ones from this morning, a phenomenon he didn’t know was possible until this moment.

You’d had the shit beaten out of you, and yet all he could think of was your thighs wrapped around his waist, or his face buried  in their apex with his mouth sucking the life out of you.

He forced himself to look away, but the image of your thighs pressing together, moving subtly as you ate your soup had him hard in an instant. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not with you all vulnerable like that. But he couldn’t get thoughts of you out of his mind. All he wanted was to hold you close again. He didn’t even need to kiss you or put his hands all over you, anything like that. But he did feel like he needed your soft warmth gathered up in his arms, your breath arcing across the bare skin of his chest.

But even that felt like asking too much.

He forced himself to focus on the movie, watching the two idiots chase a leopard from one place to the next. If it’d been him, Baby would’ve been already trapped and on her way back to the zoo. Did anyone on this movie even research feline predators? All you needed was some quick moving prey and the giant cat would’ve been locked up in no time.

The movie ended and another began, this one Arsenic and Old Lace, and from the corner of his eye, Daryl noticed you covering yourself up with his blanket and resting your head on the arm of the couch. It was good that you felt like sleeping. He knew you had to be tired from all that had happened, and to see you relaxed enough to close your eyes made him relieved, happy even.

The world was quiet, and your body was drifting off into oblivion when suddenly your nose was hitting the dashboard again. You jerked awake, sweating and breathless, and with no sense of your immediate surroundings.

Something--someone--grabbed your hand and started rubbing your knuckles. You looked up to find Daryl watching you as he slid closer to you on the couch.

“C’mere,” he whispered, pulling you to sit against him as he wrapped his arm around you. “I gotcha. Yer alrigh’.”

“I’m sorry,” you said in a quiet voice, but as Daryl held you close, you no longer meant that apology. His strength and warmth wrapped around you, and you felt at home nestled against him, his heartbeat thumping in your ear.

“You sure this is alright?” you whispered, worried that you might be invading his space.

“It’s more’n alrigh’,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “‘Sides, yer bein’ too stingy with this blanket.”  He rearranged the soft blanket so that it now covered both of you. Then he took your injured hand and rested it on his stomach, keeping it from being accidentally squished as he held you.

You’d dreamed and hoped of Daryl holding you like this a million times before, but to have it happen didn’t have you swooning like you’d expected. Instead, it just felt right. Complete. Like this was how it was supposed to be with him all the time.

You wanted to confess your feelings to him, to tell him you loved him and wanted to be with him always. But what if he still didn’t feel the same? What if he still wasn’t ready for that? It would be so incredibly selfish of you to take advantage of his kindness, his gentle affection. So you wouldn’t. Daryl didn’t deserve that from you, especially not after all he’d done to take care of you in the past two hours. You nestled close to him and closed your eyes. This time you fell asleep peacefully.

After you went to sleep, Daryl watched you until his own eyes drifted closed. He didn’t wake up until sometime later when he felt you stirring in his arms. You sat up a bit, and he blinked sleep from his eyes as he watched you by the light of the television. 

“I should let you go,” you said. “So you can get a good night’s sleep.” 

You started to pull away from him, but Daryl instinctively pulled you back against him. Tendrils of hair fell over his eyes, but he met your gaze with his own, silently begging you not to leave him. He squeezed your shoulder, but then he froze, stricken silent as you lifted your hand. 

Your fingers gently moved his hair from his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. He held his breath as your gentle touch traced along the edge of his ear then toyed with the ends of his hair. 

“I’ve put you out enough,” you said, voice soft. “You take the bed. I’ll stay out here.”

For a moment he was lost in your touch, still frozen in place, heart pounding in his chest. He wanted this, but he wanted so much more, not just your fingers, but your hand, your arms, your lips, every part of you. He wanted to hold you in his arms forever, protect you from Blaire, from the whole world if he had to. He wanted the rest of his life to be like this--minus your injuries--with you both falling asleep right next to each other and waking up the same way. 

He only managed to say, “Don’t,” letting his voice finally convey the longing he felt.  

You let his hair slip through your fingers. His body practically screamed at the loss of your touch.

“Did I hurt you?” you asked 

He knew what it meant to hurt, deep inside and on every part of his body.  He’d bear each hurt willingly, if it meant you’d be his. You could hurt him a thousand times over, and he’d still love you. But what he could not bear was this addiction. If you touched him again--gently, lovingly, like he mattered--he knew he’d spend his whole life in turmoil, wanting--needing--your touch, again and again.

You pulled your hand away, and he grabbed your wrist, his reflexes reacting before he could tamper them. He gently pulled on your arm, bringing you back to him, but even closer now. His other arm found the small of your back, turning you slightly so that your breasts and belly pressed against his body, all those soft, wonderful curves making him yearn and need in a way he never thought possible.   

His other hand still held your wrist. He brought your hand to his face, close to his lips. Taking a deep breath, he pressed a kiss to your index finger.  His gaze stayed on your hand, its trembling fingers the only part of you he was brave enough to look at. He kissed your middle finger, then your ring finger, hearing little sighs escape your mouth.  He grew braver with each second that passed and you didn’t pull your hand away. After kissing each fingertip, he held your hand, guided it back to the nape of his neck and placed it there.

His heartbeat did not let up, but somehow, he moved slowly, uncertainty and longing warring within him. You threaded your fingers in his hair once again, and the fingertips he’d just kissed caressed his scalp. He stifled a moan of need--that innocent touch alone setting him on fire.

He forced himself to raise his eyes, to look at you. What he found shook him to his core. 

On your face was a blissful smile. Your eyes met his and they shined with happiness. The sight was so beautiful that for a moment he forgot about your bruised nose and cut cheek. Instead, he saw his whole life in your smile, all the years before and the years yet to come. 

How selfish it was of him to want more than this moment. 

“You best be goin',” he whispered, voice wavering.

“Then let go of me.”

He held you tighter.

“You want this, too?” you asked.

Daryl almost felt like he was floating, lost in a dream. The only thing keeping him anchored was your weight on top of him and your hand in his hair.

“Daryl?” you whispered.

His free hand reached for your nape, mirroring your touch, but going farther and angling your head toward his mouth. 

“Ain’t right what I want. The way I wanna hold ya, kiss ya, make ya mine. Ain’t right.”

“What if I want that, too?”

He whispered your name, voice cracking. “Don’ say shit ya don’ mean.”

You shifted, lining your body up with his until you were almost in his lap. “You said yourself I’m no good at lyin’.”

“I don’ wanna hurt ya, sweetheart. Not after what ya been through.” His voice was shaky.

You cupped his jaw and forced him to look at you. “Daryl Dixon, I have been yours since I was in the seventh grade, and I have spent the last decade and half waiting for you to realize that. Whether it’s tonight, tomorrow night, or a year from now, however long I have to wait, I’ll always be yours. I promise.”

His heart beat so fast, he almost expected it to burst out of his chest and fly across the room. At the same time, your words soothed his soul, wrapping around the broken pieces of himself and tying them back together. 

He cleared his throat, and slowly closed the distance between you to press his lips to your forehead. A gentle sigh escaped your lips, and he kissed you again, this time on your unmarred cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, Dare,” you breathed. 

He was ready to let you go, but then you closed your eyes and kissed him right on the mouth.

Daryl could not hold onto you tight enough as your lips molded to his own. He kissed you back like he’d never kissed anyone before. His whole life spread out before him, and there you were in every part of it, every secret corner and every forgotten wish. He found it all in your kiss.

All too soon you pulled away, but just enough to look him in the eyes.

He took in every detail of your face, from the small crinkles in your smiling eyes to all the bruising and hurt you’d endured tonight, and he found himself gazing at you in wonderment. 

You said, “Didn’t you know? All those times I watched you working on bikes and cars? All the times I followed you and John around like a lovesick puppy? Chasing after you? Asking you to the bar?”

Daryl could scarce believe your words. By the time you were old enough for him to see you for the woman you were, you’d gone off to college. When you got back, all you dated were those college boys with their creased slacks and polo shirts and BMWs. Men so unlike Daryl that they may as well be another species altogether.

And all that time you wanted him?

His thumb traced your bottom lip. “‘M sorry ‘bout what happened to ya,” he murmured. “If I’d gone with ya like ya asked…” then you would’ve never been hurt in the first place. If he’d said yes a year ago, two months ago, nothing like this would’ve happened to you.

“Oh, honey,” you sighed,  “it’s not your fault. Not my fault. It’s Blaire’s fault. Besides, I’m not sorry it happened, not now. Are you?”

Daryl kissed you again, then peppered the uninjured parts of your face with soft pecks. “Can’t say that I am,” he admitted. He cupped your jaw and grazed his thumb on your cheek. “‘M still gonna knock ‘im on his sorry ass next time I see ‘im. Time after that, too. Get to be he won’ know up from down.”

“Alrigh’, Dare, you do that. “Don’t forget to thank him for me, though. ‘Cause kissing you made it all worth it.”

Daryl kissed you again, and again, and each time you met him where he was. Throughout the night, you both got lost in each other until you fell asleep, holding onto each other until morning.

The End (?)

Thank you for reading. I hope you found some joy and comfort in this story!

I have a possible epilogue in mind, but it requires me to do something that I find super difficult to do, which is to write a sex scene. I want to see what kind of response this story gets before I put myself through that struggle. If I feel like people are supporting me, my motivation and self confidence to write such a scene will make it less daunting. So please let me know your thoughts and wishes! 🙏🙏

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[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

A light knock on your door interrupted your stuttered crying and you hurriedly mopped your face with your sleeve, an instinctive move because you never wanted anyone to see your tears. "Who—who is it?" you asked going to the front door. You glanced at the clock on the way. It was barely 2 am.

"S'Daryl," came the voice from the other side.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "D—Daryl? Is everything alright?" you asked, leaning up to peek through the little window in the top of the door.

"Yeah... I—I saw your light on," he drawled softly.

You unlocked the door and pulled it open, mopping at your face one more time.

He leaned toward the opening crack of the door as if he was hoping to get his eyes on you as soon as possible. Your nose and eyes were a bit red. He felt a sinking feeling in his midsection. You'd obviously been crying. "You... okay?" It was a stupid question really. Of course you weren't.

You let out a wry laugh. "That obvious, is it?"

Daryl shrugged and gave you a sympathetic look, his blue eyes soft.

"Come on in," you said, stepping back. "If you want."

"Thanks." He ducked his head as he crossed the threshold and then followed you into the living room. You sunk down onto the couch and he stood a bit awkwardly before sitting down on the other end. "Ya wanna—talk 'bout it?"

You mouthed wordlessly for a moment before another upwelling of emotion crashed over you and more tears stung in your eyes. "It keeps me awake at night," you said a bit weakly. "After what happened, I just feel so—so angry a lot of the time. I'm afraid that I'll become like him. I'm afraid I'll do the things he did to me to someone else," you said, and when you met Daryl's eyes again yours were wide and afraid.

He shook his head without any hesitation. "That ain't happenin'."

"You don't know that," you said.

"Yeah, I do. Because I know ya. I know who ya are deep down. Even after everythin' ya've been through, yer still just pure good. Know how I know? 'Cuz ya've shown me how to be that too. And if ya weren't, ya wouldn't be awake losin' sleep worryin' and sick 'bout it. If ya were like him, ya wouldn't even think on it for a minute." He moved over to sit beside ya and then tilted his head. "C'mere..."

You sniffled and then fell against him. He wrapped his strong arm around behind you and tugged you in more tightly. "S'gonna be okay." Your head dropped onto his shoulder, and when he said it, you believed him.

Prompt: "I'm afraid that I'll become like him. I'm afraid I'll do the things he did to me to someone else."

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #hurt/comfort daryl

[griefbacon]

‘I had her first’

Daryl Dixon x reader

Description: hurt comfort, jealousy, overprotective, fight scene

Copyright © griefbacon 2023. All rights reserved. This is original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

She/they reader pronouns :)

The group had found Alexandria, a safe place to stay for at least awhile. She had met Daryl while still dating Xander. They hadn’t gotten close until after Xander and her had broken up. They started going on patrols and supply runs together, getting more and more frequent as days went on. Soon it wasn’t jobs anymore, it was walking around the forest, sharing food, laughing, everything. Daryl had asked them out almost 7 months since they started hanging out. Since then Xander had been insufferable, he was always in their business, practically stalking the couple, until one day emotions boiled over.

“ Say it again, I dare ya’ ”, Daryl inched closer to Xander. They couldn’t see his face, but the icy tone in his voice gave them a clear picture. “ I said that I had her first and you ain’t nothin’ ”, Xander spat, getting in Daryl’s face.

“ Daryl come on, let’s not do this ”, Rick interrupted, gesturing to them both. It was silent between the two men, neither breaking eye contact. It looked like a fight between wild animals, the snarls and grunts telling the other they were not going to back down. Rick’s attempt to defuse the situation wasn’t working, at all, yet he tried again,” Daryl, don’t do this, it’s not worth the trouble”. It was over when Xander piped in ,” listen to your master, dog ”, a silent ‘shit’ came from Rick.

A fist connected to his jaw and a fight broke out. I backed away from Daryl over to where Michonne was standing, she put a hand on my shoulder, still watching with wide eyes. I stared in shock at the sight before me, other men had jumped into action trying to pry them off of each other with yells from both groups. They dragged them off of each other, Daryl shoved them off of him and trudged into the woods while Xander was brought into a house to cool off.

Daryl had disappeared into the woods, Carol put her arm over their shoulder,” let him cool off, come on, let’s get you something to drink ”. She led her away from the scene, as they looked back towards the woods with worry.

They sat on their porch, swinging their feet off the side of the porch in thought. Mind swirling with thoughts of Daryl and his wellbeing.

Daryl walked out of the woods with a skinned and cleaning rabbit in his hand. He spotted them immediately, he always did. His face burned with embarrassment, ashamed of not keeping his cool earlier. He stomped past them.

“ Daryl? “, he stopped, she looked at him with concern as he turned around to look at her, grunting in acknowledgment. They walked towards him, holding his face in her hands she stared intently. He was bruised and battered, they rubbed their thumb over dried blood, scraping it off in the process. “ Are you okay? How are you feeling? “, she asked softly, worry lacing her words. Daryl avoided her gaze in favor of staring at the ground, shifting on his feet.

“ M’fine “, he said, nonchalant, she pressed her lips together in a thin line. “ Come on, let me clean you up “, they grabbed his hand, leading him to the house. He trailed along after them, cheeks still hot from embarrassment.

They ran the water, fiddling with the knobs to get the temperature just right as Daryl watched from his seat on the counter. He couldn’t help but feel slightly dizzy at the thought of her cleaning him. She turned to him ,” strip and get in the bath, I’ll clean you “, they left the bathroom, clicking the door shut, he stripped, settling into the bath. The heat soothed his aching muscles as he relaxed.

They knocked at the door, calling to him. He grunted as a sign to come in. She clicked the door open, holding a towel, wash cloth, and different clothes he could wear. She sat the clothes and towel on the sink tenderly before turning to him with the cloth. Getting on their knees, wetting the cloth in the water and lathering it with soap. She goes to wash him but hesitates, Daryl’s face was flushed as he gave her a slightly confused look, “ is it okay if I touch you? “, his heart skipped a beat, it was a simple gesture, asking for consent, but he couldn’t help but melt. He nodded, she grinned ,” okay, at any point tell me if you get uncomfortable in any way “.

They washed him, scrubbing away the built up grime and sweat on his body. She periodically checked on him, making sure he was still okay and not uncomfortable, to which he nodded. She washed his hair, using their nails to massage his scalp ,” Daryl? “, he barely registered his name as he peeked open his eyes to look at them. “ Hmm? “, they stopped scrubbing his scalp ,” Daryl tell me how you feel, tell me what happened “, his face scrunched at the memory, not wanting to think about it. “ Please? I’m worried about you “, he sighed and caved in ,” I’ got angrier the more he spoke about ‘chu, saying how he had you first, it.. didn’t feel good’ “.

Her face saddened at him, he was so clearly insecure, how did she not see it sooner. They brought his face to hers and kissed his forehead tenderly. Daryl leaned into it, enjoying the intimacy, they pulled away, Daryl subconsciously chasing their touch. They cradled his face in their hands ,” whether or not he ‘had me first’, you have me now, I love you, I adore you, I have no interest in him anymore, you are my focus, the apple of my eye “, he stared into their eyes, searching for, something, he wasn’t sure what.

They kissed him again, bringing him closer, it was long, meaningful, it wasn’t about the kiss, it was about their love for each other, the whole reason she was bathing him, sitting with him at the camp, laying by his side at night, they loved him. They pulled away, Daryl had stars in his eyes, that told him everything he needed to know.

“ Are you ready to get out of the bath? “, he nodded, allowing her to help him out of the bath and handing him a towel. She unplugged the drain, watching the dirty water wash away. She dried his hair and brushed it, untangling the knots being careful not to pull too hard. They helped him into some comfortable clothes and led him to bed.

They crawled into bed together, Daryl laid his head on her chest, listening to her heart beat. “ I love you Daryl ”, he heard her sleepy voice say, he reared his head up and kissed her on the cheek,” love ya’ too “, he laid his head back down, feeling secure in the arms of his lover, his reason to keep going.

They ran the water, fiddling with the knobs to get the temperature just right as Daryl watched from his seat on the toilet. He couldn’t help but feel slightly dizzy at the thought of her cleaning him. She turned to him ,” strip and get in the bath, I’ll clean you “, they left the bathroom, clicking the door shut, he stripped, settling into the bath. The heat soothed his aching muscles as he relaxed.

They knocked at the door, calling to him. He grunted as a sign to come in. She clicked the door open, holding a towel, wash cloth, and different clothes he could wear. She sat the clothes and towel on the sink tenderly before turning to him with the cloth. Getting on their knees, wetting the cloth in the water and lathering it with soap. She goes to wash him but hesitates, Daryl’s face was flushed as he gave her a slightly confused look, “ is it okay if I touch you? “, his heart skipped a beat, it was a simple gesture, asking for consent, but he couldn’t help but melt. He nodded, she grinned ,” okay, at any point tell me if you get uncomfortable in any way “.

They sipped their tea, hanging her legs off of the porch in thought. Daryl still hadn’t got back yet, their mind swirling with worry.

Daryl walked out of the woods, he held a skinned and cleaned rabbit. He noticed them, but embarrassment kept him from walking inverted and checking on her. They looked up, hearing heavy footsteps practically running away from them.

“ Daryl? “, he froze in his tracks, turning to them, grunting in acknowledgment. “ Are you okay? How are you feeling? “, they abandoned their tea on the porch in favor of walking to Daryl, examining him. His face was bruised and battered, dried blood crusting off when she brushed over it with her finger. Daryl’s face burned from the attention they were giving him, still not used to her eyes on him.

“ m’fine “, he brushed their hand away, reluctantly, face still red from the contact. She stared intensely at him, he couldn’t help but avoid her gaze and shifted his feet. It was silent for awhile before she spoke ,” let’s get you cleaned up “, they grabbed his hand, leading him to the house.

#x reader #twd x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #hurt/comfort #jealousy #overprotective #she/they #twd rick #twd michonne #twd carol

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 25

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Author's Note.

As always, enjoy reading :) And uuuh prepare yourself.

"There you guys are."

Dale says this because he's been waiting for us. He pushes himself off the crumbled fireplace, anxiously gripping the strap of his rifle like he always does, like he's glued it there and hasn't bothered removing it. He always looks nervous and angry at the same time.

"Whatchu all the way over here for?" Dad asks, setting his crossbow down by his chair. "Couldn't wait for visitin' hours?"

"Listen, I'm going to be frank here." He mutters, his bushy white brows disappearing under the brim of his fisherman's hat. The adults have always muttered when they don't want the kids listening in on them, but now it's actually working, and I don't like that, so I make a point of sitting on the lip of the cobblestones nearby. I pretend to take off my boots and pour the dirt out, even though they're already empty. "If we don't do something, come dusk," He says in a very important way, "Jim will be dead."

"Ain't that kinda the point?" He deadpans.

Dale hates that response. He scoffs. "No. You're a smart man, Daryl. You can see why this is crazy."

I don't know what he thinks he's doin', tryna convince my Dad to call off the execution. I guess it didn't go over so well with Rick.

"Can I?" He drawls, entirely unconvinced. "Ain't nun' crazy 'bout squashing a bug."

"We're not talking about a bug." He argues. "We're talking about a human being. A human being that's made mistakes, yes, but haven't we all? I mean, how many times have you said something somebody didn't like? That isn't a crime. Certainly doesn't warrant the death penalty."

"Man, save it. You getcher'self in the mix with my daughter in a way I'on like, you get what's comin' to ya. That's just how it is."

"And I— I can appreciate that. You're a family man. You love your daughter. You love Harley and you want to protect her," He reasons, and as he says this, I think, pshh, what does this have to do with anything, which is what Dad must be thinking, too, 'cause he rolls his eyes a bit. "But don't you love her enough to want her growing up in a world that doesn't punish so harshly? Hasn't she seen enough death?"

Sure I have. But like all things we once thought were impossible, it's now just a matter of, what's one more? What's one more dead man in the ground? Jim's death will be a different type of killing, sure, but they're all just bodies in the end. We've done this before.

"Watch yourself." Dad's look turns sharp at that. "Don't tell me what I already know."

"I'm just trying to—"

"Look." He cuts him off. "I know what's best for my daughter. The world I want her growin' up in is one that ain't made'a fairytales. People gotta die, Dale. Already have. And they ain't gonna stop just 'cause one man pulls out his thesaurus and starts cryin' about it. Lil' Jimmy, he's a threat to the group. He's a threat to my lil' girl, and it don't get any more black and white than that for me."

"But does that mean he has to die?"

"It means this conversation's over." He throws a hand up, turns away. "I ain't y'all's Momma. Go talk to Rick about it s'more if ya wanna."

"I already have." He calls after him uselessly, before sighing and giving up altogether. He seems to remember that I'm here too, and sends me a small smile. "Sorry, Harley," He says, "Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up with you here."

"Naw, it's alright." I shrug, joking, "I been through worse before."

That makes him chuckle, despite himself. "You have, have you?"

"But can I tell you sum'?"

He pauses, frowns. "'Course you can."

"Just stop." I say very plainly, in a way I hope he understands. "Just stop. It ain't worth it."

Ain't you just a little pot of wisdom, as Merle liked to say, whenever I told him he shouldn't sniff that white powder so often, or to try lookin' at the sky when he got too angry. Smarty-pants, is what Dad preferred to say. I got a bad habit of tellin' people what to do, sometimes, but it ain't that I'm wise or smart or want a damn medal, do ya. I just don't want Dale doin' what I did, tryna fight things ya can't fight, like with Sophia and Shane. In a way, I guess Jim's right. Ya can't fight death. It's just one of them things ya can't put a knife in.

I know Dale's tryna do good. That's what he is. A do-gooder. That's what Dad used to call the people at church. Always fightin' the good fight. With words and bibles and morals. But that ain't how things work now. I know Dale wishes it was, but it ain't.

From the look on Dale's face, it seems that just by saying this, I've as good as killed Jim myself.

"But-But, honey," He stammers. "How can you say that?"

"'Cause," I wiggle my boot on and stand. "People just gotta die, sometimes."

His lip curls. "Your Dad been teaching you that?"

"Yeah." I don't know why he says that like it's a bad thing. "People die, people mourn, life moves on. That's what he says."

"I don't want to argue with you on this." He shakes his head, hiding irritation. "You're too young to know what you're talking about."

He's like Lori. He wants to live like it was before, back when we had homework and couldn't say fuck, or shit, or fuck-shit. Back when we had courtrooms and judges and churches that were standing. 'Cause back then, Jim wouldn't be killed.

He blanches a little, before calling out to Dad, "You need to re-think what it is you're teaching your daughter."

As he huffs and walks away, Dad sends me a confused look.

"Nothin'." I sigh dismissively, heading over to join him by the dead fire pit, where he's knifed open a tin of baked beans. I stand in between his knees and he spoons some out and feeds them to me. "I jush argued with him a lil', 'das all."

"I ain't tell you to do that." He jokes, wiping sauce from my chin with the spoon.

I garble around my mouthful, "Well, I did tell him Jim's gotta die. Ya did say 'dat."

"Guess I did... But don't worry 'bout old Dale. He's a—"

"—He's a do-gooder." We say at the same time.

He scoffs amusedly. "Yeah. Exactly."

I swallow and open my mouth for the next spoonful, which I munch on with a smile. "How 'bout that deer just now, huh?"

"Pretty cool." He agrees absentmindedly, giving me a small smile back. Only once I open my mouth again does he tell me, "Listen, baby." I snap it shut once I realize he's not going to lift the spoon. For a terrible second, I think he knows about the shed. It's nonsense, of course. Andrea promised she wouldn't snitch, but the thought's still stuck to the back of my head. "About them things I said last night..."

Oh. Right. I don't say anything. I just stand and listen. I gotta get better at that.

"About your Momma givin' up," He struggles to say. "Weren't right'a me. Things are tough right now, but... weren't right'a me."

"It's alright, Dad." I tell him. Not a lot is alright these days, but we are. I forgive him. "You was right, anyway."

My Momma did give up. Whether I like how it sounds or not, that's what suicide means, and my Momma gave up. She gave up on me and Daddy, gave up on fighting, and she gave up on life, too, in the end. Like the rest, she was weak. Like Sophia. Like me.

"C'mere." He sets the tin aside and pulls me onto his lap, cradling my head under his chin. "Don't matter who was right. I love you."

"I love you, too, Dad."

Two I love you's in the same day. What on Earth is goin' on? You'd think the apocalypse had started or somethin'.

He pulls back, holding my face in his big, grimy hands. "I wantchu to stay wit' the women when we kill Jim tonight."

I suck in a breath, asking, "How you gonna do it?"

"I'on know yet." He admits as he smooths down my baby hairs, swipes some dirt from my cheek. "But you don't need t'see it. I know that."

I give a nod. I wish I could see, but that would never be allowed. "Okay."

"Okay." He repeats, kissing my temple. "Good girl."

As I finish off the rest of the beans, I gaze out over Dad's shoulder, watching Dale's tiny figure wander over to the other side of the farm, off to go try convince the next person he comes across that this is all a terrible idea. Off to fight the good fight, which no one's ever won.

The best part of my day is when Maggie slaps Andrea across the face.

It's not that I hate Andrea or anythin' like that, unlike some other people around here, but it's just kinda funny. As I walk up to the house, she holds her reddened cheek with her mouth agape in shock, while Maggie stands over her, totally fuming. I like her even more now.

"Stay away from her." She scolds her hotly. "From both of us. Don't you dare step foot inside this house again."

After struggling to find something to say, she wordlessly turns and hurries away.

"What's goin' on?" I call up to Maggie and Lori, who are standing on the porch.

"Nothing, sweetie." Lori assures me, but she seems heated. She moves to the side to let Maggie storm inside, and follows her in after.

I find Carl past the patch of tall trees by the house, past the overgrown fence and sitting in the seat of an abandoned tractor, fiddling with his hat in his lap. I'm still a little angry with him. For trying to control me like I'm his pet dog, and treating me like I'm some sort of practice run for his little sister or brother. But that don't mean I can't talk to him. I climb one of the big tyres, crossing my arms over the rusty hood.

He glances at me but decides not to say anything.

"Did you tell Maggie about the knife?"

"Yeah." He admits, not surprising me in the slightest. I don't see why else Andrea would be on Maggie's bad side. "What do you care?"

I frown in confusion. "Huh? I don't. I was just asking."

"Oh." He puts his hat on and looks at me. "I thought you came over here to argue some more."

"Nah." I shrug one shoulder, tracing my finger along the cracked ridges of the old, red metal. "Don't wanna."

Gazing out onto the barn, I see Rick through the open doors, pacing the dirt floor and looking up at the rafters with some rope in his hands. I make out a loop on the end of it, and then I realize it's not a rope, it's a noose. He's looking for a place to hang Jim.

"That's how they're gonna do it." I murmur to myself. "They is gonna hang him after all."

"Gunshot would attract the horde." Carl supposes.

Rick takes hold of a wooden banister, pushes on it, checks its sturdiness.

"True. I ain't thought of that."

"He told me we're gonna be sleeping in the house, soon. Because Winter's coming, and all."

That's a funny thought. Feels like just yesterday Rick was begging Herschel to let us stay, and now we're facing Winter together.

"Guess it's good Jim's dyin' now, then," I muse, "So he don't gotta freeze to death instead."

After a couple more minutes, Rick stops pushing on banisters and attaches the noose to the spot he's chosen. I guess that's it, then.

"It's almost time." Lori says to Rick as the sun begins to set, like a ball of orange sand in a glass timer. "I know this isn't easy for you."

She doesn't know that, but she likes saying it, anyway, because she wants to believe it and it sounds nice. But I think we all know that Rick is a little beyond caring about ending a person's life for the good of the group. He might not love it, but it's like Dad says. There's only two options, and when push comes to shove choosing the best one, the one that keeps us safe, things become pretty damn easy.

He nods, knuckles going white as he grips the porch railing. I guess he doesn't have the guts to tell her she's wrong.

Inside, the group are gathering to have what Dale calls a discussion. It's his last-ditch attempt at stopping the execution, and Rick's not happy about it, but he's willing to hear him out. It's pretty obvious we're all just stalling the inevitable, though.

"You don't have to be the one to do it." Lori continues after he's said nothing.

On the deck chair beside me, Dad sits with his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlocked, wriggling. He offers gruffly, "I can do it."

"No." Rick shakes his head. "It has to be me. Bringing him back was my decision. Makes this is my responsibility."

I wonder how you even kill someone using a noose. I guess what they're debating is who's gonna kick the stool Jim stands on.

Dad doesn't argue back. The only person he really wanted to kill was Shane, and he did that. This one goes to Rick.

The door swings open.

Maggie pokes her head out. "Everyone's ready."

Rick takes a deep breath, gives one last look to Lori, and heads inside.

"C'mon." Lori takes Carl's shoulder and guides him to sit in Dad's chair. "I want you to stay out here with Jimmy and Harley."

"But, Mom," He argues, "I wanna listen."

"Uh-uh. Not this time, baby."

Just as Lori goes inside and Dad is about to follow her in, Carl blurts out, "Daryl, wait."

He pauses in the doorway. Confusion pinches his features. I go still, glance at Carl side-long, hold my breath. There's no way he's doing what I think he is. Why else would he stop my Dad? Please, no. Just say something stupid and useless and let him go inside.

In a moment that makes me want to put my hands around his neck, Carl says exactly what I didn't want him to.

"Harley snuck into the shed and talked to Jim."

I bite down a thousand curses. Carl Grimes, that little snitch. I cannot believe he told on me. Not even Andrea did.

Dad's face contorts into a look of rage, pinning me in place, making my heart race until it's punching against my sternum like a fist. Now I'm realizing just how much of an idiot I was for breaking the rules. All Dad wants is for me to be safe. He's gotta look out for dangers like Jim, but I'm becoming a danger to myself, now, too, 'cause I'm an idiot and I went in that shed like an idiot and spoke to Jim like an idiot.

He grabs the door handle like he's tryna crush it between his fingers and slams the door shut behind him.

The windows rattle behind me and Carl.

I let out a breath, but I'm not relieved for long. I'm suddenly almost as angry as Dad was. I turn to Carl, fixing him with a scathing glare.

"Why in Satan's hot Hell," I grind through my teeth, "Did ya do that for?"

He looks all pleased with himself. "Because I'm responsible."

If I weren't already in deep trouble, and if Jimmy wasn't out here to witness it, I would slap Carl so hard his baby teeth and his adult teeth would fall out his skull. I didn't snitch on him when he wanted to sneak into the woods. In fact, I helped that jerk.

"You know, I'm about sick'a you." I tell him, because it makes me feel better. "You been buggin' me so bad today."

"I've been bugging you?" He exclaims incredulously.

"Ya heard me. First ya tell Carol her dead daughter ain't in heaven, then you start actin' like I'm a baby, and now ya snitch on—"

"Well, you are a baby!" He shocks me into silence with that. "You're a baby, Harley. You might know what a chantrelle mushroom is, and you might shoot better than me, but you're still just a stupid baby, and I'm right for looking out for you. You can't do it yourself!"

Jimmy awkwardly wonders further down the porch, pretending he doesn't hear our argument.

"Well, I hope your baby sister or brother hates your damn guts," I snarl, "'Cause I sure do."

"I'm just trying to set a good example like Dad told me to!"

"Nah, you're using me as a fuckin' test-sister and breathin' down my neck when I don't wantchu to! Get off my back!"

He huffs angrily, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. I'm glad you're not my sister, anyway."

"And I'm glad you ain't my brother." I mumble, turning my back to him and crossing my arms. "Damn snitch."

I almost wish Carl never found out he was gonna be a big brother. It's turned his head big. He thinks he can play house with me and act like some hero just 'cause his Dad told him to, but I don't need no damn boy who don't even know how to skin a squirrel to look out for me. He ain't an adult and I ain't a baby. I don't even like it when he reads his comics to me or holds my hand when he wants to take me somewhere or shares things with me or listens extra hard when I'm teaching him something. I meant it. I'm glad he ain't my brother.

Screw him. When his sibling's born, he's gonna forget all about me, his pretend-sister, and I'm not gonna care one bit.

Inside, my Dad's voice is the loudest outta everybody's. To know what he's actually saying, I would have to ask Carl to translate, and there's no way in Hell I'm talking to him right now, or ever. I hear tidbits of Dale's voice, Glenn's, Jacqui's, T's. After a while, I hear shouting.

"If you were so sure you wanted to kill him," It's Dale. "Why'd you cover his face?! I know you have humanity in you!"

It seems nobody answers him, or he just doesn't wanna listen anymore, because the door opens and he steps out.

"Go ahead and slaughter that human being, then." He calls over his shoulder. "I won't be a party to it!"

He trudges down the steps, across the field, ducks into his tent, disappears. The thought that he might be crying makes my chest clench.

After that, the others file out. When I see Dad again, I feel like I might throw up.

He beelines for me, grabs my arm, pulls me off the chair.

"Get up." He seethes.

"What's going on?" Rick asks in concern.

"She messed up, that's what's goin' on." He drags me down the stairs. "Snuck into the shed and talked to Jim."

I hear Jacqui gasp at that. "What? When?"

Rick calls out to us, "Remember what I said, Daryl! If I see a bruise, I'll shoot you dead!"

"Man, whatever!"

He sounds pissed he would even suggest he's gonna beat me, but I don't think Rick really believes he'd do it, anyway. He just had to say it.

When we reach our camp, he throws me onto the stump and I sit there with a lump in my throat while he chews me out.

"Girl, I'on even have words for you." He says harshly, looking at me like I'm a nasty stain on his boot. "What the Hell were you thinkin'?"

"I—I just— I was just so angry, I wanted to—"

"I'on give a shit what you wanted." He cuts me off. "And I guess you don't give a shit what I want neither, do ya? Huh? Tellin' me you wanted to die, that was one thing, but what? Now you're tryn'? I gotta tie you down to stop ya, is that it? 'Cause gimme the word and I'll do it!"

"N-No," I quickly tell him, watching him pace back and forth. "I was just— I was just bein' an idiot."

"You're Hell right, you were bein' an idiot." He notices Merle's knife strapped to my shorts and lunges forward. "Gimme this damn thing."

He tears the button apart and rips the sheath offa me, stuffing it into the back of his pants line.

"You'll get this back when I can trust ya not to open up yer wrists with it." He growls before turning away.

I don't move from the stump for the next ten minutes. I watch him start a fire, heat up a tin of soup and eat it, and by then a whole hour has gone by and I realize I'm gonna be here longer than I thought. The sun goes down. Another hour, and I'm still sitting here. He doesn't talk to me, doesn't look my way. He doesn't even give me dinner. After that, another hour. He makes a few arrows. It gets colder and he gives me his flannel to put on, but after that, another two hours. It's around everyone's bed time when Glenn walks over and tells him it's time.

Dad understands what he means straight away and stands up, because there's only one thing he could be talking about.

"Stay with her." He orders Glenn without room for argument, and marches away.

Glenn watches him go, then sends me a small smile. "Hey, Harley."

"Hey, Glenn." I say a little glumly.

"You wanna come sit by the fire while we wait?"

I shake my head. "I'm in time-out. I gotta stay over here."

He nods and comes to sit in the dirt beside me, hugging his knees. The sounds of crickets chirping fills the air.

"I heard what you did." He muses after a long stretch of silence. "I'm not gonna add insult to injury, but that wasn't cool, Harley."

"So I've heard." I mutter, picking at threads.

"I mean, you could've gotten hurt." He patiently explains. "We don't know what Jim might've done to you in there."

"He hates me 'cause I remind him of his kids, y'know. He says I deserve to die like they did. Thinks it ain't fair."

"Wow." He scoffs to himself. "What a jerk."

"I think my Dad's got some more colorful words for him than that."

"Oh, I do, too." He warns, making me giggle. If Glenn wants to swear, that's how you know it's bad. "But we'll stick with 'jerk' for now."

"I think Lori would appreciate that." After a pause, I ask, "Did you talk to Maggie?"

"Yeah. I did."

"How'd it go?"

"It went good." He grins a little. "I got your advice to thank for that."

Aw. I'm happy for them. "I'll be giving Dale a run for his money, soon."

As we're both suppressing laughter at the thought of my life advice being better than Dale's, the group's wise owl, a gunshot cracks out across the farm. We both flinch. Our smiles fade. He puts an arm in front of me on instinct, looking out into the dark. What the Hell?

"They're hangin' him." I utter, seeing nothing but trees and night, "They hangin' him, Glenn. Why was that a gunshot?"

"I-I don't know." He grabs my hand, pulls me to my feet and keeps me close in case we gotta run. "I don't know."

Then comes the screaming. It's not Jim's.

"Dale," Glenn gasps right as my stomach hits the ground.

Then the group is running across the field and there are guns in their hands and flashlights are cutting through the grass. Glenn takes off running with me, his hand in mine, and I'm thinking that I should be on the stump, I'm gonna get in so much trouble for moving from the stump, but nobody's thinking about my time-out because there's all that screaming and Dale— Dale might be dying.

When we collide with the group, Dad takes hold of me and asks me if I'm alright, if I'm alright, and I struggle to nod.

"What's happening?" I whine, as Lori and T-Dog ask the same thing to two other people. "What happened to Jim?"

"We had to leave him in the barn." He says breathlessly before I'm running again.

There's a mess of running legs and bodies and panicking and then the squeaking of a gate, and then I'm pushing past everyone and then the world stops because there's a bundle on the ground. It's Dale. I hear someone retch. All of him, guts and all, spread out in the grass.

My Dad rushes forward and daggers the walker that's on top of him. "Come on, help! Help, he's— Fuck!"

"Who is it?" Lori shrieks as she runs to us, only to stop dead in her tracks when she sees.

Rick throws himself next to Dale's head. He's cradling his head and muttering things to him, and Dale's moaning and huffing and puffing and wheezing like a half-dead animal as the cavity in his chest pours blood into the grass. I do nothing but stand there in shock, watching it pour, pour, pour. There's shouts for Herschel, shouts for stupid things like bandages and stitches that make no sense and are just so awful, because ain't no bandage gonna fix Dale's missing stomach and his sprawled organs and the bite marks on his neck.

"We're gonna help," Rick's promising him while Andrea cries over his body, "We're here. We're here."

I'm wrapped up in a hug. Glenn. He steps backwards with me, holding me tight, saying nothing.

I was talking to him just this afternoon. I swear I was. He was right in front of me and he was alive, and I was talking to him and now he's laid out and torn open, and his insides are on his outsides, and I couldn't talk to him even if I tried, even if I had words to speak.

Herschel's here. He crouches, hovers his hands because there's nowhere to put them, no wound to put pressure on.

"What can we do?" Rick's asking him, up to his elbows in Dale, our friend's, blood. "We have to move him. Can we move him?"

Herschel stands, eyes bulged. "He won't make the trip." 

"We have to do the operation here," Rick's saying, but it's useless. "We hav— We have to—"

"Rick." He puts a hand on his shoulder.

"No." He cries, turning away, holding his face. "No. No, no, no!"

"Oh, Dale." Andrea sobs, and somehow this is the worst part because Andrea never cries, and neither does Rick or Glenn, but they're all crying, all doubling over and sniffling and no-no-no-ing, because there's nothing we can do. Dale is dying right in front of us, dying in our hands. Carl gapes at the walker laying nearby, and that's when I notice the clumps of mud on its ankles, and I grab tighter onto Glenn and Carl runs to his Momma, because that's the walker from the swamp. The one we didn't kill. Andrea weeps, "He's suffering."

Another groan wracks Dale's mangled body, and we all feel it in our bones, because she's right.

"Do something!" She begs.

God fucking damn it, why didn't we just kill that thing when we had the chance? Please, it ain't— It ain't our fault, right?

It's Sophia all over again. The something is a bullet. Someone has to shoot Dale like we shot Sophia. Oh, God, Jim was right. Dale, my wise old friend, the man who just wanted to go around the country with his wife and his RV and read poetry books, dying in a paddock on the edge of a random farm in Georgia. I wonder if he's scared. Dale's never scared. He's one of the bravest people I know.

Rick raises his gun. I don't look away. I don't cry. I don't feel much of anything except my heartbeat in my mouth. 

"Don't look," Glenn tells me, "D-Don't look."

Jacqui hides her face in Carol's neck. T-Dog turns away. Dad glances at me, tells me he's sorry with just a look.

We all know what has to happen.

He pulls the hammer back.

Dale coughs, looking into the barrel. He knows what has to happen, too.

Rick can't do it. His arm falters. He has to walk away, into Lori's arms, where he doesn't have to see it.

Dad steps up instead, raises his gun.

"Sorry, brother."

A bang.

And then Dale's face is blown to bits and I didn't even get to say goodbye.

Walking back to camp. Dad washing my face. Stamping out the fire, climbing in the tent. I don't really remember any of it, because I'm thinking about the sight of Dale's body wrapped in a white bedsheet and how when I wake up tomorrow, we'll have another funeral.

Dad sleeps beside me tonight. He holds me, soothes my hair, but he doesn't tell me everything's alright.

All of us are in shock. Back at main camp, I imagine Glenn will be sat up by the fire until sunrise, staring into the ashy pit, just thinking, mourning. Who's gonna teach him how to fix the RV's quirks now? Carl will be cuddled up with his parents, too. They'll be holding him tight. In the next tent over, Jacqui sniffling herself to sleep. Carol bunking with T. I don't think anyone's gonna be sleeping in the RV tonight.

Not for any real reason, but because it was Dale's.

I'm the only person awake. Alone with the white sky and my thoughts, I stare out at the tiny oak tree.

For some reason, the only thing I can think of is what we're gonna do with all of Dale's books. It's not important, but it's what I think about. He had Italian poetry, boring old non-fiction, a few thick classics that I saw him lend to people from time to time. Maybe they'll just stay in the RV, in all those nooks and crannies he had them stacked in. I won't see Glenn wasting the afternoon away reading a book on mystery, or Lori rummaging around for a romance book but only finding more poetry. Like I said, not important. But it hurts too much to think of other things.

Like how much I'll miss his chuckle-snort, the way he petted his pockets when he couldn't find his glasses. How he was good.

When Dad steps out the tent, he finds me sitting over here in the grass, still wearing his flannel.

He carefully sits beside me, and we just watch the thick fog roll over the farm together.

At the funeral, Rick talks about Dale's ability to read people, to know who they really are, and how he could always get under your skin by telling you what you needed to hear, not what you wanted to hear. I try very hard not to look at Sophia's grave. I never got to be at her funeral. I wonder what types of things Rick said that day. Something about her love for her Momma, or how she was kind, I'm sure.

When it's my turn to speak, I tell everyone that Dale was a better friend to me than my own Grandpappy ever was.

Maggie makes us all scrambled eggs and sweet-smelling tea after that, because we're sad and she's a sweetheart.

Then there's talk of moving sleeping bags into the house, dividing spare rooms, using the windmill for a lookout post. Others are saying those two gunshots last night are going to attract the horde and that we don't need to re-enforce the fence, we need to leave.

Me, I don't get involved. I sit on the sofa next to Lori and Carl and watch the fireplace dance away.

Then chores to numb the mind, collecting eggs and filling troughs. Carl don't talk to me the whole time. We're still pissy at each other.

Jim's execution is postponed. After what happened last night, nobody thought it felt right, and he got locked up in the shed again. I don't even think about going anywhere near it. I tried this morning to set myself back down on the stump again, but Dad gave me a soft, no, baby, and told me to come get dressed instead. I've learnt my lesson. No more puttin' myself at risk, and no more bein' an idiot.

I'm gonna really miss Dale. He's the smartest old person I've ever met.

I catch myself.

Was, now.

Author's note.

The moment I've been dreading writing. Dale is dead.

I love Dale. Especially since I started re-watching the show with some family, who all love him too. I tried fitting in a scene where he, Glenn, and Harley got a final talk together, but it just didn't work. It wasn't realistic. Nobody ever knows when disaster is going to strike, and you don't always get to part on good terms.

And my poor Harley has lost another person she cares for. That being said, she's more hardened than she was when Shane and Sophia died, so this won't be as devastating for her character. It's actually going to be good for her. Good riddance to the suicide arc.

Rest in peace to Dale Horvath, the wise old do-gooder.

Thank you for reading! :)

@poetoflawed

#fanfic #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd #angst #rick grimes #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #ao3 fanfic #dale horvath #daryl dixon x reader #original character #fluff #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort

[littlegodzilla]

Our Story.

Daryl Dixon x Wife / Daryl Dixon x Reader.

Part 16.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Slow Burn. Angst. Violence. Character Death.

Words: 2600

Summary: little by little people is getting better, you're getting better, but...

Taglist: @green-eyedladywrites @minervadashwood @livingdeadblondequeen @phoenixblack89

*******************

Chapter 16: The End of the prison.

Daryl hasn't moved a muscle, not yet. Sitting on the floor of the cell, his back against the bars, his legs bent and his arms resting on his knees. His fingers play nervously with one of his arrows, his eyes watch you through the strands of his bangs.

You've awakened for a few seconds, you haven't been lucid, but you've called out to him and then fallen asleep again. Since then Daryl hasn't left your side, he doesn't care that the others are moving all the people out of the ward, that the dead are moving to burn, that there are people who need more medication, but now he's being selfish, he knows it, and he will apologize to whoever he has to tell, but he's not going to move from there.

"Daryl?" Maggie's voice throws him off for a moment, making him raise his head uncovering her on the side of the door. "How is she?"

"She's resting, she hasn't woken up yet..." He purses his lips and looks at you again. "But she's calm, no fever anymore..."

"Do you want to eat something? You haven't moved from here in a while and..."

"I'm fine, ain't moving until she wakes up... "He growls low waving his hands nervously.

"Daryl if you get sick from exhaustion and hunger it's not going to do her any favors. Try to be reasonable..." She tries to make him understand and he bites his lip. "Go eat, get some rest, I'll stay..."

"Can you get me something to eat here, please? I know Glenn needs care too, I'll eat and sleep here."

Maggie opens her mouth to protest, but shuts up, she has also entered like a hurricane in that place when she started hearing the gunshots and that everything was getting worse, so she knew what the archer was going through. She smiles and touches his shoulder before nodding and leaving him alone with you again. His gaze returns to you, you haven't moved for a moment. He sighs and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the bars of the cell.

You open your eyes very slowly, your head still feels dizzy, but your skin is no longer burning, nor are you sweating, nor do you feel cold, the usual humidity that the prison generates by inertia. You swallow and your throat hurts, but you resist the urge to cough. 

You realize that Daryl is there. He's asleep, his head leaning against the cell door, his bangs brushing his forehead, parting to either side, his nose pointing towards the ceiling, his lips slightly parted. You smile a little and slowly get up from the bunk, your body still feeling sore, but you manage to crawl over to him and sit next to him, watching him silently with a small smile on your face. You lean over and kiss him on the cheek. The contact causes him to wake up excited to see you sitting next to him with a soft smile on your mouth. Daryl swallows and raises a hand touching your cheek, wanting to check that you're okay.

"Yer awake..."

"And you're back." You smile again. "You brought the meds, like you said."

"It's in our house, I wasn't gonna let our people die." He shrugs.

You nod, Daryl slips an arm around your shoulders and leans you against his body in a hug as he kisses your head, you hug him back and close your eyes wrapping yourself in his warmth.

"Ya dunno how glad I am that yer alive." He whispers as a confession and your heart leaps.

But you are unable to respond.

*****************

Slowly things seem to be starting to get better, people with the mildest symptoms are getting better, others need more time. You are stubborn so you immediately want to help the others, still weak but you make sure everyone takes their meds and stays in a new block of the ward so they can rest while you clean the cell area.

"You just can't stop can you?"

You raise your head discovering Maggie in front of you, you smile shaking your head and slowly stand up as you tell another fellow to rest.

"We don't have Caleb now, so we need to make sure all these people are taken care of." You say as if it's the sensible thing to do, Maggie understands what you mean.

"I know, but you've been sick too, you should take it easy..."

"I'll rest later, they're more important."

"Hey, listen..." she calls out to you and her voice sounds more serious now, which puts you on alert.

"Is something wrong?"

"You'll see..."

You can't credit what you're hearing, you're not the only one, Daryl looks at Rick like he's grown another eye in the middle of his forehead. 

Carol and Sophia are gone. Rick has kicked them out of the prison.

"You can't be serious."

"She killed those two people." He tries to be rational. "She didn't even consult, she didn't even think about it, she killed them and set them on fire." He mumbles as the rest of them look at him with wide eyes in surprise.

"Carol was just trying to stop the spread of the virus, besides as you know..."

"She confessed it to me herself! Sophia helped her, it was up to them. We didn't act like that, I couldn't let them stay."

We didn't act like that.

You'd like to laugh about it and tell him that he himself had gone crazy when Lori died, that he threatened you all because of his visions and paranoia, that he was going to sell Michonne's life to the Governor in exchange for letting you stay in the prison, but you bite your tongue in time, your eyes following Daryl's frustrated movements. He can say what he wants, but it's clear to you that he feels strongly about her, that her loss, for the second time, hurts.

"They are strong, I left them a car and supplies. They'll survive."

"Ya, keep saying that to make yerself feel better." Daryl growls and walks away, climbing down from the second floor of the cells.

No one completely agrees with Rick's decision, but perhaps in your situation you would have made some decision to protect your people as well. Although kicking Carol out of the prison still sounds excessive. Not only for Carol, Sophia is already gone with her, she is just a child, they can survive, you don't put any doubt in that, but it was a crazy, unconsidered decision, you would like to think what would have happened if it had been Carl out there.

Carl.

You sigh and approach the boy who seems to be dealing with his own feelings while keeping an eye on Judith. He and Sophia have made a good team, they look out for and protect each other, Carl feels comfortable around her, or at least he felt, you wonder what he will think about what has happened and what he will think of his father.

"Hey, hi." You greet him by walking over to him. Carl looks at you and smiles.

"How are you, you're looking good."

"What does that mean, shorty?" you joke seeing him laugh and sit down next to him. "I'm better... How are you?"

"Fine." He shrugs. "I helped my dad fight off the infected that knocked down the fence."

"You were very brave, thank you." You smile and he shrugs seeing he blushs. "But I meant Sophia..."

"My father did what he had to do." He says though his voice doesn't sound very convinced. "They did something wrong without counting on the opinion of others, they shouldn't have killed those people, they were comrades..."

"Rick also acted without counting on anyone's opinion..."

"We were divided, some were sick, some were out... What would you have done?"

It's a good question, you don't answer right away, you are left thinking about what has happened, maybe you would have waited to talk to the others, both Carol's and Rick's decisions were taken in haste, you even think that Carol's was useless, she killed those people so that the infection wouldn't spread, but it still ended up happening, luckily it's all sorted out now. But someone has died in vain.

You open your mouth to respond, but suddenly something explodes and the whole prison shakes. You quickly get out of the ward to find that one of the towers has blown up, what's worse, the Governor is there, in front of your walls with a group forming an army, but that's not all.

"That's a tank?" you gasp in disbelief.

You are all in shock, you can't believe what you have before your eyes. It's not just the array of weapons that again the man has against you, always above your expectations, but what he intends. He wants the prison for himself, he wants you to get the hell out of there, he wants to conquer your home, because according to him you have taken Woodbury from him, he has brainwashed these people with his lies and they are willing to do anything to get it.

"This place is ours, we've fought hard to keep it standing, we've had our people sick, but we can negotiate, this place is huge, we can all live together... we'll talk at the council and..."

"A council? Is Michonne on that council?" The door of one of the cars opens and Michonne steps out of it. "I guess this young lady is important too."

Your blood runs cold when you see Beth get out of the car as well, you make a pretense to go after them, Maggie scrambles desperately in Gleen's arms, even Hershel tenses up, but he knows there's nothing he can do. You all hold your breath when you see the Governor pull out Michonne's katana and put it against the woman's neck. Beth next to him hyperventilates, tearful, wanting to speak, but the gag prevents her, Michonne for her part is rigid, her gaze fixed nowhere, she's afraid, but she won't let that man know it.

"It doesn't need to come to this, we can break up the prison for everyone." Rick insists. "We'll all hold out together, there's water, food, no need to fight."

"That all sounds great, Rick, but I'm not here to negotiate, I'm here to conquer this place, and if it's not mine, it won't be anyone's."

As they talk, you move discreetly in search of your weapons, handing out different rifles and large caliber pistols to defend yourselves against them in case things get hairy.

"We have overcome a lot together, in community anything is possible, there are young people and children, we are all thriving. You will be welcome, all of you." Once again Rick speaks, the Governor seems to hesitate and lowers his sword. You all seem to breathe a sigh of some relief.

"No." Is all he says.

The whole scene takes place before your eyes as if in slow motion. The man lowers his sword, but from his pocket he pulls out a pistol that he quickly points at Michonne, the woman closes her eyes instinctively when she hears how he loads the pistol and shoots. The echo of the shot deafens all of you. Michonne opens her eyes as her body inevitably falls to the ground, she trembles and gasps as her eyes meet the blue ones of Beth, who is wearing a hole in her head, blood covering all her blonde hair. The young woman has pushed the swordswoman away from the Governor's shot.

"NO!!!" Hershel and Maggie shout as they see the young woman fall to the ground.

Then chaos breaks out. With anger invading your reason, you are heartbroken and soul down. With Rick's first shot, you all start shooting left and right. You charge uncontrollably at the cars, the tank, the people who are entering your house without permission, those who are attacking you as well.

"To the bus!" Daryl howls when he stops shooting. "Come on! The children, all the sick people! Hershel! To the bus!"

"I'm going to fight!"

"To the bus!" he shouts again against the man. "We need someone to get the bus out of here! Come on!" he looks around, directing the helpless people towards the area where the bus is. "Grab everything you can and get on the bus!" He spots you on one of the sides reloading your rifle and runs towards you. "Help me, get the kids, pick up the sick, make sure everyone is escaping!"

"I want to fight!"

"Please!" he begs you and suddenly tangles his fingers in your hair and his forehead bumps against yours. "You're still weak, they're destroying our home, but we have to get all these people to safety. Please... do me this favor and I will never ask you for anything again." He stares at you, you feel the anger still boiling under your skin, but you understand what he's asking.

"O-okay." You nod and finish loading the rifle.

"I'll come get you, okay? I'm going to help stop the governor and his people, but then I'll come get you." He promises you and kisses you on the forehead.

You split up, each going to one side, you shoot as the shots come in your direction, you help Hershel lead the kids to the bus, the people still recovering from the flu that had hit them. You stand to the side of the bus, you shoot several of the governor's soldiers, you have to admit that you weren't even aware that you had picked up that rifle and started shooting, it had been so instinctive, so blinded by pain and anger, it took you several shots until you hit your first target. You felt your stomach clench, but you couldn't stop.

"Start, Hershel!" You yell at him.

"They haven't all come yet!"

"We have to get out of here! They'll find us!" you climb up and then you stop. "I have to go back!"

"What?! Not now...!"

"Get them out of here! I'll find you! I'll get another car and follow you!" You assure him and jump off the bus running back towards the pavilion.

You run with your rifle slung over your shoulder, climb up to the second floor where your cell is and rummage through the debris and your stuff. You finally find your backpack and gasp in relief as you press it against your body. You hear a loud explosion that makes the prison shake again. You look around startled, when it stops, you put on your backpack and run out of the cellblock, but the bus is gone. You take a moment to look around, everything is on fire, full of bodies on the ground, yours, the enemy's, more infected that have appeared due to the noise of the fight. The tank is on fire, you don't know what has happened, but someone has stopped it. You feel pain, anger, sadness, everything has been reduced to nothing. All your people have been badly hurt, you don't know if Michonne has survived, you don't know where Rick, Carl, Maggie, Glenn, all those left behind to fight are. You don't know where Daryl might be, if he's gone to look for you on the bus, you wonder what must have gone through his mind not finding you there.

"What are you still doing here!" You hear his voice suddenly and turn to look at him.

"I couldn't leave, I...!" you can't tell him what you went looking for, you just look at him scared, he doesn't look any better. He grabs your hand and pulls you in.

There's nothing left to fight for there, so you both run for your lives. 

Your home completely destroyed. Once again.

*********

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To be Continued...

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Hope you liked it!

#my stuff #norman reedus #normanreedus #mine #daryl dixon #daryldixon #twd fanfiction #series #daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl x wife #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x wife #eventual smut #drama #romance #hurt/comfort #love #friends to lovers #slow burn

[boygi-writes-not-main]

Harley D. Dixon 27

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Wow, you guys. I got carried away with this one. It's a biggun!!

THREE MONTHS LATER.

Kick.

The soccer ball rebounds off the tyre.

Kick.

I pretend it's a walker head.

We haven't seen one of the dead in weeks, but I know they're out there.

Kick.

Buried in the snow.

Kick.

Just like everything else.

KICK.

It shoots off into the car yard.

I watch it bounce down the aisle of rotted vehicles, bumping up against the chain-link fence. A sigh escapes my chapped lips and blows away in the wind. For what must be the tenth time today, I pull my scarf up and trudge over to the ball.

Aside from day dreaming, this is about the only thing I can entertain myself with nowadays. I can't play so well without a partner, but the afternoons slog on otherwise. It was a couple weeks ago that people stopped wantin' to talk, or tell a story, or try their hand at makin' a joke, a couple weeks before those ones that Rick stopped talkin' altogether. I just don't think any of us have the energy. The only thing we can waste it on is breathing in and out and lighting the campfire every morning. Some days, like today, I even waste it on the ball.

Besides, we don't got anything interesting to say. There's only so many times you can comment on the weather.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, go my boots in the packed snow.

Thinking back on it, the last time I heard Rick say anything that weren't a barked order was the night we slept in an abandoned house. It was the first time since the farm fell that Dad had come back without any game on his shoulder. Carl had tried eatin' an old can of dog food for dinner. I still remember the way the brown meat exploded against the floor when Rick threw it, and we were scared then, too.

So, we went hungry — And almost every night since then, we've gone hungry.

I wonder if Dad's gonna try go huntin' again today, but I doubt it. Ain't worth it, no more.

It'll be a handful of burnt mushrooms for dinner again, tonight.

I bend and pick up the ball, dusting off the snow.

Some months ago, Rick told me that if he had to hear the word mushroom one more time, he'd go crazy. I almost smile to myself at the memory, the day we shared fruit and worked on the fence. If only he knew he'd be eating them every day; that he'd go crazy, anyway.

It was also the day we lost everything, is the souring thought that comes after, just like it always does.

Movement.

I look up, peering through the hexagonal webbing of the fence, out onto the street.

There it is. A white blob with a black marking.

Well, a dog.

A dog sniffs around one of the cars. I ain't seen a dog since before. I realize that for some reason I'd thought they'd all disappeared, and maybe they have, but not this one. He's a stubby little feller. Barely tall enough to see over the walls of snow, but he manages. His pink nose traces down the tyre, taking him underneath the rusted shell. I watch him cram himself through the gap with little effort.

My empty stomach rumbles to me that I should shoot it from here and we can roast it over a fire.

Is it okay to eat the thing that eats the dog food? Is is different from a squirrel?

When he wriggles back out, a dead mouse hangs from his teeth.

Oh. He caught somethin'.

Outta the corner of my eye, Dad approaches me, a sore frown below the brim of his beanie.

He makes a pincer gesture with both hands, shaking them slightly. 'What are you doing?'

I slap my thigh a few times, the sign for, 'Dog.'

When I point, he turns to look.

The dog clumsily gnaws at the skin holding the mouse meat together, letting the head plop onto the ground.

Dad tenses slightly, glancing out at the empty street; the trees beyond it. He thinks the dog might not be alone. Squirrels, possums. They don't got owners. They're too wild and nasty. But dogs do. We wait for a moment for someone to appear, but nobody does.

We're both thinking the same thing, but I'on think Dad will say it before I do.

'We should eat him,' I sign; the smart thing to do. We should eat him. But, 'I don't want to.'

He pauses. He don't want to, neither.

People are predictable like this. The world has up and ended, but we still pray before we eat, we remember our birthdays for no good reason, and we refuse to eat pets. All the bolts in Dad's bow and all the bullets in my pistol are stayin' right where they is.

Dad moves past me, undoing the gate latch and pilling it open, mutely snapping his fingers.

The dog's head snaps up.

Fresh blood paints its lopsided, gaping grin, dripping small jewels into the snow.

It considers the both of us, unsure if it wants to abandon its dinner. His head is droopy and egg shaped, undeniably ugly but in an adorable way, with two black dots for eyes and a chest like a body builder. Bull Terriers, I'm sure they're called. Rodent killers.

Stepping over the little pile of organs, the dog makes up its mind and trots over to us.

Dad kinda flinches when it places its nose in his outstretched hand, relaxing, letting it nuzzle at him.

Luckily, he ain't a human killer.

'It's okay,' He's concluded, guiding the dog inside and latching the gate closed.

I drop to my knees, giggling softly as I cradle the dog's big face, scratching behind his ears. Oh, he loves it. He must'a been lonely.

I mouth up at Dad, Keep him?

Food is scarce, and Lori is sick an' pregnant, but I still hope we can keep him. I'm already preparing a list of reasons we should.

'Everyone's decision,' He signs, before nodding us back the way we came.

Standing up, I follow behind him, and the dog makes sure he don't get left behind.

The garage stands firm in the onslaught of snow. We've made it a sort of home for now, but it's far from paradise. It's old. Small. It don't keep the wind out. Beth, Maggie, T, and Glenn are huddled around the campfire in a patch of melted sleet, the four of 'em the first to notice our return, and our new friend. They perk up at the sight of the dog, before breaking out in smiles.

Kneeling next to Glenn, I help him welcome the dog with pets and cuddles.

Rick's marching over to us before I can even wonder where he is, 'cause ain't nothin' happens without him knowing.

I expect him to be angry. He's always angry when it comes to mouths to feed.

But after exchanging some words with Dad over my head, he surprises me by nodding, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, watching us. I think I must've got it mixed up, but nope, he sends me the slightest, weightiest of smiles and nods again.

A foreign sort of relief flushes through me at the realization that I don't gotta persuade him.

I'm happy, for free.

Grinning up at everyone, I bask in the wonderful sight of their silent chuckles.

Glenn makes finger guns and taps them together.

'Name?'

I glance down at the dog; give it a good think. If I were a weird little rodent killer, what would I want my name to be?

I know. Dusting off the end of my nose with my finger, I share my decision with the group.

'Mouse.'

I startle as the dog licks my knuckles.

Maggie pouts, mouthing the word, Cute.

'When I found him,' I sign, trying and failing to keep my hands clean of dog-slobber, 'He caught a mouse.'

'He's a hunter,' Dad agrees, approving.

I lead Mouse into the garage to meet the others, ducking under the shutter doors and shivering off the sting of the snow. I wish we could light another campfire in here to keep warm, but Rick says the smoke would kill us faster than the cold will.

Not that it mattered much to my hearing aids.

As it turns out, the cold kills batteries, too.

I've learnt to manage without 'em by now, but I miss it. There were even days where I could hear my own laugh.

At least when the thaw comes back around, I'll be able to use them again.

I step over the piles of blankets scattered across the concrete floor, mindful not to cross paths with any of them. I wouldn't be a very popular person if I trampled somebody's stuff. Any little thing will cause a fight nowadays. We're stacked on top of each other in here. Chickens in a slaughterhouse cage. I learnt that it's easy to lose yer temper here, even if we do love each other, when I woke up durin' the first night. Glenn was apparently muttering in his sleep, sum' about, No, please, this is all I have, before T-Dog shook him awake with a pair of angry hands, growling at him to, Shut the fuck up. Nobody slept after that, but nobody ever really sleeps.

Mouse sniffs around the many makeshift beds, his tail beating back and forth against his muscly legs.

I already know how to study somebody's face to see which side of them I'm getting that day. I did it with Merle all the time. I knew the exact angle of his brow when he was drunk, about to start plottin' murder and makin' loud phone calls to people that owed him whatever it was he got scammed outta that week, the exact angle when he was gettin' mad, when he was asleep, or high, or both.

It's a talent to read closed books. Living like this for so long, I ain't the only one good at it, no more.

'Hey,' I wave to Lori. She's sat against the wall, wrapped in blankets. Not angry today. Safe to talk. 'We found a dog.'

Her bleary eyes widen.

Mouse plods up to the table, where Herschel and Carl are sitting. It's like they think he's a baby polar bear at first, but they soon realize it's safe. He soaks up their attention before slipping through their legs and approaching us, expecting some from Lori, too. 

Cautious not to lose her fingers, she sneaks a hand out from under her many layers, stroking Mouse's long snout.

A smile graces her pale lips.

'Where did you find him?', Herschel signs to me, his veiny hands moving fast and precise, 'cause he's the best outta all'us. It ain't all that fair, since I'm the deaf one and all, but this old man has known sign language longer than I've even been alive. 

'At the fence.' I answer, watching Carl stand from his seat and join his Momma on the floor, reaching out to pet the dog with her. I stare at the top of his head, tryna remember the last time we spoke. When I look back up at Herschel, I add, 'I was playing.'

'Have you named him, yet?'

Nodding, I make the sign. 'Mouse.'

'Mister Mouse.' He chuckles heartily, reminding me of Santa Claus. It's dim in here from the total lack of windows, but I can still see the way his cheeks crinkle around a mellow smile. I can always count on Herschel to make me feel like there's bread baking in the other room and I can smell it and everything is going to be okay. 'I'm sure he would love to play with you sometime.'

I return his smile, suddenly craving warm bread. 'I hope so. Tyres are bad at soccer.'

'Goodness. I'm sure.'

Calling Mouse over with a few kissy sounds, the two of us duck back under the doors in search of the soccer ball.

'Hey. Watch this.'

'We're watching.'

At the thumbs up Glenn sends me, I turn, focusing on holding the soccer ball in front of me. One, two, three. I drop it onto the toe of my boot and give it a small kick. It flies. Mouse pounces on it like a cat with a ball of yarn, slipping and sending it rolling away.

We been practicing that move for ages.

Looking back at everyone, I notice that they're all clapping for us, cowering their faces into their poofy scarves.

'Did you see?', I ask, just to make sure.

Another thumbs up from Glenn. 'Very cool.'

It weren't very cool at all — In fact, it was total garbage — but it was fun putting on a show.

'Thanks.' As Mouse chases after the ball, I leave him be and return to the campfire. 'I'm so tired.'

I really shouldn't be. I'm only a kid, and kids are supposed to have a lot of energy. I'm sure of it, since our neighbour Betty used to complain to Dad about her boy havin' too much of it whenever the two of 'em smoked together on our porch after work. His eyes would droop like a slow-blinking frog's whenever he got back from the mechanic shop, sometimes sleeping for a whole day, even at the dining table, while he was halfway through a meal. All the adults I knew were tired, but not like this. We's starving; hollow.

I'm jealous of my past self, who used to be able to play soccer for hours on end.

Maggie sends me a sad smile. 'Me, too, honey.'

'Sorry,' Glenn signs to me, 'cause he always says that. 'Come rest. It's warm here.'

'Can I sit next to you?', I ask T-Dog, pointing to the empty seat between him and Glenn.

Like the others, there's two moon-shaped craters hanging below his eyes, bruised an ugly purple against the brown of his skin. The man sends me a deadpan look, as if the cold's gone to my brain. 'No,' Then, sassily; 'Of course you can.'

Rolling my eyes at his attitude, I sit down and lay my head against the canvas backing.

My bones have been replaced with rope, loose and heavy.

I know we're gonna be leaving soon.

That pensive look on Rick's face is easy to recognise, even if he tries hiding it behind his scarf as he stands watch.

According to the map, there ain't no drug stores or doctor's offices for nearly five miles around us, and we're gonna need one. The medicine, what little we'd scrounged up, has ran out. Lori ain't suffering anything worse than a sniffly nose and a cough, but out here, — In the snow and the wind and the rain, with nothin' but a flimsy bitta metal to shelter us from it all — Well, we all know. I asked Dad if the baby in her belly could get sick, too, and all he told me was that none of this is ideal. I understood. When things ain't ideal, people die.

That place Rick was talkin' about, the one that we can fortify and make a life for ourselves in, it's still out there somewhere. He lectures us about it so often it's as if he can't think about anything else, a dog with a bone dangling just in front of his nose.

I bet there's lots of food and medicine there. And even beds. Proper beds, with mattresses and everything.

Maybe even a little mat for Mouse.

Yeah. That would be ideal.

Nobody would die in a place like that.

I tear my gaze from Rick, turning it onto the one big cloud in the sky.

I still think about Shane, sometimes. It comes and goes. Most of the time, he's alive. We're sitting at the picnic table back on the farm, coloring a meadow of flowers together, and then there's an ebbing swash of time where something inside me hurts real bad like I've been shot, and then he's holding my hand in a forest because I'm scared. I'm showing him the frog I've caught, mirroring his grin.

Suddenly, none of the muscles in his face are working and he's looking at me with milky eyes.

I don't wanna shoot him.

Bringing my hand up to my locket, I squeeze the thousand-pound weight between my fingers.

The spot he's taken up in my brain was supposed to be mine, and so was Momma's, and Merle's, and everyone else's.

Even in death, as Andrea said, He's still a fucking asshole.

I wonder if she's still alive.

A girl went missing from our town, once. My Daddy was in the kitchen washing dishes while I watched her Momma cry on TV.

I didn't know Andrea too well, so all my tears are staying inside my face for now. It's not like it was with Sophia. No, we packed into our cars and we fucked off North to a place called Newnan, leaving everything, including her and any chance of finding her, behind.

A bit stupidly, I hope the cows made it out alright.

Then, a hand is waving over the sun.

Lifting my head, I realize it's Dad trying to get my attention.

'How are you?', he signs as I stuff the locket under my sweatshirt.

'Hungry. Tired.' The usual answer; then, 'Everything okay?'

'Yeah. Taking a break.'

'I think Rick wants to leave.'

As Dad eases himself onto the crate beside me, he sneaks a glance at him. 'He does. We were talking.'

The others must be reading our signs, 'cause Maggie butts in, talking with Dad for a minute. I wait 'til they're done.

'We need medicine,' I comment quite uselessly when his attention is back on me.

'That's right. And better shelter. This place is shitty.'

'Do you want to leave?'

'I want you to be safe and happy. So, yes.'

'Are we walking again?'

He makes a face. 'No. We're riding bicycles.'

'Funny, Dad.'

'He wants to head East. The next town is close. Nine miles. There's a hospital there. Might have medicine.' His hands slow down. They hover, unsure. When he picks one back up, he finger-spells the word, 'S-h-a-r-p-s-b-u-r-g.'

The blood in my neck rushes up into my cheeks, and for just a moment, I'm warm.

I wonder if her house still looks the same. With the gravel path leadin' up to the porch, lined with weeds before any of this even began. My bike chained to the wire fence, asking itself where the little girl that loves it has gone as it grows rustier every weekend that passes. The grass was always scratching my knees, wild and forgotten, a bit like me. We made the most of what we had.

I hope the mirror in her bedroom is broke. I hope the kitchen is rotted; loungeroom filthy.

It don't deserve to be the way it was before, 'cause ain't nothin' the way it was before. That was for us.

Dad is waiting for me to say something, but I got nothin'.

Being that close to that house again might just make me start believing' in ghosts, but we need to do it. For Lori.

'No choice.' I sign, plain and simple. 'We need to go.'

He studies me for a moment, torn on something, before nodding and rubbing his fist over his heart. 'Sorry.'

I shrug, playing with the pebbles of lint on my mittens.

I think about Momma, too. She weren't all that different from Shane, especially not in the end. Both were sick, but not in the way that Lori is sick, not with germs. Even now, I don't quite know if it'd be worse knowin' whether or not she turned and lost her mind one last time. At least in the picture in my locket, she ain't ever gonna turn. I'll keep her safe from everythin' outside her little bronze door.

'Forget about that.' Dad waves off the imaginary town, sneering. 'I'm going hunting. You coming?' 

I hear that right? Hunting?

All the rabbits are hiding at the bottom of their burrows at this time of year, the squirrels either dead or holed away. Even my Dad, the best hunter and tracker I know, who can shoot a field mouse out a tree, ain't been able to catch nothin' in this weather.

'You tried,' I remind him. 'Many, many times.'

'I know. But,' He nods over his shoulder, where Mouse is rolling around in the snow. 'Now we have help.'

Mouse. Of course.

Our last chance at catchin' a proper meal.

He reminds me of Tank a lil' bit, but smaller, whiter; with all four legs.

I'm willing to give it a chance. 'Okay. I'll come.'

Since we started to catch onto the fact that the cold slows the walkers down, we all been allowed out more.

A pat on my knee. 'Good girl. Let's go.'

He asks Glenn if he wants to come as well, and 'cause he got nothin' better to do and we make a good team, he agrees.

I'm inside a giant snow globe, waiting for the glass to break.

It was about a month ago now that I woke up one morning with my head in my hands, holed up in a gas station, crying snot and tears and dribble 'cause the ringing in my ear had turned unbearable. I didn't believe Herschel at first. My hearing couldn't deteriorate. I didn't even know what that word meant. But no matter what words I did or didn't know, their voices kept getting foggier and the ringing kept getting louder, until one day there was a pop beside my brain, a burst of pain, and then the world went silent. And then I believed him.

I was scared, at first. How could I hear a walker comin', now? Would I never hear my Dad say, I love you, again?

But it didn't take long for us to learn enough sign language to talk to each other, I love you, included. Nothin' would've stopped us. Maggie found a little ASL guidebook with pictures in it while we were passin' through a library. Go, Be quiet, Hide, Run, were the first words Dad made sure I knew. Good morning, Goodnight, and all the other things I'd wanna say. Thank you. Have mine. Fuck off.

Even now, whenever I wake up during the night, I always find one person studying the book, pages cradled by a flashlight.

As the three of us follow after Mouse, snow drifts through the thicket of naked branches like ash, catching winks of sunlight before they kiss the ground. It's hard to feel like I've lost anything when it snows. It's one thing that's always been silent. So have ripples in water, or a smile on a loved one's lips. I've made a place for myself in the silence, and I fit well here. Nobody else is allowed in my snow globe.

Glenn squeezes my mittened hand as I'm watching the falling snow, pulling my gaze up to his face.

With his free hand, he signs, 'Ringing?'

I shrug one shoulder, pinching my fingers. 'A little.'

It never really goes away. It's the one last thing I can hear, but I tune it out.

He attempts a smile, the curve of his cheekbones a raw shade of pink. 'Sorry.'

I always feel guilty when I have to answer that question. I'on know why. It ain't my fault.

'You always say sorry.'

'Sorry.'

Holding back a smile of my own, a real one, I ignore him in favor of watching the snow again.

The memory of that morning we had on the roof of the RV swells in front of me now, pretty and sun-colored, a cherry on my tongue. It was the mornin' after we found out I wasn't dying. I had a life. I had a chance to live it just like everybody else. Equals. Whenever I look at Glenn, I remember that morning. Happy and alive, with a group of our own. A friend. The first one in a long, long time.

When it's just the three of us like this, I always feel like I'm betraying Merle. It's a slimy feeling, one I force myself to swallow it down each time, but I ain't done nothin' wrong. I ain't replaced him on purpose. If I lie, I can say I ain't replaced him at all.

The worst part about it is that Glenn fits better into the void Merle left behind than Merle himself ever did.

My thoughts are interrupted when Dad puts an arm out in front of us.

I jolt, following his gaze.

Ahead of us, Mouse furiously investigates along an invisible trail at the end of his nose. He, too, goes still all at once. He's found something. We watch him square up with a lump in the snow, his tail an exclamation mark. Then there's a rabbit, a bite, a struggle. I squeeze Glenn as snow goes flying. Dad lifts his crossbow. A single bolt is released, and the rabbit is pinned to the ground by its heart.

It twitches around the bolt once, twice, tryna run away like all rabbits do, and then it goes limp.

That's our first kill in weeks.

'Dinner!', I exclaim to Glenn with both my hands, as Dad moves to pluck the bolt out, shaking off the snow.

A long, fat rabbit.

Dad was right. Mouse done spoiled us. Him bein' such a great hunter must be how he's survived this long. Everybody's got a reason. Mine is that I have people who love me, both dead and alive, who have fought tooth and nail to protect me every day.

Dad slings the rabbit over his shoulder, gesturing onwards. 'Let's keep going.'

Taking Glenn's hand again, I have a thought. 'Is his name Rabbit, now?'

He shakes his head, no, both of us falling into step with Dad and Mouse. 'It's Mini Daryl.'

Pssh. Whatever. 'Bad name.'

'Great name.'

I point side-long at Dad, as if saying, Go on, then. Tell him.

He cringes. 'No, thanks.'

'See? Bad name.'

'Are you bullying me?'

'Yep.'

Unamused, Dad gives us a look. 'I'm not blind. I can see your hands.' A pause; glance. 'She's right. Bad name.'

Like I always do when I'm giggling around Dad and Glenn, I say a silent, Sorry, Merle, because he's always been inside my head.

By the time we're walking back through the car yard gate, Mouse has caught us three more rabbits.

Beth's jaw drops.

'Dinner!', I sign to her, grinning, turning to sign the same thing to T and Rick who are stood on watch, their eyes going wide when they notice the bounty. I duck under the shutters and sign it to everyone else huddled in the garage, too. 'Dinner! Come on!'

They follow me out to the campfire, not wasting any time skewerin' and roasting the rabbits as the sun begins setting.

'Well done,' Maggie signs to the three of us, thoroughly impressed.

Dad nods to Mouse, as if to say, Thank him.

Thanks, Mouse, Everyone obliges, and even though he don't understand Human, he still grins his silly, gummy grin. I take a seat next to Dad on the wooden pallet, basking in the delicious smell of bubbling fat and the sight of my smiling family.

The moon is waning over our heads like a pretty marble, passin' through the stars, as we slurp up our greasy, mouth-watering rabbit meat. Even Lori has come out of hiding to enjoy the meal, her thin body curled up next to Rick in the broken car seats, shivering as she nibbles a meaty thigh. There's a bump under her blankets, right on top of her belly, that makes it look a bit like she's hiding my soccer ball under there. Really, it's the baby. Some nights, she lets me put my cheek to it so I can feel the heartbeat from the outside. It freaked me out at first. It's like she swallowed an alien. There's a tiny human in there, separated by only a few layers of skin. I hope it likes rabbit.

I know she needed this. I think we're all relieved to see her eating a good meal after all this time, something fatty and heavy, something to fill out her caved-in cheeks. If we're gonna leave for Sharpsburg at some stage, she'll need the energy. We all will.

Carol says that if it don't come out early, the baby's gonna be born in Spring. I've always thought of the seasons as a clock for huntin', just like my Daddy does. Summer's when all the coyotes come out, and you can stay out late 'cause the sun don't go down 'til after dinnertime. In Fall, the migratory birds start to fly over Georgia to reach warmer places further South. I've always liked watching the V shapes glide across the sky, wishing I could grow a pair of wings and join 'em up there. Spring is baby season. When everything gets born again, from the grass under the mud to the leaves inside the trees to the baby deer, called calves, inside they Momma's bellies.

Babies are good at bein' born in Spring, I told Carol when I could see a tick of worry in her brow, especially after Carl brought up naming the baby Sophia again, You'd think they's dumb, since they's babies an' all, but they know.

I's talkin' outta my ass a lil' bit, 'cause I was a baby once and I was born in Summer, but it made her feel better.

And then there's Winter. Everything's dead in Winter, except for the things that know how to hide.

Swallowing a juicy bite of rabbit, I glance at Mouse.

He lays at my Dad's boots in the snow, both of 'em gnawing away at their scraps of meat like long-time buddies.

Sucking the meat off the warm bone in my hand, I click my fingers to get the dog's attention. He perks up, craning his neck to look at me, his eyes bulging as I toss the bone in his direction as thanks. He catches it midair, crushing it between his teeth.

When my gaze meets Dad's, he gives me a thumbs up and a questioning look. 'Tasty?'

I nod, my own greasy thumb glistening in the light of the fire as I give him one back.

His lip twitches upward, as if he's about to smile, but then he remembers something. 'We're talking about leaving.'

Looking around, I see the whole group deep in conversation as they eat.

'What they saying?'

'Glenn thinks we should stay. He goes to Sharpsburg with T-Dog and they come back with medicine.' He tells me. 'But we can't split up. Dangerous. Could get lost. And we can't stay here. Cold. Not secure. Both; too risky.'

'So we all go.'

He nods, with not much else to say. We all go. 'We leave tomorrow.'

I don't remember voting for that decision, but things ain't worked like that in a long time.

Nine miles. That would be nothin' if we were a flock of birds. Birds can fly twenty-five miles an hour, don'cha know. I know lots of animal facts like that one. Whenever I can't sleep, I try and see how many I can remember until I'm blinking myself awake and the sun is rising. But we ain't birds, and we ain't even got the cars no more. I'on know how fast humans walk, but I guess I'll find out.

Pushing away my thoughts, I sign, 'It's kinda funny. We're surrounded by cars and none of them work.'

'This place is shitty,' He says for a second time, agreeing.

As we make our way through the meal, Dad, Glenn, and T-Dog keep forcin' their food into my hands. They act as if they can't see my signs telling them to save it for themselves, 'cause they're a bunch of assholes. I give up on changing their minds after a while, 'cause I've learnt it never works. Rick and Maggie do the same to Carl, Lori, and Herschel. We're all just a bunch of assholes who love each other.

That night, it's the same routine. Pull down the shutter doors. Tie a shirt through the padlock loop. Switch on the lamps.

I get comfortable in my pile of blankets that I share with Dad, digging through our bag. Wind rattles the garage walls, bullets of rain and hail battering the thin metal. For once, the rumbling of my stomach ain't here to join 'em. I pull out my journal and pencil, starting my ritual of shaving the wood away from the lead using Merle's knife, dwindling it down to the size of a used cigarette. Blowing the dust off, I sheathe my blade and flip to a page I can write on. Ain't no blank ones left, but I can squeeze what I wanna say into the gaps.

As everyone lays down, they keep clutching at their bellies like Lori does all the time, stuffed full of dinner.

Hello, diry, I write, 'cause Lori taught me how, Today was a grat day.

Mouse comes and inspects our blankets before plopping himself down next to me, resting his chin on his paws.

We faund a dog. I named him Mows becoz he kils mise and he is cyut. He caut for rabbits for us. He is my frend.

Dad lays down on my other side, giving my arm a squeeze and closing his eyes.

We are leeving again tomoro. Dad spelt it, Sharpsburg. My Muma uset to live ther but she is ded now. I wont to leev but also I dont. Im a bit scered. Dont tell nobode. At leest we are leeving the car yard befor it gets the chans to kil one of us.

As olways, Rest in peece, M, T, A, M, O, S, S, J, J, P.

I snap the book shut and place it back into the bag, zipping it up and rolling onto my back.

Dad throws a blanket over me as the wind blows in through the slash in the wall, pulling me into him with a strong arm.

Somebody clicks off the last lamp.

Squirrels can jump ten times their body length, I think to myself, focusing on the beat of Dad's heart and the warm weight of Mouse slumped against my legs, before I'm opening my eyes again and there's a band of cool sunlight on my face.

I watch a bird fly past the gap.

We never stay in one place for long.

I hover near the gate along with the rest of the group, clutching the straps of my backpack.

Lori got worse overnight.

I'm looking at her right now, as Rick peels off his coat and wraps it around her. Her face; it's paler than the snow, her nostrils two rings of puffy, red skin, leaking snot onto her lip. She wipes it away, fingers shaking. I almost want to tell Rick to call this whole thing off, but that would be stupid. The sky's cleared up some, making way for the sun. If we don't go now, we'll be stuck here forever.

Threading the last button through the loop, Rick turns and rallies all of us to follow him outta the car yard.

We file out into the open, a trail of footsteps carving a line through the snow.

Rick takes up the front of the line. Dad, the back. When wolves travel in packs, the two strongest of the group do this, too. This way, one can flatten the terrain for everyone else, while the other can keep an eye out, make sure nobody falls behind. That's why I'm in the middle, trailing behind Lori, Carl, and Herschel. We're the smallest and the weakest and the sickest, but I can still trace the treeline with my gaze and watch for danger, grabbing for the hilt of my knife every time a shrub shivers in the wind.

Mouse walks alongside us as we journey, 'cause I think he's decided he doesn't wanna be alone, anymore.

With every step I take, I find myself missing Dad's truck more and more. I know it was just a hunk of old, blue metal on two pairs of wheels, but it's still gone, and I still miss it like I'd miss a person. It's true that it'd been through its fair share of bumpy rides through the forest and countless tyre changes, but ain't nothin' short of an army tank would'a made it outta what happened to it in the end. They came out of nowhere, is how T tells it. We were cruising along the streets of a small town when a group of people jumped us. Way I tell it, they came out from behind some cars that were spilled out across the sidewalks. A gunshot. We veered, straight into the window of a store.

Dad and Rick killed those ones, too. Four people; two men, a woman, and a sorta-kid — A teenager.

I remember the boy's face. Caramel-colored with a nose that looked like a bird's beak, maybe a few years older than my cousin, Tobias, but people always said he had a baby's face. I couldn't figure out if they deserved it. They'd tried to rob us, a small group with two kids and a pregnant woman; our medicine, blankets, water. But back in the beginning, Dad and Merle did the same thing to other groups. Lone cars on the highway, pairs of people as they walked, sleeping camps. It was awful, but it was how we stayed alive.

There was this one night that Dad asked Merle if they should stop while he thought I was asleep.

We're doin' it for her, was all my Uncle had to say.

Every bad person I ever met probably had somebody they was doin' it for.

Their blood pooled onto the tarmac as our blue truck smoked, wedged between a scattering of debris and rubble. The men tried pushing it free for over an hour, but it was stuck there, well and truly. Eventually, we accepted we had to leave it behind.

After that, Rick's truck shut off one afternoon and refused to turn back on no matter what Glenn did to it.

We couldn't all fit into the grey car, or onto the back of Dad's motorbike, so that's how we were left with nothing.

Still, Dad swears up and down he's gonna go back for his bike as soon as he can, soon as we're settled someplace proper. He hid it real good and took the cylinder head with him, so there's a very good chance ain't nobody nabbing it before he can get back there. My Dad's a smartass like that. I think he'd sooner pull all his teeth out 'fore he lets somebody else have his precious bike.

On a little street sign just ahead of us that reads, Poplar, a tiny bird perches.

It chirps and flies off when we get close.

Poplar Street. Two miles down.

Herschel looks at me over his shoulder, his brows made even fluffier than usual by the snow that's gathered on them.

'Doing well?', He checks.

I nod, yes. My feet are achin', but I'm sure I ain't the only one. 'You? I have water if you need.'

'That's okay, sweetie. I'm not thirsty.'

I give him a bit of a stern look, one that Rick would be proud of, but he just turns to face forward again.

Hmph. I'm suddenly appreciating how the others must feel when I refuse their food. 

Glancing behind me, I extend the offer to Carl and Lori. When they accept — Well. When Carl accepts and forces Lori to do the same, — Dad alerts Rick, and guides us off the road, into a little eating area beside a kiosk station to take a break. I drop my backpack onto the seat of a wooden table and pull out my bottle of water. Lori and Carl sit down as I unscrew the cap and hand it to them, waiting for Carl to take a small sip first, holding it to his Momma's cracked lips after. Her neck gulps twice before he passes it back to me.

Most everyone else settles down at the other tables, catching their breaths.

Dad approaches the three of us. He points at the bottle with a no-nonsense expression. 'Drink that.'

I'm about to stash it, but do as he says. I am a little thirsty.

'How are you?'

'I'm okay.' I zip the empty bottle away. 'My feet hurt.'

'You can handle it.'

I nod. I can. 'You?'

'Feet hurt.'

'You can handle it.'

He huffs a chuckle. 'Don't be smart. I'm going to check the—.'

I follow his gesture over to the kiosk, nodding and taking the seat next to Carl.

The boy glances at me a couple times, as if it's hard to look at me, like how it's hard to look at the sun for too long before you start seein' shapes. He awkwardly points at my bag. Huh? He touches his fingers to his freckled chin, swiping forwards.

'Thank you.'

He knows how to sign?

All this time, I ain't seen him pick up the guidebook even once.

I ain't sure what to say, so I just nod until he looks away again, and then we're both just watching Mouse sniff the ground.

Boy, do the two of us know how to hold a grudge. Ever since our squabble that afternoon before Dale died, we been holdin' so tight onto 'em we ain't even know what to do with 'em anymore. You're a stupid baby, Harley. I hate your guts, Carl. I'm glad you're not my sister. I'm glad you ain't my brother. Stupid. That was months ago, now, and I might still be a stupid baby — I'll give him that — but I don't hate his guts. I just hate sayin' sorry. My teachers used to say bein' able to apologise is a life skill, but I never saw how it keeps ya alive.

Mustering up the courage to give it a go anyway, I sign to him, 'Back on the farm. I was just—.'

Wait. He's looking at me all confused. He don't understand.

I deflate, embarrassed. Never mind.

'Are you okay?', Beth signs to me from the other table.

'Yeah... My feet hurt.'

'Mine, too.' She sighs wistfully, her blonde hair flying around in the wind. 'We need a massage.'

It forces a giggle outta me. She makes me feel like such a girl, sometimes.

When Dad comes back, T-Dog in tow, it doesn't look like they found much in the way of food or water — Just what looks like a crumpled granola bar and a couple newspapers that we could prolly use to make a fire. Mysterious Infection Hits France, is one of their headlines, not even worthy of a bold font. Dad stuffs the little bar into Lori's coat pocket before he helps her stand from the bench, gently passing her off to Rick. He runs a hand up and down his wife's back, murmuring to her as I sling my backpack on and get to my feet.

I'm okay, I think she's assuring him, trying to brush him off.

Maggie shares a worried glance with Carol, then with Dad.

Before I know it, I'm walking over Rick's footprints again.

There's the river.

I saw it on the map, but it's bigger in person. It's not just a white strip of ink bent around laddering terrain lines. It's a flat, blue sheet of ice wedged between two frozen shorelines, snow scuffing over its surface as the wind pushes it around.

Like I said, I saw it on the map. That's why I know the only road that passes over it is miles away.

We're gonna have to cross it on foot.

'We need to be careful,' Rick turns to address us. He makes sure to sign as he speaks, very obviously struggling to match the volume of the wind. 'I'll go first. Make sure it's safe. Then, Harley, Lori, Carl, and Herschel. Then, the rest.'

There's no option for any of us to dispute the plan, so he goes ahead and nods to himself, sighing and turning toward the thick bank of snow. This is what Rick does. He risks his life, risks falling into rivers and freezing to death, 'cause he's got a few screws lose and he's brave, and some months ago, on the side of the road after our home burnt down, he told us, This isn't a democracy, anymore. I grab onto Dad's hand, squeezing it like a stress ball at the doctor's office before they stick the needle in ya arm, as our leader surfs down the hill.

Fringes of snow break off and roll down as he goes, eventually landing at the bottom.

Okay, I think I can see him mouthing to himself, Okay.

He takes his first step. He holds his arms out on either side of himself. Another step. Another; delicate, as if he's testing out whether or not he's gonna burn his feet, learning he won't, and then doing it all over again with the other foot.

When he reaches the other side, he pulls himself up onto the shelf of snow.

He plops onto his ass.

He made it.

When he realizes this, he raises his hand and waves us over.

I take a deep breath.

Harley, Lori, Carl, and Herschel, is what he said. Harley. I'm next.

'Go slow,' Dad signs to me, looking at me in a very serious way. 'Don't walk exactly where Rick walked. It could break.'

I nod, repeating his instructions in my head as I let go of his hand, forcing myself to approach the ledge.

Sitting down and sliding all the way to the bottom, I push myself to my feet, staring out onto the ice.

Oh, shit.

I swear it ain't look this far from up there.

'It's okay,' Rick's signing to me from across the river. 'You're light. You won't fall.'

'You promise?'

'I promise.'

Okay. Okay, I can do this.

I take my first step. Shit, it's slippery. I almost lose my balance, catching it right at the last moment. My gaze snaps back up to Rick. It's okay, He signs again. I look over my shoulder, where up on the hill, Dad signs the same thing. It's okay. It's like a tight rope. Taking care to mind the puddles of sleet sitting on the ice, I walk the rope one step at a time, water rushing underneath my boots.

When I'm close enough, Rick braces himself on one leg and reaches down for me, hooking his hands under my armpits. He lifts me onto the shelf of snow, setting me down beside him. I clutch his arms, my legs shaking. Oh, solid ground. It's never felt better.

Well done, He mouths, giving both my shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go.

Looking back at the other shoreline, I see a small Glenn and Maggie both sending me thumbs' ups.

'Proud of you, baby,' Dad is signing beside them, as Carol cups her own cheeks, relieved.

'I made it,' I reply, heart pounding.

'Yeah, you did. With sore feet, too.'

I wish I could let out a laugh, but I can't. Not yet.

Lori is next.

Lori, sick and frail, with the baby in her belly.

T-Dog slides down first and catches her when she reaches the bottom, holding her hands to steady her. She carefully steps onto the ice, alone. Her fingers leave T-Dog's. She's so skinny these days, I'm worried the wind might just knock her over. I feel Rick tense against me. Slowly, and cradling her belly, she ventures further out. There's a moment or two I think she might trip, but she makes it.

Rick pulls her up, and then it's Carl's turn; then Herschel's.

The four of us help the old man climb up onto the bank. The worst of it is over.

We wait for everybody else to cross. Glenn and Maggie set out next, keeping a good distance between them the whole way, before Beth makes her way down behind them, doing the same. Everyone calls out encouragement and praise, egging them on. One by one, we work together to pull them up. Glenn. Then, Maggie. Beth, who's shaking like a little lamb. And Mouse, who don't even need our help.

As Rick and Maggie pull Beth up, the last ones to begin their crossing are Dad, T-Dog, and Carol.

They're halfway across when Mouse starts barking.

A head appears over the hill behind them. Shoulders. A fleshy ribcage. It's a walker. An actual walker. It don't know where its goin', blindly trudging forward, skirting the ledge. It's gonna fall down. Everyone realizes this at the same time, suddenly pointing and shouting things. The three of them stop in their tracks. They turn to look behind them, just as the thing takes its next and final step. With no more ground to stand on, it falls head-first into the slope, tumbling, once, twice. It smacks into the ice, a cannon ball of limbs.

A line as thin as a hair shoots out from under its body.

A crack. The ice is cracking.

My body lurches as if I'm about to do something, about to climb down there and help, but we can't.

The only way we can help them is by staying off the ice.

The line grows longer and longer. It's under Dad's boot before he can even take a step. His chest heaves, staring down at it. Carol and T-Dog linger nearby, terrified, as if any flinch or gasp from them will send them all under. He pulls his crossbow off his shoulder. I'm not sure if he's about to shoot the walker, or maybe ditch the bow to lessen his bodyweight, but he don't get to do either.

His leg goes straight through the ice.

He falls onto his forearms. His weight splits the line into three; snaps the surface into pieces.

SPLASH.

Both he and Carol are suddenly neck-deep in the water.

I think I squeal a little bit, 'cause I feel it in my throat.

The walker lifts its head.

T-Dog looks back at us, shouting and holding his hand out. He wants something. Rick catches his meanin', unholstering his pistol and rearing it back, hurling it as far as he can over the river. T-Dog told us he used to be the best player on his baseball team in high school, so he catches it with one hand, pulling the slide back to check the chamber. I guess we can stop callin' him a liar, now.

The walker drags itself forward, clawing marks into the ice.

Dad reaches under the water, teeth bared, face scrunched, hauling his crossbow out and slinging it across the ice.

It spins across the slippery surface, coming to an eventual stop someplace that don't matter anybody.

T-Dog raises the gun.

He pulls the trigger.

There's a flash of light, and at the same time, a spurt of black blood.

As soon as the walker is dead, he takes a step toward, but Dad shouts at him and he stops.

Water goes flying as he grabs for purchase, setting his elbow on the ice. He puts his weight on it. The ice crumbles like a cookie. He tries again, this time keeping his body as flat as he can, and manages to pull himself up onto his stomach.

I can only imagine how much it hurts, but he pushes through it, army-crawling over to Carol.

They lock hands.

With what little strength he has left, he drags her out, too, letting her collapse beside him.

They both lay there, the wind blowing over their bodies as they struggle to suck in a full breath, curled up like shrimps.

T-Dog wastes no time. He teeters and slips around on the sleet as he kneels, grabbing a fistful of their coats and pulling them further away from the broken ice. They're not moving. It's like they've turned into the frozen walkers, their joints all locked up from the cold, unable to hinge. T-Dog gets Carol to her feet first. As Rick, Glenn, and Maggie hurry down to the shoreline, I follow after them and grab onto Carol the moment she's within arm's reach. We all help pull her up, as T-Dog spins around, waddling back to Dad.

Carol's legs give out. Her body lands in the snow, her arms wrapping around her stomach.

Over her hip, I watch as T-Dog, strong as an ox, gets all one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of my Dad to his feet.

When they reach the bank, we all grab for him.

Even through the layers of fabric, I can feel the deadly cold seeped all the way through his skin. As we lay him in the snow, he winces, his hair frozen stiff and his cheekbones redder'un cherry popsicles. I cup them with my mittened hands, crouching at his side.

I'm grateful I can't hear any of the panicking around me.

I just hold him, waiting for him to open his eyes.

When he does, they're blue, like the river.

Then, Rick and Glenn are pulling him up. I give them space, letting 'em hook each of his arms around their shoulders. Maggie and Beth follow suit and with Carol, hugging their arms around her waist, frantically looking for direction from our leader. He points. We all follow his finger. There's a couple tiny buildings just up the road, not too far. That's where we're going. We need to get Dad and Carol warm. We start making our way over there without a second thought, bracing ourselves against the snow coming down on us, now.

We reach the yellow security barriers. Carl helps me force them upwards, letting everybody through. It looks like this place was a ticket and security checkpoint. There's two little booths, the windows smeared with old blood, and a bigger building in the middle. Rick kicks that one's door in, making way for us to spill inside the kitchen-sized room, as they set Dad down on a dirty bed in the corner.

The two girls gently lower Carol down next to him, helping her peel off her wet clothes.

Taking Dad's coat zipper in my fingers, I rip it all the way down and pull him out of it, quickly doing the same with his shirt.

Rick casts about. He spots a wastebin in the corner of the room and moves it to the middle, taking the newspapers that T-Dog is offering him from his backpack. Glenn passes him a lighter as he stuffs it down. Flick, flick. He cups it; holds it there.

It catches.

—hould be contained within a week, according to the French Health Ambas—, it reads, before curling around the flame.

As warmth begins to emanate, I move down to Dad's boots, unlacing them, tossing them away with his socks. He's left in just his jeans, with barely enough energy to hold his hands out to the steadily burning pages of the Washington Post.

Taking off my own coat and cuddling up to his side, I hope I can give him some of my body heat. I don't have much of it, but I don't need it all. I'm happy to share it. Already, he looks a little less awful just by being outta the wind. Carol has been stripped down to her bra and cargo pants, shivering as Maggie fits her into a spare sweatshirt. Pulling my beanie off, I fit it onto Dad's head. He looks silly. Shirtless with his edgy tattoos on display, wearing his daughter's pink hat. When Maggie passes me another sweatshirt, I help dress him in that, too.

As I work, T-Dog approaches us, setting the crossbow against the wall.

A pearl of water drips off the end of Dad's nose as the man leaves.

I study him, feeling guilty. 'I wanted to help.'

He frowns at me.

I add nothing more. There was nothing any of us could do, but I still wanted him to know.

Everyone finally settles around the tiny fire, absorbing every last ounce of heat it has to offer.

Rick signs to me, 'We can stay the night.'

'Thank you,' I nod.

As he moves his attention elsewhere, I sneak a glance at Lori.

She's coughing. A yellow glob falls into her hand, before she wipes it on some newspaper. I know that ain't good.

We stay like this for a while. The only way to tell that time is passing at all is every minute or so, when someone adds a fresh wad of newspaper to the fire to keep it alight. Paper burns fast, but it also creates a lotta smoke. We eventually have to open all the windows to let it out, which in turn lets the cold in, but our only other choice is to suffocate to death. Ain't nobody in the mood for that.

Once Dad and Carol have both fallen asleep, I take out the little ASL handbook from my bag, scooting back to sit against the wall. I might as well get some studyin in, if we ain't leaving for a while. I rest it the crook of my thighs, flipping to a dog-eared page.

To sign, IMAGINATION, it reads, Start by extending both pinkies.

The little hands in the picture look like they's holdin' invisible teacups, so copy them, and it's easy enough.

To sign, OPINION, the picture directly below it reads, Start by creating a circle shape with one hand.

A kick to my boot.

Startled, I look up at my attacker.

It's Carl.

He points to the empty spot next to me. I ain't got any real reason to decline, so I give a nod, making a little extra room for him as he settles down at my side, only to do nothin' but fiddle with his fingers in his lap. I can't ask him what he wants.

Suddenly, he takes the book from me, thumbing through the alphabetical section.

He stops when he reaches S, studying the first picture on the page.

To sign, SORRY, it reads, Start by forming a fist.

My eyes go wide, watching the boy do as it says. Place it over your heart, making a grinding motion. He glances at me, silently asking if he's doing it right. He's not, obviously. You ain't s'posed to leave a bruise. But I get the message loud and clear all the same. He's sorry. Maybe for calling me a stupid baby, or for telling me that even though I know what a chantrelle mushroom is and I can shoot a gun, I still ain't worth nothin' without somebody else around to watch out for me; him around. Or maybe just for what happened at the river.

Before I can decide which one it is, he gets to flippin' again, finding what he wants at E.

He blanches. Got more than he bargained for with this one.

Still, he gives it a go.

It's slightly wrong again, but there's only one sign I know that looks like that.

'Everything.'

He stares at me, boyishly unsure, not looking very much like his Dad anymore like he wishes he did.

You don't need to be sorry, I'd sign to him if he could understand, You were right. I do need help, sometimes.

'Me, too,' I sign instead, reaching over and flipping to the page with the same phrase, and signing it again.

He glances from my hands, to the page, back to my hands again. I'm sorry, too. I think that's all we need to say, but I'll still add this last bit on, anyway. Word by word, I use the book to translate. It's obvious we could use my diary and pencil to write messages to each other. It'd be easier, but easier don't feel right. Anybody can do that. It's only the special ones that will learn your language.

When the sentence is complete, I rest my hands in my lap, watching his face for a reaction.

'You're my brother.'

He's stunned for a moment, and it's a long moment.

But then there's a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Carl is my big brother, and that's just the way things is. It ain't my fault we're in this little family together, that we've seen people die together, been scared and hurt together, that he let me cry on his shoulder one night and never mentioned it again.

He consults the book one last time before lookin' me in the eye, signing back, 'You're my sister.'

Always have been.

When I jokingly flip to the page that reads, To sign, I LOVE YOU, he snaps the book closed. A genuinely disgusted expression plagues his face, looking like he's just eaten rotten broccoli. It makes me forget all about how cold I am as he gets up and walks away.

It's nighttime when I open my eyes.

Lifting my cheek from Dad's shoulder, a yawn parts my lips. The sight of the moon peeking over the windowsill greets me, glass pulsing a faint orange as the fire in the wastebin burns nearby. I can see Rick out there, hugging himself next to a little light.

Scooting off the mattress, the guidebook falls from my lap.

I pull on my socks and boots. I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep, anyway.

I remember in the Winter, when it was time to get dressed for school and work, Dad used to lay our clothes over the electric heater that we always had plugged into our living room wall. We'd make a game of it, pretending we were cooking steaks over a grill while the sky turned from black to grey, to white, to blue. His boss at the mechanic's shop had him startin' his shifts at six in the morning, while Merle and everyone else in our trailer park was still asleep in their beds. It was unfair, but he always found ways to make sure I never found out.

Grabbing a stick of newspaper, I stand and tip-toe my way through everyone sleeping on the floor.

When I open the door, I shoulder myself into the cold and step out.

It closes behind me.

In the middle of the outstretched road, Rick sits with his back to everything, staring up at the stars.

I wonder if he's got a person up there, just like I do.

As I come to sit beside him, he lowers his gaze; regard me with an empty sort of look.

I don't mind it none, instead opting to study the creative setup in front of us. A metal cooking pot filled with damp sticks, a small flame flickering amongst the ash and dirt at the bottom. I take the paper in my lap and ball some up, tucking it into the pot.

'I thought you might be cold,' I explain as the flames grab onto it, growing larger. 'Your fire sucked.'

He doesn't smile; lips heavy, downturned.

I sign something else. 'Why are you out here?'

'Can't sleep.'

Well, I guessed that. 'Are you okay?'

A sigh leaves his body, sucked into the wind. He's not going to answer that. 'You should go inside.'

'I'm not tired.'

'Doesn't matter. Come on.' He moves as if to stand, holding a hand out for me to take, but I cross my arms over my chest and stay right where I am. He tries waiting me out, but it's useless. Settling down again, he hesitates before signing, 'Stubborn.'

Unfolding my arms, I finally get him to crack a smile as I sign, 'I know.'

It's wiped away when he flinches uncomfortably at something.

'Was there a noise?', I guess, confused.

The horizon gapes emptily at us from afar, a black stripe. I can't see anything unusual.

'Lori.' He supplies, defeated. 'She's coughing.'

A soft, oh, slips from my mouth.

'It's why I'm out here.'

The only thing I can think of to say is, 'She'll be okay.'

It's not much, but Rick still reaches out and takes my shoulder, attempting a smile before dropping his hand.

I'm on the side of the road again, the trees looming over me, tucked between old cobble walls as the farm sits some miles away, whatever that's left of it burning to a crisp. The door is there, is what he snarled at us. Let's see how far you get. The world was an open set of jaws in that moment. While I'm almost certain Dad and I would've made it, because like T says, we're cockroaches, I don't know for sure if the rest of the group would have, if Beth, Herschel, and Carol would have. We've been together since... Everything.

But I do know that we chose Rick, and he chose us. I would say it's like this thing called symbiosis, which I learnt about in second grade. But it's not. My teacher told us that without the egrets and the anemone and the sucker fish, the cattle and the clown fish and the sharks would die. They can't make it alone. But we ain't a family because we'd die otherwise.

We're family because Dale had this stupid old watch while he was still alive, and he said that despite everything, our paths aligned at the quarry all the same, and then I got scratched and a whole bunch of awful stuff happened, like explosions and gunshots and broken fences, and we blinked, and now we love each other so deeply we don't care if we could survive apart.

'You're doing a good job, Rick,' I sign.

It might be the fire, but his eyes go shiny afterwards. Yeah. I'll pretend it's the fire.

He got us to the CDC. Got us out. Killed Sophia. Jim. His best friend, just a few days later. Those four people on the road.

He touches his chin. 'Thank you.'

I can tell he doesn't believe me. M, T, A, M, O, S, S, J, J, P. I don't know how else to convince him. Maybe I can't.

Absentmindedly watching the fire dance, I clutch the locket through my sweatshirt.

'What is that?', Rick asks.

Thinking nothing of it, I pull the thing free, letting it sit against my sternum. 'Shane gave it to me.'

Something about Rick twists at the mention of Shane, making its way onto his face like a curling snake, a nasty scowl. He holds his hand out, wanting to hold it. A little unsure, I thread the chain over my head and carefully lay the pendant in his palm.

Bringing it closer to his lap, he glares down at the olive of metal as if it's his best friend reincarnated.

'When we were at the gas station,' I tell him, trying not to remember the blood, 'We argued. He gave it to me after.'

The BANG, the spike of blood, his arms shielding his face as he lay on the floor.

I think... I think I don't like this.

'Can I have it back now?'

His grip turns white.

Feeling a bit like I'm interrupting something that should be private, I don't bother asking again, just reaching ou—

My hand is knocked away. He rears his arm back — Oh, God. My heart, going cold as the snow. — and throws the locket into the fire. It disappears beneath the flames. I exclaim something, a half-word or maybe a shriek, like I've been burned at the same time as the brown thrasher and the photo of my Momma inside. My hands shoot out all on their own to grab for it, but I reel them back in.

I need to— I need to put the fire out. I've gotta smother it with something.

Frantically starting to scoop up handfuls of the snow around us, I think Rick realizes he's made a terrible mistake. He seems to wake up, pushing himself to his feet to try and help me save it, grabbing more, more, and more snow, dumping it onto the fire.

The light goes out all at once, smoke trailing up into the air, a dreadful, blackened smell.

He claws through the pot, wincing as he touches the metal, pulling out the locket.

When he thumbs the door open, the photo is nothing but a stain of soot.

I stand there, too big to fit inside my skin, my everything shaking with a different type of horror.

It's gone.

Rick stares at me, the smoke blowing past him.

My snow globe bulges in all directions like a pulsing heart, silent as ever. The door to the staff room opens over Rick's shoulder, my Dad hugging himself as he steps out. I was supposed to look after her. She was supposed to be safe in there. He's spewing apologies before my Dad even understands what's happened, but he catches on quick. The thing in his hand is my locket. It's ruined.

You did this?, I think he's needling him, or sum' like it. The Hell is wrong wit'chu?

Rick's shaking his head, cradling it like it's a pile of bones he can put back together. I'm sorry. I didn't know.

Just give it back!, I demand.

It's the first time I've tried to speak aloud since losing my hearing, the syllables an awkward tar in my teeth.

I snatch the locket from his grasp, giving the pot a hard kick before storming away.

SLAM.

It wakes everyone up, but I can apologise later, 'cause right now I'm throwing myself onto the mattress and pulling the blanket over my head, sealing myself away from them all. This ain't the farm. I can't just hide away in a tent somewhere, or take a breather in one of the paddocks. I'm stuck in this stuffy room, where I know I'm being stared at even through the blanket. I know how to ignore it.

The locket is a hot coal in my hands, illuminating the dark pocket as the last of the photo smoulders.

A long while passes.

Then, somebody's sittin' down next to me.

They don't move for a long while, just a comforting heat at my side.

Then they lift the blanket up, and it's Dad, pulling it over his head so we're both hiding under it.

'She's gone,' I fill him in before he can ask, just in case he ain't already know. For real, this time.

He saw. 'I know.'

'It was Rick.'

A pause. 'I know.'

'Did you punch him?'

'Did you want me to?'

I think about it for a moment, tracing the smear inside the locket door, before shaking my head. 'No.'

I know it's stupid. It's just a photo, but it was the only one I had. I won't be able to see her face whenever the feeling strikes anymore, or if I find myself missing her more than usual. I'm already committing the photo to memory so I don't forget her face.

'He said Shane gave it to you.' He signs, more of a musing than an accusation. 'I didn't know that.'

I never told him where I got the locket. It could've been from Beth, Maggie, Lori. Anyone but Shane.

No point lying, now. 'Well, now you do.'

'Why did you keep it?'

I don't know. 'I missed him.'

He fails to say anything for a minute or two, but then he picks his hands up again. 'Do you still miss him?'

You're allowed, Carl muttered into my shoulder that night.

'Yeah.'

'You know he was a piece of shit, don't you? '

I scoff through my nose. That ain't even the half of it. 'Yeah. I know.'

He eyes the locket, as if wanting to take it away from me.

My fingers curl around it protectively, holding it to my chest.

It's mine. He's gonna have to fight me for it.

He studies my face for a while, but we both know he's not gonna fight me. No. Instead, he pulls the blanket down, tucking it around my shoulders. I force out a sigh and rest my head on his chest, feeling him stroke his thumb up and down the slope of my cheek.

After the rest of the group see I'm more or less alright, they lay their heads back down.

The window sits there, pulsing orange.

Both the moon and Rick are exactly where they were before. He's back to consulting the stars, this time, without the light.

Author's Note.

So, I've obviously decided to spend a little more time with the group before we reach the prison. I'm anxious to get us to season three, but I just felt like there's some story beats left over from the farm that could use their own space. I hope you enjoyed it! :)

Besides, writing non-canon is so fun. It just brings me closer to this version of the characters, you know?! That might be a little corny, but corny is what I do best! You know this by now.

Heads up - You can expect only one more Winter chapter after this one.

Please let me know what you think of the new dialogue format, with everyone using sign language now. It's not permanent, seeing as Harley will have her hearing aids back once the weather gets warmer, but she's still 95% deaf and will rely on ASL most of the time.

It was a bit of a bold move to fully lean into Harley's disability, but in my opinion, it was the only natural progression. I did a bit of googling, and to the best of my knowledge, everything here is anatomically realistic and accurate. Oh, and so is all the ASL! :)

However, there isn't actually a river separating Newnan and Sharpsburg... Shhhh! ;)

One last thing. This story's playlist has gotten quite a lot bigger. Check it out!

I'll be working hard on the next chapter! Thanks for reading 💙

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