#price is probably a seasoned hunter and can see a trap laid out when there is one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

distressedpanda · 5 years

Text

Wild One (Daryl Dixon x OFC) Part 1

Setting: Early in the six year time jump of Season 9.

Warnings: Language, TWD blood and violence

A/N: I am planning to write this from both the OFC's point of view and Daryl's. It will be slightly out of character for him, but I am trying to catch the full spirit. I just think that if we could see inside Daryl's mind that he might actually think some of these things, he just doesn't act on them.

That's my view anyway. It doesn't have many warnings for now but that will change.

This fic will be updated every two weeks for now. Gets a read more for length. As always if you would like to be tagged just let me know.

Layla watched as the man and his dog moved around the camp by the water, setting up traps and stringing cans around the perimeter. She had been watching him for several weeks now. From her observations, she had discovered that he was a natural and gifted hunter and tracker. He had also trained the dog to be a guard of sorts, allowing him longer hours of rest.

If she was being completely honest with herself, she couldn't understand why she was still here. She had done this before, of course: observe, move on. Never stick around, never get close. The living could be far more dangerous than the dead. But something about this gruff, scruffy looking stranger, pulled her in and kept her hiding among the trees each day. A sense of familiarity drew her in like a moth to a flame, and she was beginning to fear that she would indeed get burned.

She only hunted for herself at night, or during the rare moments the man slept during the day. She hunted far enough out that her snares and traps would go unnoticed. Fishing much further down the water's edge as well.

About a week ago the dog had found her on one of these fishing trips. Climbing back up the bank, with her catch of three large bass, she stopped dead in her tracks at the snarl that was waiting for her on the bank. Cautiously she had taken one of the fish and laid it carefully on the ground at her feet. She took a few steps away, keeping her head bowed in reverence to the animal, but never breaking eye contact. The snarling stopped as the dog approached the freely offered meal, but as she prepped her remaining fish to be cooked, the dog watched her wearily as he ate.

After that, when she fished, the dog followed. He seemed to expect the meal, almost as though that was the price of him keeping her presence a secret. She had to admit she enjoyed his company, even if he wouldn't let her touch him.

Now standing on the limb, she pressed her thin frame more firmly against the side of the tree. Wearing a brown tank top, and black jeans, she knew she could easily blend into the shadows of the trees. Her wild brown waves blowing freely in the soft autumn breeze. It was still warm and even with the breeze, the autumn chill hadn't settled into the forest air during the day. She watched the man working expertly with the knife in his hand. Whittling at a long thick branch.

Daryl knew someone was watching him. He and Dog had followed the persons tracks several times, but they always seemed to vanish before he could find the person responsible for making them. They were good, he had to hand it to them. In all his years of tracking, he had never known anyone to be able to give him the slip with this consistency.

Because of this mysterious strangers presence, he had been overly cautious. Setting up more traps and alarms, to secure his camp. Unfortunately, all he seemed to be catching was the dead.

Today, he could feel them. The eyes boring into him, while he went about sharpening branches for his pits and stringing more cans. He subtly glanced around without drawing attention to the action. The stranger was much closer than usual. He could sense them.

Suddenly, he looked up through his long messy hair. “There ya are,” his voice more gravel than words.

She gasped softly, closing her eyes and hugging the tree tighter. He had been looking right at her, those piercing blue eyes had finally caught sight of there prey, and she was no longer the hunter.

Layla knew she had to get out of the area quickly, but her options where limited. Peeking back at where the man had been, she hissed, “Shit!” He was gone. She was definitely prey now.

Scaling the long thick limb she was on, she was glad she had discovered and honed her talents before the world had turned into hell on earth. Her nimble legs, balanced her perfectly as she walked from limb to limb, tree to tree. When she reached a space where the trees were further apart, she dropped down and swung between the branches. Her thick leather half finger gloves, protecting her hands and providing extra grip.

After a few minutes of swinging and walking through the trees, she decided to scale down to the ground. Running would get her much further even with her tree top skills. Sliding down the trunk of one of the thinner trees, she hit the ground running.

She could hear him now. He was close. But she had the advantage, he had been running from the start. She had yet to use the adrenaline that surged through her veins since being discovered. Kicking her legs into high gear, her feet pounded against the forest floor. Stirring up birds and disturbing a deer's grazing, she quickly realized she was gonna have to get quiet.

Stopping behind a large oak, she bent over gasping in lung fulls of air. The adrenaline rush was quickly dissipating, she probably had one more quick burst in her and then she would be done. She closed her eyes, lent back against the tree and listened. The leaves rustling in the wind, birds calling from there nests in the tree tops, the rushing water bubbling on it's stony bed, she could hear all the sounds of the forest but not him and the dog.

She grinned, fuck her if she didn't actually grin, until the bolt went through the side of her right thigh. She gasped in pain, hitting the ground like the wind had been knocked out of her. “Fuck,” she hissed, grabbing her thigh and assessing the damage. It was little more than a flesh wound, even with the bolt lodged firmly in place. Quite obviously shot to disable her and not to do any real damage. It would have been enough to do just that to anyone else.

Ripping a bandanna, from her thin backpack, she tied it tightly around the injury and bolt. She had let her guard down, thinking she had lost him. Stupid mistake, and not one she aimed to repeat. Rising to her feet she listened again, and surveyed her surroundings. She still couldn't hear him, or see him.

Braving it and gritting her teeth through the pain, she bolted in the same direction she had been heading earlier. She didn't make it ten feet, before slamming into a rock solid wall of man stepping directly into her path. Her nose filled with the scent of leather, motor oil, and cigarettes.

Daryl had timed it perfectly. The shot had been to distract her, so he could overtake and capture her. He had gotten the feeling, watching her climb and swing through the trees like a damn monkey, that she wasn't going to go down easy.

He was right, she only went down for a second. But it was long enough for him and dog to quickly move ahead of her. Positioning himself behind a tree and telling dog to lay low, he placed the crossbow at his feet against the tree and waited. He was right in her path.

The rhythmic thumb of her boots sounded out across the forest floor. He waited until she was right on top of him. Stepping from behind the tree, she slammed into his chest almost taking them both to the ground. He grabbed her bare shoulders, trying to keep them both on their feet. She was a tiny thing, but with an extremely toned frame, she hit like a linebacker.

Her fist connected with the bottom of his chin. Head snapping back, he honestly saw stars for a second. “Jesus,” he growled at her, in his gravely tone. “Wha tha fuck's that for?” He caught himself wondering what she had done before the world went to shit.

“Let me go,” she screamed. Dog barked at the pair, as Daryl grappled to keep a good hold on her. Tightening his grip on her arms, her reaction was to kick out at him with her uninjured leg.

“Calm down, ya wild woman,” he continued to growl. Using his height and strength to overpower her, he wrestled the struggling woman to the ground. She was unable to stop the cry that escaped her lips as the bolt pushed through her leg even more. Squirming and hissing below him, she reached for the knife at her hip, but Daryl was faster, grabbing the knife from her hand and tossing it in the direction of his crossbow. Having nothing else on her, she clawed at him as he struggled to keep her on the ground. Reaching for a length of rope on his belt loop, he flipped her easily so her back was facing him. Her vision blurred, as pain shot through her leg again, the bolt that was still in her leg snapping in half.

Grabbing her arms, Daryl ripped the backpack off of her and tossed it next to his crossbow. He tied her arms securely behind her back before moving off of her. Dog followed, backing up but squaring off at the woman.

Layla didn't know what to do, using every bit of strength she had, she tried desperately to get free of the man. He was just too strong, and the combined pain and continuous movement of the bolt in her leg did nothing to help. Once her hands were tied, he released her and she scrambled away from him despite her bindings and injury, breathing heavily from both the exertion and the pain. He looked at her through his shaggy hair like she was a wild animal, as she pushed herself along the ground to lean against the tree closest to her, wincing at the pain in her leg. Her head was pounding, and so was her thigh. Taking in quick unsteady gasps of air, she stared back at the man.

He now stood over her, his large bare arms folded across his broad chest, chewing on his bottom lip. Wearing a button down shirt with the sleeves ripped out, the vest with only one angel wing on the back (she had seen him wear everyday before) and loose jeans, he was very intimidating. She couldn't see his eyes, his shaggy hair falling in a masking curtain across his face. It unnerved her and set her on edge once more.

Daryl crouched down, bringing himself eye level with the girl. Placing his elbows on his knees, he pulled a blade of grass from the ground, picking at it as he spoke, “I can look at that for ya,” he stated calmly, nodding at the girl's injured leg. Half of the bolt was still protruding from her leg and every time she moved it, he could see the look of pain flash across her face. He watched the girl's eyes dart around, focusing on anything but him. “Ain't nobody gonna come save ya. Yer alone aren't ya?” he asked, not wanting to move any closer to her until she gave him permission.

She didn't answer him, instead tucking her head and looking toward the ground. It was all the answer Daryl needed. “Where's yer camp? What's yer name? How long ya been alone?” He didn't expect an answer this time, but thought if he threw enough questions at her, one might stick.

He was cut short on his interrogation, when Dog turned and whined at him and then barked. It was time to get back to camp. “We gotta move now,” he grumbled at the girl, but she made no move to stand. Dog barked again, “Come on girl, Dog says it's time to go.”

She looked at him then, “You named him, Dog?” she asked incredulously.

He scoffed at her, amused that that was what made her break her silence. He offered his hand, “What else ya gonna name a dog? Do you need help up?"

Layla huffed, blowing her wild hair out of her face, “Yeah, I guess.”

He grabbed her elbow and helped her rise to her feet. Releasing her only long enough to sling the crossbow and her pack over his shoulder, and collect the knife tucking it into his belt. Then he grasped her elbow again and began guiding her back to his camp.

Layla ripped her arm from his grasp, “I can walk on my own,” she snarled, cutting her eyes at her captor. Even as new pain shot through her leg, she was just stubborn enough to not accept any help. She would do this on her own.

Daryl huffed and inwardly cursed himself. Why was he trying to help this girl anyway? He rolled his shoulders awkwardly, and scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Look ya either move at my speed, or I am carryin ya, whether ya want me to or not."

She glared back at him, “Who says I have to follow you?” she hissed, through grit teeth. She was trying desperately to mask her pain with anger. She just hoped he couldn't see through it.

Daryl squared off at her, “Ya see anyone else here?” he questioned firmly, his hands forming fists at his sides. He stepped into her space, crowding her and inwardly chuckling as she stood her ground. Dog whined again, and growled low in his throat, bringing Daryl back to reality. “And if we don't move now, you die. I ain't risking my life for ya.”

Layla squared her shoulders against the man and the pain, “Then what are you waiting for?” she sneered at him.

He stepped back and blinked, then turned with a low whistle to Dog and headed back to the camp. He glanced over his shoulder momentarily, she was following him. Her limp was pronounced, but she was keeping up with him so he kept going.

Every step she took was excruciating. The bolt moved, and wormed it's way around the wound. Blood now coated her pants leg despite the bandanna tourniquet and she was felling the effects of the blood loss. But she would not ask for help.

Daryl, kept glancing back every few feet. The woman was going to pass out, it was just a matter of time. She was already turning a ghostly pale, sweat peppering her brow from pain and blood loss. It might have just been a disabling shot, but the bolt had still done enough damage that she really needed to get off her feet.

He almost felt bad for her. He hadn't intended to hurt her, he just wanted to know why she was following him. She was weaving now, stumbling as she kept up with his demanding pace. He slowed slightly, letting her catch up to him, so she was walking right beside him within arms reach. They were close to the camp now. If she could make it there, he would force her to let him take care of the wound.

Layla could feel the fatigue creeping in, blurring her vision and causing her feet to stumble. Her breathing becoming more labored as she fought for each step. They were so close now. She knew these woods from her time spent here, too much time. She wasn't going to make it, the blur was turning black as she began to move slower, wobbling. A desperate small cry escaped her lips. “Help,” then everything went black, as the ground rose to meet her.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x ofc #fanfiction

1 note · View note